So that’s why I’m on the beer this morning,
Last night I had nowhere to sleep,
Rough and ragged on a hard park bench,
The stars and the cold are the usual company I keep,
So that’s why it’s beer and oblivion for breakfast
As a salve for my lost soul’s pain,
In an existence where there’s little hope or dignity,
Only crushed, empty cans on the ground remain.
Diane Scantlebury
Showing posts with label Poverty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poverty. Show all posts
Scratch Card Heaven - Donald Keyman
Give us this day our daily bread
So that we can give it all to Super Fred
We'll take it wholemeal or unleavened, 'cos
We're living in a scratch card heaven
Take the widow's final mite
So that maybe the widow might
Win 5 grand or maybe 7, 'cos
She's living in a scratch card heaven
This then is the poverty trap
Why earn more just to pay it back
She needs some cash for baby Kevin
Born into a scratch card heaven
The cardboard carpet at her feet is
Made of hopes the gamble didn't meet
Some will win but she will never
Escape the hell of scratch card heaven
Her sad addiction is filling up the pot
There's 9 million reasons why it won't stop
A balanced budget is where we're heading
Using the manna from scratch card heaven
Donald Keyman
The Eubank - J Edgar
A fine invention was the Eubank:
neither a Hoover nor brush.
All you had to do was push
though it hardly lifted any rubbish, to be frank.
Charities know that trick.
They assure us, every donation
helps end illness and starvation
but little really changes for the hungry or the sick.
J Edgar
neither a Hoover nor brush.
All you had to do was push
though it hardly lifted any rubbish, to be frank.
Charities know that trick.
They assure us, every donation
helps end illness and starvation
but little really changes for the hungry or the sick.
J Edgar
Falling Through the Cracks - Diane Scantlebury
Today I saw a hungry man steal food
But I turned a blind eye,
As I opened the shop door to the street
He rushed past and stepped out,
Clutching the carton to his chest
Cradling it as if it were
A precious baby,
It happened in a fraction of a moment
So, was I complicit in his crime?
Surely the travesty was that he should need
To carry out this desperate act,
Whereas I had the luxury
Of choosing what I fancied,
How had he fallen so easily
Through the cracks of life’s pavement?
Diane Scantlebury
But I turned a blind eye,
As I opened the shop door to the street
He rushed past and stepped out,
Clutching the carton to his chest
Cradling it as if it were
A precious baby,
It happened in a fraction of a moment
So, was I complicit in his crime?
Surely the travesty was that he should need
To carry out this desperate act,
Whereas I had the luxury
Of choosing what I fancied,
How had he fallen so easily
Through the cracks of life’s pavement?
Diane Scantlebury
Street Man - John E Blaise
He’s stretched out amongst broken bin sacks
Waiting for early morning collection.
Lost, dazed, incoherent, vomit on his mac,
Fumbling round his makeshift bed with some affection
You could plant seeds under his dirty finger nails,
Never been manicured just torn and split
Ragged trousers smothered in shit.
A spiritual man in more ways than one
Waiting for the next drink to come
Broken home, abused as a child,
Smashed windows, always wild
Borstal care, corrective institutions
Prison punishment, no method in the madness
Whole life filled with utter sadness.
At last he waits with a tinder dry throat
Steals his first drink from a passing milk float
Stretches, staggers, belches and gives a yawn
City street cleaners tell him it’s dawn,
Walks past every hostel, way past salvation
Heads towards warmth, the underground station
Sits in a corner away from public eyes,
Eats from a discarded bag of French fries
Searches for cardboard to build his new home
In the crowded city, he’s always alone.
John E Blaise
Waiting for early morning collection.
Lost, dazed, incoherent, vomit on his mac,
Fumbling round his makeshift bed with some affection
You could plant seeds under his dirty finger nails,
Never been manicured just torn and split
Ragged trousers smothered in shit.
A spiritual man in more ways than one
Waiting for the next drink to come
Broken home, abused as a child,
Smashed windows, always wild
Borstal care, corrective institutions
Prison punishment, no method in the madness
Whole life filled with utter sadness.
At last he waits with a tinder dry throat
Steals his first drink from a passing milk float
Stretches, staggers, belches and gives a yawn
City street cleaners tell him it’s dawn,
Walks past every hostel, way past salvation
Heads towards warmth, the underground station
Sits in a corner away from public eyes,
Eats from a discarded bag of French fries
Searches for cardboard to build his new home
In the crowded city, he’s always alone.
John E Blaise
Christmas - John E Blaise
Christmas time,
agnostics are attracted to the church.
The spiritual quietness at this Holy time of year,
And all the religious imagery of Christmas;
In the bleak mid winter,
Carols, choirs, Jesus, Mary and Joseph
Cattle lowing, wise men, Angels and shepherds fear,
Then there has to be deep crisp snow
Large Christmas trees with flashing fairy lights,
Blazing log fires, holly wreaths and mistletoe,
A happy jovial plump Santa Claus.
Children shouting, screaming, easy to excite
Ready to open their bulging sacks of toys.
Tables laden with mountains of food
And happy, warm inside, that's how we are supposed to feel.
But let’s get down to earth, let’s get real.
Weathers always mild, damp, usually drizzle.
Christmas starts in mid October ends in January
I've spent ten pounds on Peter only eight on Paul
What do I buy to make up the shortfall.
Shocked to receive cards from friends long forgotten.
The hypocrisy of smiling, eating with people you loathe.
How may people actually enjoy Christmas day?
Tired from over indulgence, financially ruined.
The average person just plain poor
Exploited by the blatant greed of shops and stores.
Yet we still celebrate oblivious of any other nation.
As though Christmas is the same the whole world over.
Just pause for one second or even a minute
While the small children amuse themselves with the wrapping paper
Forgetting the toy inside the parcel.
Think of the starving hungry child
Abroad and then on our doorsteps.
People who can never seek sanctuary, peace of mind.
The old, the frail, the sick, the lonely.
People who dread the mere mention of Christmas
And even the birth of Christ.
Say a prayer for all of them.
John E Blaise
agnostics are attracted to the church.
The spiritual quietness at this Holy time of year,
And all the religious imagery of Christmas;
In the bleak mid winter,
Carols, choirs, Jesus, Mary and Joseph
Cattle lowing, wise men, Angels and shepherds fear,
Then there has to be deep crisp snow
Large Christmas trees with flashing fairy lights,
Blazing log fires, holly wreaths and mistletoe,
A happy jovial plump Santa Claus.
Children shouting, screaming, easy to excite
Ready to open their bulging sacks of toys.
Tables laden with mountains of food
And happy, warm inside, that's how we are supposed to feel.
But let’s get down to earth, let’s get real.
Weathers always mild, damp, usually drizzle.
Christmas starts in mid October ends in January
I've spent ten pounds on Peter only eight on Paul
What do I buy to make up the shortfall.
Shocked to receive cards from friends long forgotten.
The hypocrisy of smiling, eating with people you loathe.
How may people actually enjoy Christmas day?
Tired from over indulgence, financially ruined.
The average person just plain poor
Exploited by the blatant greed of shops and stores.
Yet we still celebrate oblivious of any other nation.
As though Christmas is the same the whole world over.
Just pause for one second or even a minute
While the small children amuse themselves with the wrapping paper
Forgetting the toy inside the parcel.
Think of the starving hungry child
Abroad and then on our doorsteps.
People who can never seek sanctuary, peace of mind.
The old, the frail, the sick, the lonely.
People who dread the mere mention of Christmas
And even the birth of Christ.
Say a prayer for all of them.
John E Blaise
A View From My Window In India - Elizabeth Fisher
I look out of my window
And what do I see ?
Poor tiny children in misery.
Rags and tags,
Hands begging, eyes emploring,
Please give me a chipati
I need it, I'm starving.
You promise tomorrow
Yesterdayis a word forgotten and never spoken.
These poor little children a rag for a bed.
The sky is illuminous,
Bright orange the sun,
The palaces and beauty surround everyone.
The contrast of beauty and ugliness is rife,
This is India the reality of life.
Elizabeth Fisher
And what do I see ?
Poor tiny children in misery.
Rags and tags,
Hands begging, eyes emploring,
Please give me a chipati
I need it, I'm starving.
You promise tomorrow
Yesterdayis a word forgotten and never spoken.
These poor little children a rag for a bed.
The sky is illuminous,
Bright orange the sun,
The palaces and beauty surround everyone.
The contrast of beauty and ugliness is rife,
This is India the reality of life.
Elizabeth Fisher
The Golden Rule - Lyndon Queripel
He who has hold
Of all of the gold
Will make all of the rules
So keep on digging you fools
Keep on digging
Keep on looking for jewels
And blaming your tools
As stubborn as mules
Keep on digging
Keep on swigging from stools
Play your lotteries and pools
Ignore all the ridicules
Keep on digging you fools
Keep on digging
Before there is a tax
On a spade and pickaxe
You can't frigging relax
Keep on digging.
Lyndon Queripel
Of all of the gold
Will make all of the rules
So keep on digging you fools
Keep on digging
Keep on looking for jewels
And blaming your tools
As stubborn as mules
Keep on digging
Keep on swigging from stools
Play your lotteries and pools
Ignore all the ridicules
Keep on digging you fools
Keep on digging
Before there is a tax
On a spade and pickaxe
You can't frigging relax
Keep on digging.
Lyndon Queripel
Someone Who Knows - Stuart Price
How do we feed all the starving people ?
There must be someone who knows
How to end all wars and greed forever
And where all the money goes.....
How do we house all the Homeless
There must be someone who knows
How to cure all pain, loss and sadness,
And show us where happiness flows......
Where are all the doctors for the sick and needy ?
There must be someone who knows
How to lift the barriers between us and Heaven
There must be SOMEONE who knows.......
Stuart Price
There must be someone who knows
How to end all wars and greed forever
And where all the money goes.....
How do we house all the Homeless
There must be someone who knows
How to cure all pain, loss and sadness,
And show us where happiness flows......
Where are all the doctors for the sick and needy ?
There must be someone who knows
How to lift the barriers between us and Heaven
There must be SOMEONE who knows.......
Stuart Price
No Money? No Problem! - Kathy Figueroa
I need a vacation
But don't have a car
Don't have much money
So I can't travel far
Once upon a time
I made a good buck
But things can happen
That change your luck
So, with the sunlight streaming
Through the window pane
Instead of my loss
I'll think of my gain
I'll remember it's good to be here
In my big easy chair
'Cause sometimes it's
Not always comfortable
In that world, out there
If, at faraway places
I still want to look
I'll just stick my nose
In a travel book
I'll save my few dollars
To pay my bills down
If I want to feel like a tourist
I'll wear my sunglasses
When I go shopping, downtown
Maybe I'll stop at a restaurant
To see what they're charging for food
Then go home and make lunch
And feel in a good mood
But not before I pick up a bottle
Of suntan lotion
(If the price is within reach)
Because the fragrance
Reminds me of the ocean
And lounging on the beach
Yes, I can lounge
In my big easy chair
With no worries about sunburn
Or what swimsuit to wear
No money? No problem!
Where there's a will there's a way
Anyone can have a holiday
And the beauty of it is
You don't even have to leave home
So, on that note, I'll end this poem
Kathy Figueroa
But don't have a car
Don't have much money
So I can't travel far
Once upon a time
I made a good buck
But things can happen
That change your luck
So, with the sunlight streaming
Through the window pane
Instead of my loss
I'll think of my gain
I'll remember it's good to be here
In my big easy chair
'Cause sometimes it's
Not always comfortable
In that world, out there
If, at faraway places
I still want to look
I'll just stick my nose
In a travel book
I'll save my few dollars
To pay my bills down
If I want to feel like a tourist
I'll wear my sunglasses
When I go shopping, downtown
Maybe I'll stop at a restaurant
To see what they're charging for food
Then go home and make lunch
And feel in a good mood
But not before I pick up a bottle
Of suntan lotion
(If the price is within reach)
Because the fragrance
Reminds me of the ocean
And lounging on the beach
Yes, I can lounge
In my big easy chair
With no worries about sunburn
Or what swimsuit to wear
No money? No problem!
Where there's a will there's a way
Anyone can have a holiday
And the beauty of it is
You don't even have to leave home
So, on that note, I'll end this poem
Kathy Figueroa
Rags - John E. Blaise
A pile of rags lying in the gutter,
Beside the deserted pavement amongst the debris.
The rags lie motionless amongst the litter,
Greasy, stained rags.
Silent, static, calm.
Surrounded by rubbish, waste encircling the rags,
Coated with filth and grime and dust.
Unnoticed, never given a second glance,
Resting quietly, peacefully in the gutter,
Enclosed covered in dust.
Then very slowly, reluctantly a slight movement,
A stir, a rustle, a sound, a murmur.
Rolling over out of the gutter onto the pavement,
Slowly twisting, turning then shaking.
Rags separating, forming shapes, contours, a figure.
Arms slowly stretching high,hands, fingers, nails,
Legs, feet, toes and rags.
A figure on haunches then stands.
Now erect and straight and still and quivering
They start to rumble along the pavement.
Rags with no face, no features, no hope,
Stumble along towards the pier to the beach.
Stump and clump along the foreshore.
Rags resting amongst the rotting seaweed
Camouflaged, blending, sand, seaweed, flies and rags!
John E. Blaise
Beside the deserted pavement amongst the debris.
The rags lie motionless amongst the litter,
Greasy, stained rags.
Silent, static, calm.
Surrounded by rubbish, waste encircling the rags,
Coated with filth and grime and dust.
Unnoticed, never given a second glance,
Resting quietly, peacefully in the gutter,
Enclosed covered in dust.
Then very slowly, reluctantly a slight movement,
A stir, a rustle, a sound, a murmur.
Rolling over out of the gutter onto the pavement,
Slowly twisting, turning then shaking.
Rags separating, forming shapes, contours, a figure.
Arms slowly stretching high,hands, fingers, nails,
Legs, feet, toes and rags.
A figure on haunches then stands.
Now erect and straight and still and quivering
They start to rumble along the pavement.
Rags with no face, no features, no hope,
Stumble along towards the pier to the beach.
Stump and clump along the foreshore.
Rags resting amongst the rotting seaweed
Camouflaged, blending, sand, seaweed, flies and rags!
John E. Blaise
Hunger Cries-Hunger Dies - Fred Williamson
Barren land, dusty sand.
No rain for years.
Brings cries for help to our ears.
Disease and flies.
Hunger cries.
Hunger dies.
Mothers carry children on their hips.
Dry, cracked, swollen lips.
Walking for days, bleeding feet.
In need of shelter, medicine, water and wheat.
Families weak.
Families weep.
Hunger cries.
Hunger dies.
Losing babies; the old and frail.
Along this hunger trail.
Feed them now.
We must not fail.
We must not fail
Fred Williamson
No rain for years.
Brings cries for help to our ears.
Disease and flies.
Hunger cries.
Hunger dies.
Mothers carry children on their hips.
Dry, cracked, swollen lips.
Walking for days, bleeding feet.
In need of shelter, medicine, water and wheat.
Families weak.
Families weep.
Hunger cries.
Hunger dies.
Losing babies; the old and frail.
Along this hunger trail.
Feed them now.
We must not fail.
We must not fail
Fred Williamson
Loving Mother - Alec Jackson.
The leggy blonde stands outside the pub,
Her glistening peroxide perm quivers, slightly,
A breeze strokes her thighs, a shiver.
She begins, strutting her stuff,
Forward, back,
Back, forward.
Virginal white lace smooths her body, pulled tight; a wonder bra.
Leggings cling, the chalice awaits,
The dowry, dry pleasure,
You know, love stuff,
Forward, back,
Back, forward.
Handbag bulges, a purse, make-up case,
hand mirror, fags, condoms, soap,
A few intimate things,
Photo of her kid,
Strut stuff,
Forward, back,
Back, forward.
Home; she checks her kid, caresses his brow,
hair out of eyes while sleep engulfs,
Purse full of cash, till her pimp comes,
Love, strut your stuff,
Stuff your strut, love.
Forward, back,
Back, forward.
Alec Jackson
Her glistening peroxide perm quivers, slightly,
A breeze strokes her thighs, a shiver.
She begins, strutting her stuff,
Forward, back,
Back, forward.
Virginal white lace smooths her body, pulled tight; a wonder bra.
Leggings cling, the chalice awaits,
The dowry, dry pleasure,
You know, love stuff,
Forward, back,
Back, forward.
Handbag bulges, a purse, make-up case,
hand mirror, fags, condoms, soap,
A few intimate things,
Photo of her kid,
Strut stuff,
Forward, back,
Back, forward.
Home; she checks her kid, caresses his brow,
hair out of eyes while sleep engulfs,
Purse full of cash, till her pimp comes,
Love, strut your stuff,
Stuff your strut, love.
Forward, back,
Back, forward.
Alec Jackson
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