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Poems On / About POVERTY  9/23/2014 5:20:33 AM
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Best Poems About / On POVERTY
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Because Of Us

We will never defeat the terrorists with our oppressive laws
We will only defeat terrorism by fighting it's root cause
What are we doing one well might ask to alleviate poverty
In war torn and Third World Countries? not much if you ask me.

Because of us thousands of innocents in New York and Washington have died
And because of us so many dreams of life have been destroyed
And because of us in Afghanistan suffering and death dropped from the night sky
Those who say we are the good guys even believe their own lie.

And because of us in Iraq there is fear and death and pain
Far worse than the worst suffering inflicted on his people by the deposed despot Saddam Hussein
And since the Gulf war more than a million Iraqi citizens have met with a premature and tragic end
And why should they wish to believe us when we tell them we're their friend.

In a World where there is so much poverty terrorism will abound
For places of suffering and poverty are to the terrorists breeding ground
If we put as much effort into combating poverty as fighting terrorists then terrorism would subside
And people would live in harmony and peace would be Worldwide.

For the wars and deaths and suffering the terrorists we'll blame
But we ourselves not innocent we too play the dirty game
The game that causes grief and heartbreak they call it Us and They
But one man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter at least that's what they say.

Because of us there are refugees and these poor people we demonize
And that they do not seem to like us comes to us as a surprise
And because of us and because of them there is only hell to pay
And that beautiful rose the Rose of Peace is withering to decay.
Francis Duggan

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Tony Abbott's Invitation

Politician Tony Abbott in the paper crying poor
Saying his family can't take the effects of his pay cut anymore
He still earns more in one day than I do in 26 weeks
Doesn't he think of our farmers while his gives this 'poverty' speech?
His concept of poverty reads like a comedy
Can't he hear his arrogance as he's speaking?
His 'poverty' to others is the life of a king
I invite Tony Abbott to come and live on my pay
He wouldn't survive 'till the end of Monday
Come and see what an empty fridge means
Learn a baked meal is just a can of baked beans
Come be someone who won’t own real estate
When he's got a tooth ache, how long does he wait?
Does he pain with hunger as he sells his body to pay rent?
His children getting sicker because the medicine money is spent?
Tony Abbott I challenge you today
To come and live three whole months on my pay
Go work a five day week and earn the same as me
Then come back and talk about your poverty
I invite Tony Abbot to come and live on my pay
He wouldn't survive ‘till the end of Monday
Can you see the headline on the newspaper page?
'Abbott goes postal raising family on 'low' wage'
Helen Warren

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The Death of Poverty

He was born like that
He was born into poverty
And his parent spoke it religiously to his ears
That this chain must be broken
Broken by work, work and nothing but hard work

His parent worked till their dying day
Only to still remain in chain
Fetters fatter and more stubborn with age
With determination he set out in rage
Bearing the pain, shame, hunger, and inhumanity
That the rich dream must become reality

Now, he is old, looking at then and now
The faded colour of poverty still painted today
And it will surely coat tomorrow
In this thought he was lost
Not knowing when he wandered to the edge
The neighbourhood of the dark one in black hood
He was seized by the neck and ceased

His orphaned son decided to be himself unlike his father
Or his strict grandparent of no par
The best singing couple our church ever had
But an ability self labeled vice they never shared
Not even among factory brethren with whom they worked hard

The orphaned son took to the pun shop
His father’s sacred baseball kit
In exchange for his love, his passion-
A guitar

Always under the oak tree the orphan sat
Harmonizing the strings
Using his father’s words as a song:
“Of how he was the best bat man in town
But the game he loved so much
He had to quit
For it was but a lure
Away from his purposeful journey
In the combat to kill poverty”

As the orphan sang, playing guitar one day
Soaring in the clouds of rhythm
A Cadillac had since stopped by
The occupant arrayed in fine fabric
Nodding with misty eyes
Wondering why a talent as this
Should waste away
He resolved in his heart to take him away

The orphan is no longer with us
In the reality of his dead fathers
But he now lives in their dream
Where the bed is neat and soft
Allowing only dreams that are sweet
In a place where the bread is fresh
And the meat is tender

We see the orphan now mostly on television
In a life that was his fathers’ vision
Of when the fetters of poverty would be broken
But he never did despite backbreaking work
But the orphan did it
Not by profuse sweat
Rather by love and passion
In sharing with others his GOD given mission
Of how to harmonize strings
And breathing rhythm from his vocal cord
Osagie Isiramen

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The Parable of a good yellow Man

one time in the land of poverty and starvation
where hunger loomed like the spirit of God,
Even Itself starved itself often on the thin vials
of the black stomachs, colonies and esophagus,
of these poverty crashed men and women
denizens of this land ever wondered why,
hunger and challenges where their stuff?
they had nothing at all to stake the selves,
mothers were beggars as fathers did,
pangs of hunger even made them dark
in their skins with excess melanin,
These conditions made their foster mother
to yap her white beak cacophonously,
in the ecstatic syndrome of colonial glory
she was happy as they suffered, day in and day out,
she even made the possibility food
for these foster children of hers an illusion,
she forced them to speak her tongue
as a magical secret to have enough food
they tried the tongue but they could not make it
because prime motive was colonial tricks,
not salvage of any standard nor measure,
the foster mother came again with a new ploy,
that she could give them food or Ebola drugs
if only their men had to marry fellow men
and their women must marry fellow women,
they tried and they shrank in numbers
a new opportunity for the foster mother
to become metaphysically a colonial mother,
Only to loot the minerals, wood, land and slaves
slaves taken on vicious green card lottery boat,
then their chanced a yellow man, but not as foolish
as the one Dalai Lama, the poet of prolixity
He empathized with the black poverty,
he felt for the Nation of this beggars,
he cried Woooooo! these people are suffering!
This poverty is pathetic and sorriest!
he took all the Ebola patients and hunger victims
to the herbal medical clinic nearby
He also gave the beggars of that nation
iron horses on which they ride as they beg
hence the saying that; Behold the last wonder,
kings are walking of food and slaves riding
kingly horses.
alexander opicho

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Poems On / About POVERTY