|Best Poems About / On POVERTY
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 wont 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'
Read more poems from Helen Warren >>>
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 fathers sacred baseball kit
In exchange for his love, his passion-
Always under the oak tree the orphan sat
Harmonizing the strings
Using his fathers 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
Read more poems from Osagie Isiramen >>>
The World's One Hundred Wealthiest
The World's many billion people controlled by the greedy few
But to every billionaire there is there are a million who
Go to sleep weak and hungry their wasted bodies thin
For days they have not eaten their bones showing through
The world's one hundred wealthiest people their names published today
And yet the poor grow poorer it has always been this way
And the social gap keeps widening and with it inequality
And not far from where the wealthy live there's want and poverty.
Not far from where the wealthy live you see social decay
The slums that reek of poverty the buildings old and gray
The sad faced mother of the slums her kids out of control
Her husband in jail for larceny and she is on the dole.
Of the world's one hundred wealthiest people why should I wish to know?
When poverty is rampant and the numbers of the hungry grow
If the world's wealthiest person Bill Gates fed the hungry of Sudan
I too would sing his praises and I'd say what a man.
The world's weaalthiest people their names published today
But not too far from where they live there is social decay
And that they are worth billions show how greedy they must be
When millions of poor people must live in poverty.
Read more poems from Francis Duggan >>>
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.
Read more poems from Francis Duggan >>>