Citatepedia^®.com

The rich pay more in total taxes now than ever before - ever. It's true. Just like it's true that when the rich are convinced they're going to be taxed more, they spend less. And when the top few percenters don't spend, there goes all your spending, because they account for half of all retail spending.

quote by Neil Cavuto
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Taxed

Taxed in our groceries and taxed in our pay
The taxman keeps taking from us every day
But of heavy taxes the bureaucrats he spare
Tax every battler not the billionaire.

Who says that everything in life is fair
The wealthy of tax never pay their fair share
The wealthy getting wealthier with advantage on their side
And the gap getting wider in the social divide.

More taxes on petrol and more taxes on beer
Of taxes and more taxes is all that we hear
Taxed in our electricity bills and taxed by our bank
For some of our poverty the tax man we can thank.

Taxes even on the water that we drink
Soon they will tax us on the thoughts we think
We are burdened by taxes it does seem to me
And it's thanks to the tax man for our poverty.

poem by Francis Duggan
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Paying Taxes

Done-with-a-minimum.
Donewithaminimum.
Done -with-a-minimum.
Donewithaminimum.

The rich pay...
Donewithaminimum, donewithaminimum, donewithaminimum.
And some say...
With lifestyles out of reach.

They've got 'moolay'...
Donewithaminimum, donewithaminimum, donewithaminimum.
And you and I will not be relieved from paying taxes.

The rich pay...
Donewithaminimum, donewithaminimum, donewithaminimum.
And some say...
With lifestyles out of reach.

They've got 'moolay'...
Donewithaminimum, donewithaminimum, donewithaminimum.
And you and I will not be relieved from paying taxes.

The money,
The rich have...
Flows nonstop!
Pootoo-poo-too-too-toot!
Pootoo-poo-too-too-toot!

The money,
The rich have...
Many aint got!
Pootoo-poo-too-too-toot!
Pootoo-poo-too-too-toot!

And those poor have paved the way,
For the snobs and snots.
It's clear who are the 'haves' and those 'have nots'.

Oh...
Done-with-a-minimum.
Do newithaminimum.
Done-with-a-minimum.
Donewi thaminimum.

The rich pay...
Donewithaminimum, donewithaminimum, donewithaminimum.
And some say...
With lifestyles out of reach.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

V. Count Guido Franceschini

Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.
Needs must the Court be slow to understand
How this quite novel form of taking pain,
This getting tortured merely in the flesh,
Amounts to almost an agreeable change
In my case, me fastidious, plied too much
With opposite treatment, used (forgive the joke)
To the rasp-tooth toying with this brain of mine,
And, in and out my heart, the play o' the probe.
Four years have I been operated on
I' the soul, do you see—its tense or tremulous part—
My self-respect, my care for a good name,
Pride in an old one, love of kindred—just
A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like,
That looked up to my face when days were dim,
And fancied they found light there—no one spot,
Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang.
That, and not this you now oblige me with,
That was the Vigil-torment, if you please!
The poor old noble House that drew the rags
O' the Franceschini's once superb array
Close round her, hoped to slink unchallenged by,—
Pluck off these! Turn the drapery inside out
And teach the tittering town how scarlet wears!
Show men the lucklessness, the improvidence
Of the easy-natured Count before this Count,
The father I have some slight feeling for,
Who let the world slide, nor foresaw that friends
Then proud to cap and kiss their patron's shoe,
Would, when the purse he left held spider-webs,
Properly push his child to wall one day!

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Hudibras: Part 3 - Canto II

THE ARGUMENT

The Saints engage in fierce Contests
About their Carnal interests;
To share their sacrilegious Preys,
According to their Rates of Grace;
Their various Frenzies to reform,
When Cromwel left them in a Storm
Till, in th' Effigy of Rumps, the Rabble
Burns all their Grandees of the Cabal.

THE learned write, an insect breeze
Is but a mungrel prince of bees,
That falls before a storm on cows,
And stings the founders of his house;
From whose corrupted flesh that breed
Of vermin did at first proceed.
So e're the storm of war broke out,
Religion spawn'd a various rout
Of petulant Capricious sects,
The maggots of corrupted texts,
That first run all religion down,
And after ev'ry swarm its own.
For as the Persian Magi once
Upon their mothers got their sons,
That were incapable t' enjoy
That empire any other way;
So PRESBYTER begot the other
Upon the good old Cause, his mother,
Then bore then like the Devil's dam,
Whose son and husband are the same.
And yet no nat'ral tie of blood
Nor int'rest for the common good
Cou'd, when their profits interfer'd,
Get quarter for each other's beard.
For when they thriv'd, they never fadg'd,
But only by the ears engag'd:
Like dogs that snarl about a bone,
And play together when they've none,
As by their truest characters,
Their constant actions, plainly appears.
Rebellion now began, for lack
Of zeal and plunders to grow slack;
The Cause and covenant to lessen,
And Providence to b' out of season:
For now there was no more to purchase
O' th' King's Revenue, and the Churches,
But all divided, shar'd, and gone,
That us'd to urge the Brethren on;
Which forc'd the stubborn'st for the Cause,

[...] Read more

poem by Samuel Butler
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Luggage Canada

b ean bag stoer
bed liner motorcycle bags
bern aby bag
bed in a bag ty pennington
beetle bags roadstar midnight star
bean bag chairs burbank
bedroom in a bag justine
bean bag guns for purchase
berto bag
bed in a bag pink paisley
belt bag tool belt
biasia byoux bags
beer corn hole bags
beg borrow steal bags
bennington golf travel bag
bible verse shoulder hand bags
bean bag stuffing material
bean bag plastic pellets
beijo business bags pastel blue
belkin messenger bag
b ean bag simba
bean bag toss game specifications
bean bag chairs reno nv
bean bag herb alpert
bean bag forgame
bella hand bags
bean bag chair video
bean bag door stops
beretta nra approved gun bag
ben hogan kapalua golf bag
bes pak freezer bags
bean bag furniture paypal
bean bags chair ladybug
bean bag tossing game
betty boop gift bags
bean bag tic tac toe
bettz designs knitting tote bags
bean bag toss rules
beth any bag
bean bag chair indigo denim print
bean bag pillows microfiber
be an foam bag
bible buy loaf bag
bebe handbag bag
beverage delivery bags
betty boop harley bag
bichon frise gift bags
ben hogan golf mystique stand bag
bicyce crossbar bag
bean bag shells shotgun

[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Hudibras: Part 3 - Canto I

THE ARGUMENT

The Knight and Squire resolve, at once,
The one the other to renounce.
They both approach the Lady's Bower;
The Squire t'inform, the Knight to woo her.
She treats them with a Masquerade,
By Furies and Hobgoblins made;
From which the Squire conveys the Knight,
And steals him from himself, by Night.

'Tis true, no lover has that pow'r
T' enforce a desperate amour,
As he that has two strings t' his bow,
And burns for love and money too;
For then he's brave and resolute,
Disdains to render in his suit,
Has all his flames and raptures double,
And hangs or drowns with half the trouble,
While those who sillily pursue,
The simple, downright way, and true,
Make as unlucky applications,
And steer against the stream their passions.
Some forge their mistresses of stars,
And when the ladies prove averse,
And more untoward to be won
Than by CALIGULA the Moon,
Cry out upon the stars, for doing
Ill offices to cross their wooing;
When only by themselves they're hindred,
For trusting those they made her kindred;
And still, the harsher and hide-bounder
The damsels prove, become the fonder.
For what mad lover ever dy'd
To gain a soft and gentle bride?
Or for a lady tender-hearted,
In purling streams or hemp departed?
Leap'd headlong int' Elysium,
Through th' windows of a dazzling room?
But for some cross, ill-natur'd dame,
The am'rous fly burnt in his flame.
This to the Knight could be no news,
With all mankind so much in use;
Who therefore took the wiser course,
To make the most of his amours,
Resolv'd to try all sorts of ways,
As follows in due time and place

No sooner was the bloody fight,
Between the Wizard, and the Knight,

[...] Read more

poem by Samuel Butler
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Rocky Top

Wish that I was on ole rocky top,
Down in the tennessee hills.
Aint no smoggy smoke on rocky top,
Aint no telephone bills.
Once there was a girl on rocky top,
Half bear the other half cat.
Wild as a mink, sweet as soda pop,
I still dream about that.
Rocky top, youll always be
Home sweet home to me.
Good ole rocky top,
Rocky top tennessee, rocky top tennessee.
Once two strangers climbed on rocky top,
Lookin for a moonshine still.
Strangers aint come back from rocky top,
Guess they never will.
Corn wont grow at all on rocky top,
Dirts too rocky by far.
Thats why all the folks on rocky top
Get their corn from a jar.
Rocky top, youll always be
Home sweet home to me.
Good ole rocky top,
Rocky top tennessee, rocky top tennessee.
Now Ive had years of cramped up city life,
Trapped like a duck in a pen.
Now all I know is its a pity life
Cant be simple again.
Rocky top, youll always be
Home sweet home to me.
Good ole rocky top,
Rocky top tennessee, rocky top tennessee.
Rocky top tennessee, rocky top tennessee.
Yeah rocky top tennesee eee eee eee.

song performed by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Top Down Summer

(eric carmen/dean pitchford)
Wakin up
And the sun is in my eyes
Temperature is rising
Its so hot
Shake it up
I go racing through the streets
Howling in the heat
And you know why
Girls in cars are driving through the city
Breaking hearts, but looking awful pretty
Baby, not so fast
Make the summer last
Top down summer
Are you ready for love?
Top down summer
We can drive to forever tonight
Hey baby, the right times finally here
The top down time of the year
Take your mustang off the blocks
Aint nobody walks when its sooo hot
Me and you
We can ride to town in style
Flash em all a smile
And you know what
Im so high whenever were together
I wish we could feel this way forever
Love is weatherproof
Cmon raise the roof
Top down summer
Are you ready for love?
Top down summer
We can drive to forever tonight
Hey baby, the right times finally here
The top down time of the year
Are we close enough to touch
(baby, let me show you how)
Its too hot to wear too much
(its too late to turn back now)
Top down summer
Are you ready for love?
Top down summer
We can drive to forever tonight
Hey baby, the right times finally here
The top down time of the year
Top down summer
Are you ready for love?
Top down summer
We can drive to forever tonight
Hey baby, the right times finally here

[...] Read more

song performed by Eric Carmen
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Cloud Messenger - Part 04

The slender young woman who is there would be the premier creation by the
Creator in the sphere of women, with fine teeth, lips like a ripe bimba fruit, a
slim waist, eyes like a startled gazelle’s, a deep navel, a gait slow on account
of the weight of her hips, and who is somewhat bowed down by her breasts.

You should know that she whose words are few, my second life, is like a
solitary female cakravaka duck when I, her mate, am far away. While these
weary days are passing, I think the girl whose longing is deep has taken on an
altered appearance, like a lotus blighted by frost.

Surely the face of my beloved, her eyes swollen from violent weeping, the
colour of her lower lip changed by the heat of her sighs, resting upon her
hand, partially hidden by the hanging locks of her hair, bears the miserable
appearance of the moon with its brightness obscured when pursued by you.

She will come at once into your sight, either engaged in pouring oblations, or
drawing from memory my portrait, but grown thin on account of separation,
or asking the sweet-voiced sarika bird in its cage, ‘I hope you remember the
master, O elegant one, for you are his favourite’;

Or having placed a lute on a dirty cloth on her lap, friend, wanting to sing a
song whose words are contrived to contain my name, and somehow plucking
the strings wet with tears, again and again she forgets the melody, even
though she composed it herself;

Or engaged in counting the remaining months set from the day of our
separation until the end by placing flowers on the ground at the threshold, or
enjoying acts of union that are preserved in her mind. These generally are the
diversions of women when separated from their husbands.

During the day, when she has distractions, separation will not torment her so
much. I fear that your friend will have greater suffering at night without
distraction. You who carry my message, positioned above the palace roof-top,
see the good woman at midnight, lying on the ground, sleepless, and cheer her
thoroughly.

Grown thin with anxiety, lying on one side on a bed of separation, resembling
the body of the moon on the eastern horizon when only one sixteenth part
remains, shedding hot tears, passing that night, lengthened by separation,
which spent in desired enjoyments in company with me would have passed in
an instant.

Covering with eyelashes heavy with tears on account of her sorrow, her eyes
which were raised to face the rays of the moon, which were cool with nectar
and which entered by way of the lattice, fall again on account of her previous
love, like a bed of land-lotuses on an overcast day, neither open nor closed.

She whose sighs that trouble her bud-like lower lip will surely be scattering
the locks of her hair hanging at her cheek, dishevelled after a simple bath,
thinking how enjoyment with me might arise even if only in a dream, yearning

[...] Read more

poem by Kalidasa
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Make Me Rich

Purchase purchase buy buy
Purchase purchase buy buy
Purchase purchase buy buy
Purchase purchase buy buy.

Make me rich
(Purchase purchase buy buy)
Make me rich
(Purchase purchase buy buy)
Make me rich
(Purchase purchase buy buy)
Make me rich
(Purchase purchase buy buy)
Make me rich
(Purchase purchase buy buy)
Make me rich
(Purchase purchase buy buy)
Make me rich
(Purchase purchase buy buy)
Make me rich
(Purchase purchase buy buy)
Make me rich
(Purchase purchase buy buy)

'Horns and tambourines'

Make me rich
(Purchase purchase buy buy)
Make me rich
(Purchase purchase buy buy)
Make me rich
(Purchase purchase buy buy)
Make me rich
(Purchase purchase buy buy)

'Congas'

Make me rich
(Purchase purchase buy buy)
Make me rich
(Purchase purchase buy buy)
Make me rich
(Purchase purchase buy buy)
Make me rich
(Purchase purchase buy buy)

' And to the bridge'

Purchase purchase buy buy
Purchase purchase buy buy

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Hey

Hey , Im a-gettin that way
Goin out of my mind , out of my mind , its true
Its on account of you , its on account of you
Hey , Im a-feelin so low
Im gettin my heart all mixed up , gettin all mixed up too
Its on account of you , its on account of you
Now , I dont want your troubles and sorrows
Ive got plenty of my own
I dont want to worry about tomorrow
I dont want to live alone
Let me tell ya now ...
(break)
Hey , Im a-gettin that way
Goin out of my mind, out of my mind its true
Its on account of you ,its on account of you
Now I dont want your troubles and sorrows
Ive got plenty of my own
I dont want to worry about tomorrow
I dont want to be alone
Let me tell ya now
(break)
Hey , Im a-gettin that way
Goin out of my mind , out of my mind its true
Its on account of you
Its on account of you
Its on account of you
Its on account of you (fade)

song performed by Bee Gees
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Ladies Pay

All the sailors theyre all home from leave
And everybodys waiting for them to try to deceive
The storekeepers have drawn their lace curtains bare
And all the women and the wee young girls all waiting there
Oh, but how the ladies pay
Oh, if they only knew how the ladies pay
Yeah now, how the ladies pay
Oh, when the men theyve gone away
Nobody is standing on upon the door
And nobody is feeding any of the poor
The poor sick soldier lies in bed beside his girl
Thinking of another place on the other side of the world
Ah
How the ladies pay
Oh-oh, oh, how the ladies pay
When the men theyve gone away
Oh, I wish I knew how the ladies pay
Day and night, night and day
How the ladies pay
Day and night, night and day
How the ladies pay
Day and night
Night and day
Day and night
Day and night, night and day, ladies pay now
Night and day, day and night
How the ladies pay
Day and night, night and day
How the ladies pay
Day and night now
Night and day and now
How the pay now
Oh, how the pay now
Ladies pay, ladies pay
Ah, ladies pay the way now
Ladies pay, ah, ladies pay
Ah, ladies pay
Night and day, night and day, night and day
Oh, how the ladies pay
Oh, night and day, night and day, night and day
Oh, how the ladies pay

song performed by Lou Reed
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

II. Half-Rome

What, you, Sir, come too? (Just the man I'd meet.)
Be ruled by me and have a care o' the crowd:
This way, while fresh folk go and get their gaze:
I'll tell you like a book and save your shins.
Fie, what a roaring day we've had! Whose fault?
Lorenzo in Lucina,—here's a church
To hold a crowd at need, accommodate
All comers from the Corso! If this crush
Make not its priests ashamed of what they show
For temple-room, don't prick them to draw purse
And down with bricks and mortar, eke us out
The beggarly transept with its bit of apse
Into a decent space for Christian ease,
Why, to-day's lucky pearl is cast to swine.
Listen and estimate the luck they've had!
(The right man, and I hold him.)

Sir, do you see,
They laid both bodies in the church, this morn
The first thing, on the chancel two steps up,
Behind the little marble balustrade;
Disposed them, Pietro the old murdered fool
To the right of the altar, and his wretched wife
On the other side. In trying to count stabs,
People supposed Violante showed the most,
Till somebody explained us that mistake;
His wounds had been dealt out indifferent where,
But she took all her stabbings in the face,
Since punished thus solely for honour's sake,
Honoris causâ, that's the proper term.
A delicacy there is, our gallants hold,
When you avenge your honour and only then,
That you disfigure the subject, fray the face,
Not just take life and end, in clownish guise.
It was Violante gave the first offence,
Got therefore the conspicuous punishment:
While Pietro, who helped merely, his mere death
Answered the purpose, so his face went free.
We fancied even, free as you please, that face
Showed itself still intolerably wronged;
Was wrinkled over with resentment yet,
Nor calm at all, as murdered faces use,
Once the worst ended: an indignant air
O' the head there was—'t is said the body turned
Round and away, rolled from Violante's side
Where they had laid it loving-husband-like.
If so, if corpses can be sensitive,
Why did not he roll right down altar-step,
Roll on through nave, roll fairly out of church,
Deprive Lorenzo of the spectacle,

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Candidate

This poem was written in , on occasion of the contest between the
Earls of Hardwicke and Sandwich for the High-stewardship of the
University of Cambridge, vacant by the death of the Lord Chancellor
Hardwicke. The spirit of party ran high in the University, and no
means were left untried by either candidate to obtain a majority. The
election was fixed for the th of March, when, after much
altercation, the votes appearing equal, a scrutiny was demanded;
whereupon the Vice-Chancellor adjourned the senate _sine die_. On
appeal to the Lord High-Chancellor, he determined in favour of the
Earl of Hardwicke, and a mandamus issued accordingly.

Enough of Actors--let them play the player,
And, free from censure, fret, sweat, strut, and stare;
Garrick abroad, what motives can engage
To waste one couplet on a barren stage?
Ungrateful Garrick! when these tasty days,
In justice to themselves, allow'd thee praise;
When, at thy bidding, Sense, for twenty years,
Indulged in laughter, or dissolved in tears;
When in return for labour, time, and health,
The town had given some little share of wealth,
Couldst thou repine at being still a slave?
Darest thou presume to enjoy that wealth she gave?
Couldst thou repine at laws ordain'd by those
Whom nothing but thy merit made thy foes?
Whom, too refined for honesty and trade,
By need made tradesmen, Pride had bankrupts made;
Whom Fear made drunkards, and, by modern rules,
Whom Drink made wits, though Nature made them fools;
With such, beyond all pardon is thy crime,
In such a manner, and at such a time,
To quit the stage; but men of real sense,
Who neither lightly give, nor take offence,
Shall own thee clear, or pass an act of grace,
Since thou hast left a Powell in thy place.
Enough of Authors--why, when scribblers fail,
Must other scribblers spread the hateful tale?
Why must they pity, why contempt express,
And why insult a brother in distress?
Let those, who boast the uncommon gift of brains
The laurel pluck, and wear it for their pains;
Fresh on their brows for ages let it bloom,
And, ages past, still flourish round their tomb.
Let those who without genius write, and write,
Versemen or prosemen, all in Nature's spite,
The pen laid down, their course of folly run
In peace, unread, unmention'd, be undone.
Why should I tell, to cross the will of Fate,
That Francis once endeavour'd to translate?
Why, sweet oblivion winding round his head,

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Ch 07 On The Effects Of Education Story 20

Contention of Sa’di with a Disputant concerning Wealth and Poverty

I saw a man in the form but not with the character of a dervish, sitting in an assembly, who had begun a quarrel; and, having opened the record of complaints, reviled wealthy men, alleging at last that the hand of power of dervishes to do good was tied and that the foot of the intention of wealthy men to do good was broken.

The liberal have no money.
The wealthy have no liberality.

I, who had been cherished by the wealth of great men, considered these words offensive and said: ‘My good friend, the rich are the income of the destitute and the hoarded store of recluses, the objects of pilgrims, the refuge of travellers, the bearers of heavy loads for the relief of others. They give repasts and partake of them to feed their dependants and servants, the surplus of their liberalities being extended to widows, aged persons, relatives and neighbours.’

The rich must spend for pious uses, vows and hospitality,
Tithes, offerings, manumissions, gifts and sacrifices.
How canst thou attain their power of doing good who art able
To perform only the prayer-flections and these with a hundred distractions?

If there be efficacy in the power to be liberal and in the ability of performing religious duties, the rich can attain it better because they possess money to give alms, their garments are pure, their reputation is guarded, their hearts are at leisure. Inasmuch as the power of obedience depends upon nice morsels and correct worship upon elegant clothes, it is evident that hungry bowels have but little strength, an empty hand can afford no liberality, shackled feet cannot walk, and no good can come from a hungry belly.

He sleeps troubled in the night
Who has no support for the morrow.
The ant collects in summer a subsistence
For spending the winter in ease.

Freedom from care and destitution are not joined together and comfort in poverty is an impossibility. A man who is rich is engaged in his evening devotions whilst another who is poor is looking for his evening meal. How can they resemble each other?

He who possesses means is engaged in worship.
Whose means are scattered, his heart is distracted.

The worship of those who are comfortable is more likely to meet with acceptance, their minds being more attentive and not distracted or scattered. Having a secure income, they may attend to devotion. The Arab says: ‘I take refuge with Allah against base poverty and neighbours whom I do not love. There is also a tradition: Poverty is blackness of face in both worlds.’ He retorted by asking me whether I had heard the Prophet’s saying: Poverty is my glory. I replied: ‘Hush! The prince of the world alluded to the poverty of warriors in the battlefield of acquiescence and of submission to the arrow of destiny; not to those who don the patched garb of righteousness but sell the doles of food given them as alms.’

O drum of high sound and nothing within,
What wilt thou do without means when the struggle comes?
Turn away the face of greed from people if thou art a man.
Trust not the rosary of one thousand beads in thy hand.

A dervish without divine knowledge rests not until his poverty, culminates in unbelief; for poverty is almost infidelity, because a nude person cannot be clothed without money nor a prisoner liberated. How can the like of us attain their high position and how does the bestowing resemble the receiving hand? Knowest thou not that God the most high and glorious mentions in his revealed word the Pleasures of paradise-They shall have a certain provision in paradise-to inform thee that those who are occupied with cares for a subsistence are excluded from the felicity of piety and that the realm of leisure is under the ring of the certain provision.

The thirsty look in their sleep
On the whole world as a spring of water.

Wherever thou beholdest one who has experienced destitution and tasted bitterness, throwing himself wickedly into fearful adventures and not avoiding their consequences, he fears not the punishment of Yazed and does not discriminate between what is licit or illicit.

The dog whose head is touched by a clod of earth
Leaps for joy, imagining it to be a bone.
And when two men take a corpse on their shoulders,
A greedy fellow supposes it to be a table with food.

But the possessor of wealth is regarded with a favourable eye by the Almighty for the lawful acts he has done and preserved from the unlawful acts he might commit. Although I have not fully explained this matter nor adduced arguments, I rely on thy sense of justice to tell me whether thou hast ever seen a mendicant with his hands tied up to his shoulders or a poor fellow sitting in prison or a veil of innocence rent or a guilty hand amputated, except in consequence of poverty? Lion-hearted men were on account of their necessities captured in mines which they had dug to rob houses and their heels were perforated. It is also possible that a dervish, impelled by the cravings of his lust and unable to restrain it, may commit sin because the stomach and the sexual organs are twins, that is to say, they are the two children of one belly and as long as one of these is contented, the other will likewise be satisfied. I heard that a dervish had been seen committing a wicked act with a youth, and although he had been put to shame, he was also in danger of being stoned. He said: ‘O Musalmans, I have no power to marry a wife and no patience to restrain myself. What am I to do? There is no monasticism in Islam.” Among the number of causes producing internal tranquility and comfort in wealthy people, the fact may be reckoned that they take every night a sweetheart in their arms and may every day contemplate a youth whose brightness excels that of the shining morn and causes the feet of walking cypresses to conceal themselves abashed.

Plunging the fist into the blood of beloved persons,
Dying the finger-tips with the colour of the jujube-fruit.

[...] Read more

poem by Sa di
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Letter To... From A Classic Archetypal Dope

Now as I account for myself
I know the fight is over
You made me feel if I was worth saving
I was worth having
And I knew as the man flattered to grow
He also learned the crafts of
Clinging on to his sleazy self

When we have to account for ourselves
When we have to take stock of the unaccountable
When
When we have but ourselves to account for
When all but you and I alone are left
Standing
Amid the crowds that hover at my presence
In your eye
Amid the lashing lolling tongues
Criticising
Amid the squelching claws of distrust
And the deriding press of after thought
What are my lean-throated words
What are my bleating pleas of
What
When we have to account for ourselves
In the awakening stillness of other judgment worlds
What account do we have for ourselves
But the rabid thirst of a search
When we may have met in this or that town
But in this land and in this continent
This world
This incarnation
This temporal crevice

You in the fresh burst of put-up discovery
I in the aftermath of debunking rediscovery
Time was then held alike that summer
Growing only to fruition in our recognition
My senses were growingly numb from blunt use
Burning when the electric fondling
Dared enter and worry the dusty corners

I saw you then
Not as the strapping dash of bubbliness
Nor as the plaitted innocence of schooling youth
Trundling the scenes of covertly revisited crimes
Forming with others the dutiful good habits
Nor as the tall preening blot of shyness
At the hedge of a group picture
Fronting a personality
Dicing friendship

[...] Read more

poem by T. Wignesan
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Man At The Top

Here comes a lawyer,here comes a cop.
Here comes a rich, here comes a car-hop.
Goin on forever, aint ever gonna stop.
Everybody wants to be the man at the top.
Everybody wants to be the man at the top.
Everybody wants to be the man at the top.
Well, name your gun, son, shoot your shot.
Everybody wants to be the man at the top.
Now rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief.
Doctor, lawyer, indian chief.
Dont ever start to ask them why.
Everybody wants to be the man at the top.
Everybody wants to be the man at the top.
Everybody wants to be the man at the top.
Well, name your gun, son, shoot your shot.
Everybody wants to be the man at the top.
All right (all right). oh yeah (oh yeah)
All right now (all right). oh yeah (oh yeah)
Man at the top says its lonely up there.
If it is man, I dont care. build a big white house.
Build a parking lot. everybody wants to be the man at the
Top.
Here comes a banker, here comes a businessman.
Here comes a kid with a guitar in his hand.
Dreamin of his record in number one spot.
Everybody wants to be the man at the top.
Everybody wants to be the man at the top.
Everybody wants to be the man at the top.
Well, name your gun son, shoot your shot.
Everybody wants to be the man at the top.
Say right now (all right). say yeah now (oh yeah)
Say right...whos the man at the top?
Whos the man at the top, now?

song performed by Bruce Springsteen
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

IV. Tertium Quid

True, Excellency—as his Highness says,
Though she's not dead yet, she's as good as stretched
Symmetrical beside the other two;
Though he's not judged yet, he's the same as judged,
So do the facts abound and superabound:
And nothing hinders that we lift the case
Out of the shade into the shine, allow
Qualified persons to pronounce at last,
Nay, edge in an authoritative word
Between this rabble's-brabble of dolts and fools
Who make up reasonless unreasoning Rome.
"Now for the Trial!" they roar: "the Trial to test
"The truth, weigh husband and weigh wife alike
"I' the scales of law, make one scale kick the beam!"
Law's a machine from which, to please the mob,
Truth the divinity must needs descend
And clear things at the play's fifth act—aha!
Hammer into their noddles who was who
And what was what. I tell the simpletons
"Could law be competent to such a feat
"'T were done already: what begins next week
"Is end o' the Trial, last link of a chain
"Whereof the first was forged three years ago
"When law addressed herself to set wrong right,
"And proved so slow in taking the first step
"That ever some new grievance,—tort, retort,
"On one or the other side,—o'ertook i' the game,
"Retarded sentence, till this deed of death
"Is thrown in, as it were, last bale to boat
"Crammed to the edge with cargo—or passengers?
"'Trecentos inseris: ohe, jam satis est!
"'Huc appelle!'—passengers, the word must be."
Long since, the boat was loaded to my eyes.
To hear the rabble and brabble, you'd call the case
Fused and confused past human finding out.
One calls the square round, t' other the round square—
And pardonably in that first surprise
O' the blood that fell and splashed the diagram:
But now we've used our eyes to the violent hue
Can't we look through the crimson and trace lines?
It makes a man despair of history,
Eusebius and the established fact—fig's end!
Oh, give the fools their Trial, rattle away
With the leash of lawyers, two on either side—
One barks, one bites,—Masters Arcangeli
And Spreti,—that's the husband's ultimate hope
Against the Fisc and the other kind of Fisc,
Bound to do barking for the wife: bow—wow!
Why, Excellency, we and his Highness here
Would settle the matter as sufficiently

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

IX. Juris Doctor Johannes-Baptista Bottinius, Fisci et Rev. Cam. Apostol. Advocatus

Had I God's leave, how I would alter things!
If I might read instead of print my speech,—
Ay, and enliven speech with many a flower
Refuses obstinate to blow in print,
As wildings planted in a prim parterre,—
This scurvy room were turned an immense hall;
Opposite, fifty judges in a row;
This side and that of me, for audience—Rome:
And, where yon window is, the Pope should hide—
Watch, curtained, but peep visibly enough.
A buzz of expectation! Through the crowd,
Jingling his chain and stumping with his staff,
Up comes an usher, louts him low, "The Court
"Requires the allocution of the Fisc!"
I rise, I bend, I look about me, pause
O'er the hushed multitude: I count—One, two—

Have ye seen, Judges, have ye, lights of law,—
When it may hap some painter, much in vogue
Throughout our city nutritive of arts,
Ye summon to a task shall test his worth,
And manufacture, as he knows and can,
A work may decorate a palace-wall,
Afford my lords their Holy Family,—
Hath it escaped the acumen of the Court
How such a painter sets himself to paint?
Suppose that Joseph, Mary and her Babe
A-journeying to Egypt, prove the piece:
Why, first he sedulously practiseth,
This painter,—girding loin and lighting lamp,—
On what may nourish eye, make facile hand;
Getteth him studies (styled by draughtsmen so)
From some assistant corpse of Jew or Turk
Or, haply, Molinist, he cuts and carves,—
This Luca or this Carlo or the like.
To him the bones their inmost secret yield,
Each notch and nodule signify their use:
On him the muscles turn, in triple tier,
And pleasantly entreat the entrusted man
"Familiarize thee with our play that lifts
"Thus, and thus lowers again, leg, arm and foot!"
—Ensuring due correctness in the nude.
Which done, is all done? Not a whit, ye know!
He,—to art's surface rising from her depth,—
If some flax-polled soft-bearded sire be found,
May simulate a Joseph, (happy chance!)—
Limneth exact each wrinkle of the brow,
Loseth no involution, cheek or chap,
Till lo, in black and white, the senior lives!
Is it a young and comely peasant-nurse

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!