Budgets Kill

Blue eyes sunk in a worried face,

dim with the ache of hunger,

closing to hide the horror of

cruelty in power and control.

——

Brown ones too in the faces

of children understanding 

that they are voiceless and

that loving adults voted for

—–

this annihilation, bold policies

that take their food, warmth,

their schools, jobs and hope

and create fat cats, and pigs

—–

that grunt and snuffle in the

decaying detritus of their 

lost lives,  painting with

their blood an enthralling

—–

idyllic picture of a trickling

stream of quickening money 

but block it, subvert it, to sell 

the oppressed for a fevered

—-

obsession with giving money, 

and more money, and misery 

money, for fancy, future jobs 

to their backers and bankers;

——-

who invite them to parties where

the poor are absent, the climate

crisis is chalked over and the

opposition groans and fights

——-

each other, while the despot

in Number 10 has easy days,

creating her queenly kingdom

where only the elite live well. 

Do they even care?

Sewage on our beaches

government beyond our reaches,

history did not teach us

and now they cling like leeches,

—-

feeding off the poor, 

slamming shut the door,

hunger comes with a roar

and they say they’re sticking to the law.

Crisis costs will rise, 

Will they hear the dying sighs?

Will they finally raise their eyes?

And free them from wealthy ties.

—-

Money goes into their coffers,

and kindness will make offers

of tins, beans, tea against the scoffers

and cars driven by chauffeurs.

—–

Shivering inside from all ills,

chemist can’t get the right pills.

Climate crisis worsens and kills.

Who can save us from their selfish wills?

Poverty and Wealth 2022 style

Gaunt faces, Belsen like, shivering in Oxam coats 

and parcels of food in Red Cross Boxes,

schools struggling to open, free dinners lost

and hospitals stretched, homes wrecked and

breaking, while the MPs and corporations 

sit

counting their profits and refusing to see

the results of rabid greed and sleep easy 

in their clean warm beds.

Ruinous Governments

Its a war on words and ideas that are just,

they make a pact and renegade on the fact 

that you agreed their wielded written word’s;

scorn you and laugh at your confusion and plot

your demise, descending hope falls broken,

and to cope is through tears, heartbreak

and blood shed on your doorstep.

——-

Armies muster their support with guns,

governments insist on their inalienable 

rights over your right to free speech, and

the freedom to care for your famished

family, by pushing up profits for profiteers

and making your income shrink as the

companies raise prices but pay petty tax.

——

There is a whisper that things might be

improving, so that we accept their disdain

and even tolerate their lie infested talk,

We walk an ever decreasing circle of

fascist dictatorships and the liberal loss

of our democracies, having  ignored

the prophets with their scary prophecies.

Fascism

Generations crippled and controlled,

controversially, cruel governments 

count the dead and silence the poor;

while the elite count their moneys

and parade themselves fortuitously

in roles designating fearful fascism.

Comprehensibly overtaking press and

media manipulating and monitoring

until the oppressed seek redress.

——

Painfully the demonstrating populace,

face the potential ruinous choice of

punishment, 

to uphold hope in a vote,

to definitely restore a determined 

democracy, replacing the right wing

ruling by a good people; prevailing

and working for the common good.

Coercion and Corruption

Holy Monday

It was riddled with corruption and guilt,

that temple in Jerusalem,

No one could come and feel beloved

excepting the moneyed leadership.

—–

The tables were out and wares bought,

in that holy courtyard,

In poverty they came where exploitation

capitalised on the hungry poor.

—–

Pitiful returns on money exchanged,

and the costs of doves were high,

seeking redemption they paid it all,

to appease the law.

—-

He walked in and saw the oppression,

in a place that was holy,

he felt their pain, saw the cheating

and stood for truth that day.

—–

He overset the tables, loosed the doves

in his rage at the injustice.

Breathing hard he spoke the word –

this is a place of prayer.

—–

The temple curtain trembled and shook,

while people flocked to see,

the gentle, healing man, zealous for action

fighting for grace and love.

——

The stones in the courtyard,

besmeared and trodden,

looked up and praised

that awesome judgement.

——

The great blocks of stone, in

the sturdy temple walls,

shouted for equality and opportunity

to be shared for all.

——

The dust settled, shock waves at peace,

he looked up and wept for the many

who always die contributing to 

corruption and coercion.

The Poor paying for the Rich

He looked into his wallet and then into the face of his children.

Oliver looked out from their faces, thinned and paled by hunger,

Their sad eyes looked at  under woolly hats and coat covered arm hugs.

His eyes watered and his empty belly grumbled as he opened

the last dull can of beans, cut the crust of curling bread into two,

watched the food disappear into hungry mouths opened like nesting chicks.

Not far away, plates were full with succulent salmon, rare steak, 

beef, chicken  vegetables, fried potatoes and mashed spuds, followed

by golden custard, french named cakes, apple pies and salted chocolate ices.

—-

Somewhere a mother scraped small crumbs from her sons bowl, sucking

them from the poor plastic spoon. In her head imagining the eggs tomorrow,

when the reduced Universal credit arrived, a meal, heat, then rancid bin search.

Not far away, a kitchen door ajar, while out of date food is thrown away,

in the waste; while far away, the icy hearted are having a party at number 10,

half eaten rich food slipped in a bin. They take from the poor to give to the rich.

—-

Clean, loved children crying themselves to sleep, hunger gnawing at their vitals,

holding onto the hope for tomorrow they’d be in heaven, food galore at the FoodBank,

bringing home food in plenty to be eked slowly to cover the schoolless, foodless weeks.

Miles away lives a callous rich man who can choose to give them enough or kill

them slowly by starvation and a rich woman minister who chooses to treat them as 

alien pariahs, ignores the council of the wise, ignores deadly hunger, abuse and trafficking.

—–

Truth may come, but already the lies hold sway, the government culled the media.

So, how will the hungry children have their voices heard? The starving, the weakened

the oppressed, hidden from sight, are crying out, lost in the lies trumpeted out by Tory press.

======

Yes, minister, the numbers in poverty are atrocious 

but we are doing what we can, watch us.

We’ve paid the rich and they are wealthy too. 

Tis tricky, the trickle down effect?

‘It won’t.’ A lie from long ago. 

The poor are always with us – but they

don’t

donate

to

our

party.

Feed the Rich and starve the Poor.

He looked into his wallet and then into the face of his children.

Oliver looked out from their faces, thinned and paled by hunger,

Their sad eyes looked at him as they hugged each other for warmth.

—-

His eyes watered and his empty belly grumbled as he opened

the last dull can of beans, cut the crust of curling bread into two 

and watched the food disappear into their mouths, every dry crumb.

—–

Not far away, plates were full with succulent salmon, rare steak, 

beef, chicken  vegetables, fried potatoes and mashed spuds, gravy

and there would be golden custard, pies, cakes, salted chocolate ices.

—-

She scraped the lot of the crumbs from her sons bowl and sucked 

them from the plastic spoon. She would eat tomorrow when the meagre,

mean Universal credit arrived, just the once and search rancid bins to survive.

—-

Not far away, a kitchen door ajar, while out of date food is thrown away,

in the waste; while far away, somewhere they’re having a party at number 10,

half eaten food slipped into the trash, where its taken from the poor to give to the rich.

—–

Two cleanly washed children trying to sleep while hunger gnawed at their vitals,

too tired to cry, but holding onto the hope for tomorrow they’d go to the FoodBank,

bringing home food in plenty to be eked slowly to cover the schoolless free food weeks.

—-

A few miles away lives a rich man who can choose to give them enough or kill

them slowly by starvation.  A rich woman minister who chooses to treat them as 

alien pariahs has people shopping for her and ignores the cries. and has food to spare.

—–

Truth may come, but already the lies hold sway, the government culled the media.

So, how will the hungry children have their voices heard? The starving, weakened

oppressed, hidden from sight, are crying out. Their shouts trumpeted out by Tory press.

——

Yes, minister, the numbers in poverty are atrocious but we are doing what we can,

We’ve paid the rich and made them very wealthy and wait for it to trickle its way down,

‘It won’t.’ We made that lie up a long time ago. The poor will always be with us but they

don’t donate

to our

party.

The Secret Power.

They met in secret, stealthily straining at gnats

to be sure that they would never be restraining

their wealth and never permit the poor to speak.

They’re busily retraining multiple ministers so

they would be refraining from supporting needy

people for that was to go against their reigning.

Teaching then to be disdaining of the protesters

and binding them in law, in statutes to silence,

and stop them staining an ordered fascist land.

They sit in power, chaining the hands of those

who dare and draining the hope of the refugee,

and sending them home to violence and death.

—–

Who gives them the power that they take?

Who allows them to be always on the make?

Governments and leaders feigning innocence.


He sits and smirks as they pat his obedience for 

caning a waning economy; like a smiling nanny 

seeing a pretty child, posing for their parents.

Christmas, what’s the point?

The lonely are lonelier,

the poor – even poorer,

the weak are slowly weaker,

the spoiled are so spoiled.

And there is a place

where you are either

outside or in. And no-

one asks you to enter.

—–

The sad are even sadder,

the glad somewhat gladder,

the fearful – more fearing.

The workers – hard working

and there is a place

where feet are on the rest,

food is served to the best,

And joy is an Offshore Bank account.

——-

Bastard! they called him,

born in squalor they said,

cuckolded his father she did,

and then he ditched them and

rebelled against their traditions,

Legalism and tyranny.     Instead,

He loved the sick into health,

gave sight to the blind,

restored the dead to life,

and hatred heartened them.

——–

Captured him, killed him quick,

denied him a future. Just to stop

the rot.   Tortured by lash.

Crucified,  Christ on a tree,

They tried to rub him from 

history but love rebounds,

restores and reconciles.

——-

Love gives the weak strength,

Love will feed the hungry,

Love befriends the lonely.

Love cares with the fearful,

Weeps with the tearful, and

Somewhere He is celebrated

still.  His sacrificial love 

flows and received heartens

and always a reason for joy.

——————————————-

Nadolig Llawen, Happy Christmas, Feliz Navidad, Joyeux Noel Frohe Weihnachten, 圣诞快乐, חג מולד שמח, Gëzuar Krishtlindjet, Ikrisimusi emyoli, ハッピークリスマス, Счастливого Рождества, Καλά Χριστούγεννα