Short Pauper Poems

Barfly Gallops~
sightless old Pauper
Plops hugely...

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Death ,the ultimate leveler - king and pauper,both lie six feet under...

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Pauper’s wealth
is in rich man’s wallet
pauper’s plate of food	
lies in rich man’s table...

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born in the palace
fathered by pauper
sired in the bush
conceived in labs
babies are babies...

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Age is taking its toll I find
It's unavoidable no matter how refined
King or pauper
Rich man's daughter
Depends if the cheque is good you signed...

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It is what it seems - 
Another boy's dreams
Of Ronaldo fame.
His shirt is a shame,
His goal is the same -
True love for the game.

March 16, 2021...

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an adventure every day
I can choose princess or pauper
writing my story as I create it
my ideas
my ideals
my beliefs
my attitudes
my choices
I choose princess...

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Grasshopper in boiling pot
Wild wolf in boiling furnace

Pauper in king’s palace
Rich man in pauper’s hut

Devil queen in God’s kingdom
Holy Angel in devil’s palace...

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The poet is a lonely heart
A beggar with a clue
A pauper with a portly point of view
He joins the feast without a beast
To pick a bone or two
And yet his plate is full when he is through....

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Òpression of the pauper poor,
By Class distinctions paltry whore,
The would be super-rich,
Step on the downtrodden quick,
Think they are better for,
Pathetic is their pitch.

Don Johnson...

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There was a man
tormented,
abandoned...
He had no friends,
only flatterers...
He was so poor,
but so pauper,
that nothing had...
There was nothing, in fact he only had
  silver, gold, and  cash...!...

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he spent his whole life
poisoned by cupidity...
yet died a pauper


14.07.19

'Senryu About Greed, Lust Or Loss. Poetry Contest' sponsored by Tania Kitchin

syllable count checked by ear and PS syllable counter...

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No matter how famous we become or what we achieve
We all meet the same fate, no one gets a reprieve
Be they, king or pauper
Or some rich man's daughter
We're all gone and forgotten when we finally take leave...

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No matter how famous we become or what we achieve
We all meet the same fate, we don't get no reprieve
Be they king or pauper
Or some rich man's daughter
We're all gone and forgotten when we finally take leave...

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Chantaclair
From the pleasure garden,
  came the grape to ferment the vintage,
        loved by pauper poet, saint, or sage.
Taste so sweet with just a hint of bite,
    nectar of the gods,
        but a single bottle survives, Chantaclair....

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upstairs window
the fields looking as
covered with snow in the night
thinking of all and nothing
but the moonlit fields

my zen books,
peter pauper press editions,
yellow with age now
showing my steadfast love
for no-mind even now...

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Tears

Roll

Gently

My heart cries

As it dies once more

My arms go limp as you break free

Standing alone with memories and a broken heart

I am lost, a pauper without a grave, doing time waiting for Him to call me home...

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They
cut up
the common,
enclosed the heath
and
made
the land
all their own-
putting to the
plough-
once 
freemen,
then wage slaves-
as a pauper
lie.

For more on the English enclosure please read
Oliver Golssmith's 'The Deserted Village' or John Clare/William Barnes poetry...

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It is better to be a pauper in paradise
Than a hero in chaos,
For a pauper in paradise can still
Partake in plentiful simple pleasures,
Yet a hero in chaos is neither free
From untimely death nor above the
Corrosive attrition that fear begets.


All rights released into Public Domain...

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My name is Stephen King, it is really
Like the famous horror author 
Though more good looking than he is
He is comfortably rich I’m only a pauper.

Nehpets Gnik is my username on here
I could not declare my real name
For I am humbled to share it with him
Comparing my work with his put me to shame....

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A pauper begs at the town gate
and sets, each day, a date with fate.
He harbours dreams where riches flow
but morning finds him on skid row.

------------------------------------------  

Killing With an Epigram Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Margarita Lillico
    Placed 2nd
28th April, 2022...

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Love and life ,now lost in time .
Deluded dreams that drive the hope .
When meaningful moments marched in rhyme
For pauper,priest ,Prince and Pope .
Sceptics scan each scrap of news
With time and tide precision tools ,
Where visionaries vent their victory views.
For friend and foe's forgiving fools ....

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A grain of truth, 
the grit of life, 
the pauper, a richman,
who knows of strife.
An incoming tide, an
outgoing train, leaving
or arriving, it’s all the same.
Strive if you must with
might and main, 
to live,
to die or gain.
For fate has its say, 
gives of its time,
some luck
and sometimes a prize....

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I’m a Nobody -- 
at my best I serve
as conduit, a vessel
that God may fill 
to overflow, pouring
out His wisdom and
Love -- 

Forgotten my lovely
poem a week after,
what will the world
think of me, a year after
I am gone?

To live one’s poetry
is to die a pauper

To live one’s Faith

Is not to care…....

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Esther sings 
Through an overbite smile 
Each quivering note 
Cut
Into precious stones 
That ripple the audible calm
Staccato stones
Skipping in the wake
Of
The coarsing passage
Those double crossing blues 
Did lay
Pauper to grave
But her quivering stones 
Ripple through ardent ears
Double crossing 
The passage 
Of time....

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