poverty (Remove filter)

Strive to Succeed


A small yellow stitch against green and black,
Secret inspiration, strength in the mud,
Anguish and poverty dragging us down,
A relentless and cold North-England town,

Days upon days of unrest and ill ease,
Scratching for sunshine, empathy, fun, 

Uniforms hang or squeeze, they don’t fit,
Seven clear months ‘til a government cheque,
Anger, bad attitude, untold frustrations...

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Who Would You Give The Library

To Winston, Paul B all admin and, everyone.

Imagine you come from Poverty, complete and sheer poverty. Imagine too, your creative mind, wiping the floor with Eton and Oxbridge Candidates.

Imagine that, you have too many coincidences of being 'put down' under bogus accusation. Imagine too, knowing that all you do, is being filtered so only a select few know of your intellect, compassion, tale...

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class actcorruptiondead poetspovertystolen life

Locked Down Locked Out

Its a pain in the neck and no mistake

Locked down, our busy lives on hold

But what of the billions less wealthy

Forever locked out in the cold?


Locked down or locked out

Are two very different fates

We blandly wait for a vaccine

To benefit our richer states


In Africa the virus is poverty

Immune to vaccines and drugs

Kids locked down all their lives


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locked downpovertystarvevaccinevirus


They seek shelter from the rain

In the doorways of the city

Although the lights shine so bright

Believe for them it's far from pretty

Watching the world pass them by

In a kaleidoscope of grey

Feeling like nobody notices them

As we continue with our day

All they ask for is a moment

Someone to stop and talk

Providing them with some comfort

From life's painful, lonely...

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eating off the floor momma aint got no plates

she shield me from the world full of crime and full of hate

all of the world going on outside my window, i got a little curious

fell in love with the danger and it made my momma furious

she stopped paying attention

told me her warning was already mentioned

i went on because i no longer felt the love

the streets gave me more affecti...

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I don't do new year
there is a lot of noise here
none of it is mine

when the chimes kick in
auld lang syne hands are unlinked
as phones point skywards

cascading fireworks
fall on lost souls in doorways
where poverty lies

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auld lang synenew yearpovertyselfie-culturetri-haikuwaste of money

Homeless Curse

Recently I took a trip to Cardiff and was shocked by the level of homelessness in the city. It’s there but for the grace of god for all of us. I feel we ignore this. Having lost my job after a stroke, I was lucky to have insurance and a pension, if not then I may well have been left homeless. We never know what cards we will be dealt. Next time don’t just turn a cheek.


Next time we turn aw...

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A Week From 21

There’s Gonna Be A Party 
But Your Past Is Not Invited.
Dreams Aren’t What They Used To Be,
Darker Days, Darker Ways.
Life Ain’t What It Used To Be,
But Death Is Always The Same.
One Day There Won’t Be A Tomorrow.
Unless My Heart’s A Bomb, 
Time Is An Illusion.
If Love Is Blind, The Sun Won’t Shine.
I Am Through Everyone’s Eyes, But Mine.
Though Time Is Just An Illusion, 
For I Cannot ...

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Cannibal JonesPoverty


Albino In The Snow,
Steaming Red, Left For Dead
And I’ll Wait To See If You Have A Soul.
Lost Her Glow.
Mouth Of Foam And Barely Grown
And I’ll Wait To See If You Have A Soul.
Painfully Numb’s Only Begun.
In A Few Days The Way Of One.
Crawling Towards The Heat,
Ants Inside Her Feet.
Feeling For Fire, Waiting On The Worms.
Dieing At Her Place Of Birth,
Selling Life For What It’s Worth,

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Cannibal JonesPoverty


Pound shops and takeaways,

salons for grooming of

dogs and their owners

sit side by side.


Rancid fat acrid

in back alley junk piles,

settees and Christmas trees

slowly decay.


Damp homes

in damp climate

for cotton mill workers

no longer needed.


The forest of chimneys

now superseded

by new build in miniature,

room sizes shrinking,



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capitalismcottonmillCultureIndustrial Britainmodern lifepoetrypoverty

The Gentrification Scheme 2017

My funeral is a live cremation
My home is a burnt out tower
My plight is that of a nation
One of selfish gits wielding power

I am a ghost haunting the streets
My home is your left or right wing tv show
My place is within the gentrification scheme
Lost somewhere I don't know

I raise my voice to be silenced
My concerns are shit on the heel of your shoe
There's money in death and violen...

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GentrificationGrenfell TowerInjusticePovertysociety





You look at me through your new found fashionista,

Tell me that I am boring,

I understand,

Why would you speak of the

Dull state of today?

Stars, planets, climates, people, love,


You perspire to the empty beat of a London club,

Held together with Hennes zip,

Peer through designer lenses,

Moulded to diamond encrusted frames,


Colourful ri...

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Poverty In The UK


From the lamplight of the factories, to the smoke and endless fumes
The workers toiled from dawn till dusk on ever spinning looms,
Ne'er did these places hear the sound of each bitter tear cried,
These were the places where some were born and just as many died.   The workhouses and squats of Victoria's kingdom fare,
Never saw many smiles, although many memories formed there,

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FactoriesIndustrial BritainPovertyVictorian

The Government Standard

The Government Standard



     The band didn’t want to play,

They didn’t want to march

Through streets paved with

Gum and fag butts and poverty,

     They didn’t want for glancing

At bloodstains from a

Previous night’s brawl,

They didn’t want for none of it

At all,


     But as soon as the note

Struck, they knew their place,

Knew of nothing else


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Child AbuseNorthern Town.Poverty

They're Blaming Themselves

They’re Blaming Themselves


     A couple argue over something trivial,

And the snarls - rants and discord

Reach fever pitch


They are left to part

Their own silent corner

Of a damp tired home,

     And it’s a sad fact of life

That we argue at all,

But here in the deepest

Troughs of poverty,

The stress management can reach all


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domestic argumentsdysfunctional familyPoverty

You can't Streep poverty under the carpet... - NaPoWriMo Day 9

A silence fell upon the city,

contorted shadows twisting moonlight.

Stuttering in a speakeasy seemed so misplaced

bottles rattled flickering like Fedora feathers

in an unforgiving wind.


The wretched odour of deprivation

a stench that sticks and degrades ones existence.

Even by day this city remains a lifeless sap

and by night the vampires feast on thei...

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1930s1980s2013AmericaBankstersbattleBritaincelebrationclassClass WarcohesioncooperationdivisionexploitationFilmFilm NoirGlobalhateHumanityinequalityMaggie ThatcherMargaret ThatcherMobstersNaPoWriMoNoirpoliticiansPoliticspovertyProhibitionstruggleThatcheruniversalvictoryWar


the trickle down poetics

coiffed, varnished, double dipped,

lay waste the oubliette of empathy


no balm, no salve

shall expel the foreign body that

thorns it’s path in the digital red apnoea

of each choked fallen promise

as they steal your desecrated breath


your lips are still moving


your lips are still moving even

as your face turns blue


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No Jobs For A Man


I was the seventh child in a family of four,
the second born, do I need to say more?
Well perhaps I should fill in a few gaps,
or you could remain confused perhaps...

Yes I was the second boy born to my mother,
five girls came before me I did discover,
four boys in all were to follow my dad,
down to the dole queue, no jobs to be had.

No Jobs For A...

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Poverty Is

You think poor is…

One car not two

semi, not detached

the right school

the wrong brand

the wrong label.


I think poor is…


thick enough to pick at

cardboard soles

in shoes with holes

and stains that don’t

wash clean.



we know poor is…

the curl of a lip

in a hostile world,

the shame

of not fittin...

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Rebel With A Cause (v2)

I am a rebel against torture 

I am a rebel against pain 

I seek an end to hunger 

I seek an end to the shame 

The shame that comes from knowing 

all those children dying without water 

all those children dying without names 

all those children dying from war 

Why do men play their vicious games 

why do those men pretend to serve God 

when all they want is power over others 

when all the...

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Black coal down the mineshaft so deep

Takes a pale sheen as my eyes do weep

Days without comfort are sending me down

The caged bird twitters but I still frown


Escape to the surface via cable or pills

The former brings succour, the latter masks ills

Sometimes my anguish calls the loudest of all

While strength I seek from a larder too small



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