"Wealth consists not in having great possessions, but in having few wants"--Epictetus
"To be wealthy and honored in an unjust society is a disgrace"--Confucius
"Resolve not to be poor: whatever you have, spend less. Poverty is a great enemy to human happiness; it certainly destroys liberty, and it makes some virtues impracticable, and others extremely difficult."--Samuel Johnson
"I would like to live as a poor man with lots of money."--Pablo Picasso
"You may have tangible wealth untold; caskets of jewels and coffers of gold.
Richer than I you can never be, I had a mother who read to me."--Strickland Gillian
Midweek Motif ~ Wealth
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| Child Plutus, Greek god of Wealth) |
"To be wealthy and honored in an unjust society is a disgrace"--Confucius
"Resolve not to be poor: whatever you have, spend less. Poverty is a great enemy to human happiness; it certainly destroys liberty, and it makes some virtues impracticable, and others extremely difficult."--Samuel Johnson
"I would like to live as a poor man with lots of money."--Pablo Picasso
"You may have tangible wealth untold; caskets of jewels and coffers of gold.
Richer than I you can never be, I had a mother who read to me."--Strickland Gillian
Midweek Motif ~ Wealth
Many people, the sensitive ones particularly, poets for example, have
faith in this quote: If you want to feel rich, just count all the things you
have that money can’t buy.
Yes it’s wonderful to have treasures that do not cost anything.
The word Wealth has a broad spectrum and varied meanings.
F.A.Walker specifies, "Wealth comprises all articles of value and nothing else", while The American heritage of Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition defines wealth as "the state of being rich and affluent; having a plentiful supply of material goods and money".
The subject of Wealth is today's topic: whatever wealth means to us.
Wealth
By Langston Hughes
From Christ to Ghandi
Appears this truth-St. Francis of AssisiProves it, too:Goodness becomes grandeurSurpassing might of kings.Halos of kindnessBrighter shineThan crowns of gold,And brighterThan rich diamondsSparkles The simple dewOf loveThe Moment
By Margaret Atwood
The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,
is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can't breathe.
No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,
is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can't breathe.
No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.
Weekend Glory
By
Maya Angelou
Some clichty folks
don't know the facts,
posin' and preenin'
and puttin' on acts,
stretchin' their backs.
They move into condos
up over the ranks,
pawn their souls
to the local banks.
Buying big cars
they can't afford,
ridin' around town
actin' bored.
If they want to learn how to live life right
they ought to study me on Saturday night.
My job at the plant
ain't the biggest bet,
but I pay my bills
and stay out of debt.
I get my hair done
for my own self's sake,
so I don't have to pick
and I don't have to rake.
Take the church money out
and head cross town
to my friend girl's house
where we plan our round.
We meet our men and go to a joint
where the music is blue
and to the point.
Folks write about me.
They just can't see
how I work all week
at the factory.
Then get spruced up
and laugh and dance
And turn away from worry
with sassy glance.
They accuse me of livin'
from day to day,
but who are they kiddin'?
So are they.
My life ain't heaven
but it sure ain't hell.
I'm not on top
but I call it swell
if I'm able to work
and get paid right
and have the luck to be Black
on a Saturday night.
Blood Money
By
Syl Cheney-Coker
Along the route of this river,
with a little luck, we shall chance upon
our brothers' fortune, hidden with that cold smile
reserved for discreet bankers unmindful of the hydra
growing fiery mornings from our discontent
Wealth was always fashionable, telluric,
not honor pristine and profound.
In blasphemous glee, they raise to God's lips
those cups filled with ethnic offerings
that saps the blood of all human good.
Having no other country to call my own
except for this one full of pine needles
on which we nail our children's lives,
I have put off examining this skull,
savage harvest, the swollen earth,
until that day when, all God's children,
we shall plant a eureka supported by a blood knot.
And remorse not being theirs to feel,
I offer an inventory of abuse by these men,
with this wretched earth on my palms,
so as to remind them of our stilted growth
the length of a cutlass, or if you prefer
the size of our burnt-out brotherhood.
Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below and visit others in the spirit of the community.
(Next week Susan's Midweek Motif will be ~ Conversation )
