Donald Trump's unleashed a budget
with fanfare great and loud;
And if you helped elect him
you are, no doubt, standing proud.

Such joy and happiness you'll feel
and oh such special thrills,
to find yourself in bankruptcy
from rising healthcare bills.

With public education trashed,
most kids will come out fools,
but so glad for those richer kids
in better, private schools.

No more funding for the arts,
oh what a lovely treat,
to walk past starving artists out
panhandling on your street.

When you drink water from your tap
and start to gag and choke,
be grateful that the E.P.A.
has gone right up in smoke.

If you're old and your Medicaid
won't cover that prescription,
will "Proud to die before my time"
be on your grave's inscription?

So where will all the savings go
from all this cost reduction?
Be thrilled to know it will buy more
weapons of mass destruction;

and it will build a monument
to Trump, so we will see
a massive wall, so broad and tall,
as useless as is he.

Though into pain and suffering
your country will be slidin',
your vote for Trump has given you
a budget you'll take pride in.

You can also see this and my other Trump poems at:
Link to video of this poem:
Written: March 19, 2017
#health   #poverty   #wall   #military   #budget   #spending   #donald   #trump   #cutbacks  
Mar 4

Slaving for wage,
Lungs fired by fags
Crumbled in pockets
Asked for in alleys
And never returned
To people who give
Without question
As their own nation
Shuns them clearly
As their dream beacons
All souls to a new kind
Of slavery, so silky
That oil forgives, oily,
All oppressions black
Endless, perpetual wars
That the slick tongued
Are singing for, more
Deaths in faraway
Places, thirty pieces
Of silver for immortal
Judas, thirsty for bane
Vengeance on innocence
Insanity by a rope on tree
Familiar strangers who hate
Blinded by signs and seals
Corrupted in a makeshift Eden
That they themselves have
Soiled, spoiled, laid barren
By the polluted streams,
In the bigoted townships
Yea, there shall be order
Left off in a barren field
And all shall see my flag
Holey in my tattered jeans.

#sorrow   #america   #poverty   #fable   #elegy   #workers  


Tha’s nobody,
Tha’s  on thee own,
Since being kicked out,
A full beard tha’s grown,
Clothes consists of old jeans,
Jumper and jacket,
An old pair of boots,
That didn’t cost a packet,
You have one pair of socks,
And pants to tha name,
A blanket that tha wraps around,
Tha skinny frame,
Sit in doorway on an old cushion you found,
The only thing that’s keeping,
Your backside from the ground,
Tha’s got a new name now,
It’s called a beggar on’t street,
Asking for spare change,
So tha can buy thee sen sumat to eat,
Long gone those days,
When you owned thee own home,
Went on holidays to cities,
Like Barcelona and Rome,
You were respected,
With wife, and job in the city,
Lost the lot in months,
Since life has shown you no pity,
First to go was job,
Followed by the wife?
The house was repossessed,
Brought the next change in life,
Mounting debts saw everything,
Taken from under your feet,
Finally, all was left,
Was a life on the street?
The subway on a night,
Provides shelter to kip,
From a chipped old mug,
A hot drink you sip,
Occasionally might get tha head down,
In hostel for a treat,
A bed and a shower,
Sumat warm to eat,
Once a week,
The facility can be used for free,
Tother six nights,
Homelessness is the grim reality.

When the walls are closing in on you
and you start to feel more than just a little blue
because you just don't know how you're going to feed them
on the crumpled limited notes in your hand
Or just how you're going to explain to them
That school might just be a time waster
because the economy is going to screw them over anyways
and have them begging for piece jobs in the blistering sun,
Cry Mama.

Let out a high pitched wail at midnight
and let it be heard all the way from the capital
so they may be woken up from their silk- pampered sleep
Let your voice be a substitute for their conscience
let it keep them up at night.
Let your screams turn their milk sour
Let your cries make their heads ache
Let your weeping fill their tea with tears.
Like Macbeth, they murdered your sleep
So mama, let them know no sleep.

Let your sorrow be heard in your weeping
and your anger be heard in your screams.
Let your wails fly like a dove with a message
to tell them of a future they destroyed
a generation they disappointed
a land they disinherited
a nation they angered
and a mother whose heart they shattered.

A commentary in the economy of Zimbabwe and it's effect on it's people. A specific focus on the mother to illustrate the hopelessness that surrounds us and how we should speak out against the injustice and corruption.

It was named after the bodies that lay below,
whose tombs stood close by,
whose families still cry.
It was for those that had nowhere to go,
those who let out a sigh,
those who wouldn't cry.
It was where the days felt the most slow,
but still we all said hi
and still we all gave it a try.
It is called Home, for those who got to grow,
for those who didn't die
and those who made it by.

For the streets that raised me, thank you.
#love   #home   #death   #poverty   #ghetto   #hispanic  

There wasn't enough for everyone.
Be it food or love, or happiness...
Someone always had get it on their own.

And that's how i grew up...
Loving, but not.
The only thing worth beliving in was
Something  you yourself previously got.

'Cause what's yours no one can take.
And with all you have,
Which isn't much!
Being at stake... make no mistake.

They'll come for it.

Feb 18

Sorrow is my name
Poverty is also my name
So is pain and loneliness
Who really am l ???

How did l get here? Who put me into this world?
Do l have parents, relatives or background
Am l even human without an identity
Who really am l ?

I roam around the streets day and night
Bare footed sometimes with torn stockings stitched together
And heavily oiled legs
Hoping to find myself
Who am I??

Eating food from the trash
Was and is always my daily meal
I get arms from people daily
All of them calling me with the same words
Yet I don't know what they are saying
My question still stand
Who am I ??

The street kid is all l hear
Now I guess lm the one born to suffer
Born to be in pain
The unwanted one
Born and mothered by the streets

As long as I remember it's always been the streets and l
This is real, this is me
So here l am the illiterate son of the streets

Let's work together and make this world a better place for all of us. Many r suffering with nothing to eat who r we to pretend not to hear their cries
#pain   #sorrow   #poverty   #hunger   #cries  
Jan 30

The shotgun wedding was fine, she says
but she's a girl to drink vodka straight while bearing the backthroat burn
and that man she picked, oh
he's all white hair and dry skin and yellow teeth
nothing good is gonna come of this
so I tell her, you gotta backhand him before he does the same to you
and shatter his windows
until everything is gone

#love   #man   #drugs   #abuse   #older   #poverty   #hillbilly  
Jan 26

Two doors down
from a bar
two people,
strangers to me,
sit in a doorway
up on sixth street;
Wearing winter caps,
winter coats,
even though,
I’m sure they know
it isn’t winter yet,
but it’s so cold.
They have each other
as they sit in separate chairs
leaning together.
I wanted to give them
a dollar or some food
but they are sleeping
and I know how hard
it is to get good sleep
in this life.

If I told you they
were children
would you care?

If I told you
they were women
would you care?

If I told you they
were white men
again would
you care?

If I told you
they were black
brown skin
would it matter
At all?    

If I told you
at one time
over fifteen years ago
I slept on a couch
in a hallway
in a building
with cracked
and shattered glass
windows that
let cold winds in.
Cuddling next
to my oldest friend
one head poking out
at each end
from under the thick
sleeping bag I had.
Fully loaded for winter,
except between us
we only had one ski mask
and one pair of gloves,
so we switched off and on.

If I told you what was wrong
so you could find what’s right
how our lives our deeply intertwined
and that this soap box is yours
as much as it is mine?

Would you take the time to see
and help the myriad of yous and mes
that are still suffering,
no matter what they look like?

We had a culture and a humility
That descended into poverty.
It's much and none.
Desperation and opportunity.

I see the beauty and the pain in the eyes.
Of those victims to this tourist culture.
That has us all losing our morality.
I was a person and now I have a price tag.

Traditions that hold us back as a people
That spiral the young naive and uneducated towards empty hearts.
Forced to partake at the mercy of baht.

We weren't always this way.

© All Rights Reserved Jack Thompson 2017
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