Recession What Recession
Without the wherewithal to buy
I go without the food I need
whilst richer people overfeed.
I’m free to starve in poverty.
I must rely on charity,
does nothing for my self esteem.
Never in my wildest dream
did I realise that I could be.
Without a job without a home
.By circumstances forced to steal
but my hungers all too real.
A spell in jail would be welcome.
At least inside I would be fed.
Not root in dumpsters for my food.
I’d rather work as a man should
to earn my daily crust of bread.
My firm downsized and fired me
because their profit margins fell.
A matter of economy
consigning working men to hell.
The world is run by greedy men
who are obsessed with balance sheets.
So I may never work again
but live and die upon the streets.
13-Apr-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Related quotes
Tailor made for you for M' lady Dawn Slaker
Dreams for sale, each one brand new.
Created daily fresh for you.
I do not claim my dreams come true
but I am sure that some must do.
The only thing I guarantee
is confidentiality.
If you should choose to buy from me.
There are no prying eyes to see.
The kind of dreams that you prefer
There are no records anywhere
So you can purchase free from care
I pride myself on being fair.
Each dream you buy is tailor made
and of the very highest grade
Well worth the price which you have paid.
I am certain that the will persuade.
Even the hardened sceptics to
return again for something new
I usually find that people do
and truly hope that you will too.
Dreams for sale a vast array
and all are freshly made today.
And if you cant afford to pay
I keep a few to give away.
For dreams are a necessity
whether bought are given free.
you can contact me easily
I live in your vicinity
.
If you should find you need a dream
just send your message by moon beam
The moon and I work as a team
that’s working well a splendid scheme
13-Aug-08.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Attaining Virtue
Attaining Virtue.
I climb up to the monastery
my sanctuary seeking Zen.
Find peace of mind again: I’m free
from all that troubles me. Until
I must descend the hill. Return
to where I earn my daily bread.
Where noise instead of quietness
begins to press. I can endure
of that I’m sure, my thoughts are pure.
I will not injure any man.
Because I’ve learned to tolerate,
accept my fate patiently.
27/07/2009
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Burmese style climbing rhyme
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Respect The Earth!
why do we always mistreat
the people who do our farm work?
why would we starve the people
who pick our crops?
why would we deport the only people
who are willing to do the work?
and you wonder why your kids
think that all food comes
from an aisle in the grocery store!
gas prices keep rising,
food prices keep rising...
what happens when the trucking
industry goes down?
what are you going to eat then?
we need to as much as possible
go back to raising our food.
at the very least support
your local farmers...
no GM seeds!
do it the old way, the right way.
pay your farm workers,
pay them well!
get out and do the work yourself!
stop the dependency on a failing system!
let the people who want to work, work!
respect the earth, and it will respect us!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Philadelphia Revised
The sad images of Philadelphia popped out of my eyes today
And I could see the streets of Philadelphia where the homeless sleeps
And freeze to death
While Politicians, doctors, Dentists, lawyers, teachers, and nurses get rich
Day by day
But the homeless freeze to death in the streets of Philadelphia and even die
But I have to ask all of you fellow americans where is your heart?
And doesn't charity starts at home first?
Don't you have anything at home that you could give away to the Homeless so they could have something either to wear or to eat?
Why can't we feed the homeless?
I can't understand you fellow Americans?
Please put yourself in their shoes for a day and try to picture what do they Have to go throw everyday
Is it right for the homeless to sleep in the streets and freeze and eventualy Die in the streets of Philadelphia?
Would you fellow Americans go few days without eating?
I don't think so
Why should the homeless that lives in the streets of Philadelphia starve?
Fellow Americans it is time to think about others and not just yourself Because others live In America just like you
Fellow Americans do you have a heart?
Fellow Americans did you ever learned to share what you have with Others?
Fellow Americans America is a sad world because we waste 98% of our Food at home, restaurants, and supermarkets
And all that wasted food ends up in the dump
It is so ashame and so sad at the same time
But the truth is that we are running out of food
And there is not enough food to feed anyone in America
But the cost of food keeps going up
Because we have to pay the American farmers who plants the food and Transport the food to the supermarkets
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Harsh Reality for M 'lady Fay
Although I truly empathise
with your desire to fantasise.
It is my task to emphasise.
Although you day dream happily
escaping from reality
Your must return eventually.
There is one rule all must obey
although you would much rather stay.
Your fantasies must fade away.
You know that what I say is true.
Although your job is boring you.
It’s something that you have to do.
So save your dreams for when you sleep
and have no deadlines you must keep.
If you do not the price is steep.
You will get fired right away
you’ll have no job and get no pay
But you’ll be free to dream all day.
If you are wise you’ll listen to
the sound advice I’m giving you
and do what you are paid to do.
You cannot live on fantasies
you have to pay for groceries.
That’s one of life’s realities.
22-Dec-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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I've Heard Much Talk Of Darfur
I've heard much talk of Darfur though I've never been to there
Where people only live in hope and die slowly in despair
The tragic footage of there on the t v news brings it all home to me
Of what it must be like for those who live in abject poverty.
In a Land of war and droughts and famines where war lords rule by fear
Of any feel good and happy stories we never seem to hear
Where people die of hunger in their thousands every day
Man's inhumanity to man is alive and well today.
Where men and women look old before they reach their prime
To be born in the wrong place ought not to be a crime
The seeds they've planted for food have died and the parched ground is cracked and dry
And the warlords steal their food aid and the people starve and die.
A million people hungry for every billionaire
And the super wealthy getting wealthier doesn't life seem so
unfair
And poverty has it's root cause in man's inhumanity to man
And I feel sure that wealthy people also live in Darfur in Sudan.
Of late I have heard much news of Darfur and I've seen sad footage on t v
Of people due to no fault of their own in the worst of poverty
In a drought stricken Land ruled by Warlords the innocent die young
And are buried in mass graves and their praises remain unsung.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Cushy Billet.
Lunatic sonnet.
Psychiatrists have labelled me,
In doing so have set me free
From all responsibility.
I need not worry any more.
All of my needs are catered for.
I laugh until my sides are sore.
Although they keep me close confined.
To tell the truth I do not mind.
I left my troubles all behind.
When I was certified insane
I lose much less than what I gain.
I need not ever work again.
I live in idle luxury
My every want provided free.
Monday,15 August 2011
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Syrup Sponge
Pour a pint of cream
Upon my spongy bulge!
Scoop me with a
Hefty spoon;
Taste my essence -
Do you swoon?
Feed your self-esteem; indulge
In me until you burst -
Death by syrup sponge - you're cursed!
And as the count in inches gain
Upon your weary waist, the strain
Will tell, but you'll not care -
Steeped in sponge, you're unaware!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
food food food food food food food
food food food food food food food food
food food food food food food
food food food food food food
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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I would if I could
Philosophers considering
the mysteries if the universe.
May seem to be woolgathering
or dozing off which would be worse.
But they are not: They’re deep in thought
Oblivious to reality
They contemplations of a sort
which is akin to fantasy.
Their thoughts are on a higher plane
I don’t pretend to understand.
Although they try they can’t explain.
So they dismiss me out of hand.
At least I work to earn my pay
I cannot sit and think all day.
13/05/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Work To Do!
i came from a generation
that worked.... was born to
work, daylight to dawn,
for everything we had.
we grew our own food, we
cut firewood, we worked
with our hands.
we were taught to work...
we built houses, bridges,
paved roads... worked on
farms, worked in sawmills,
worked in factories...
whatever it took for food
and shelter...
and if a neighbor got hurt,
or sick, and couldnt work...
we helped him and his family
till he could.
those of us left who can work
are still working, a lot of us are
out of work, and cant find work!
and so the world has changed...
it seems like a lot of people
spend more time avoiding work
than working... a lot of people
look for the easy way out...are
dependent on society...
still a lot of good and willing people
just need help.
they call this progress...based
on technology, and looking out for
number one. seperated, almost islands...
greed has taken the place of the bent back!
so when it all falls apart, and that will
be soon, what happens? who knows how
to survive? who has the backbone?
things to think about, and yes...
work to do!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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No Way No Way Blues
I am not rich
And I can't afford to feed all the homeless in Toronto
But there is food banks that they can go and get some food to eat
So that they do'n t starve
But the homeless instead of going to the food bank they stay in the streets
Of home and begs for money at the streets of home
But I don't give money because I know that they are not going to use it for Food but they will use it to buy alcohol and destroy their liver in no Time
What ashame
And for that I say no way no way
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Past Participant for M lady Ernestine
Though it may seem I am obsessed.
The truth is that I am possessed
by an old writer long since dead.
Who now resides inside my head
He’ll have no truck with modern verse
and thinks that free form is perverse.
That’s something with which I agree,
perhaps that’s why he’s chosen me
To be his slave, his to command
he doesn’t seem to understand
He is a most unwelcome guest
at best I see him as a pest.
He may be Shakespeare as he says
but I write poetry not plays.
8-May-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Why do you hesitate.
He had one eye, one arm, one leg
a landmine had removed the rest
he does not whinge or whine or beg.
His attitude is best expressed.
I’m still a man and I can do
almost as much as any guy.
A little slower that is true
but I can see no reason why.
You feel you have to pity me
I would much rather earn respect
Though not the man I used to be
I can do more than you expect.
Give me chance and I’ll show you
I still have skills which I can use
to do as well as others do.
Why hesitate what can you lose?
I draw the pension I am due
but need to boost my self esteem.
Prove to the world that I can do
much more than sit at home and dream.
Give me the opportunity
to demonstrate what I can do.
Ignore my disability
if I can do it so can you.
Just set your prejudice aside
and treat me as a normal guy
Give me a chance and then decide
to keep me on or say goodbye..
Why do employers constantly
turn down disabled veterans.
Are they so blind they cannot see
that veterans deserve a chance.
25-Apr-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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A whole new ball game.
The time had come for me to go and leave the world of work behind
I was not sure, did not know how I would occupy my mind
To fill the long hours of the day. I knew some things I’d like to try.
But work had left small time for play and now there s was no reason why.
My times my own an I am free to try my hand at something new
from pottery to poetry and that is what I mean to do.
It may seem strange but now I find there are too few hours in the day.
To do the things I have in mind. I look at life a different way.
Retirement wrought a change in me I do the thing I want to do
I have no one to please but me. Something you can look forward to.
When you too leave the world of work behind. You’ll be too busy to regret.
The years you spent as a wage slave you’ll be quite happy to forget.
19-Jul-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Lament of a filing clerk.
Another day draws to its close.
A boring day like yesterday.
Much like tomorrow I suppose.
Each and every day the same.
I go to work from nine to five
The boredom starts when I arrive.
I hardly know that I'm alive
Each and every day the same
Though I' well paid for what I do
I would like to try something new.
A day dream which will not come true
.Each and every day the same.
I'd like to change but dare not try.
I'll be nobody ‘til I die.
26/02/2012
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Bewildered for M lady Tara
Art thou as pure as driven snow?
As virginal as thou dost seem.
An angel walking here below
or art thou but a fleeting dream.
Thou seemest to me to be real
Thine image nightly haunting me.
Into my dreams thy face doth steal
and smiles on me bewitchingly
I know not who or what thou art
but must suppose thou knowest me
and cast thy spell to claim my heart
Which I would give thee willingly
mayhap thou art a fantasy
I conjure up unconsciously.
09/07/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Overweight with Food
Are you just a tub of lard and
Vastly overweight?
Do you think that when you die you'll
Need a piano crate
To act as coffin for your frame? -
Chosen as you die in shame, with
Only you to take the blame
For years of eating much the same:
A daily calorific fest
Gourmands of your ilk digest!
Is your heart in final fling and
Nearly set to burst?
Are your arteries bunged and clogged and
Feeling now the worst
For wear? - your aneurysm fit to blow
While blood as thick as rising dough
Cries 'Halt! ' to any hope of flow:
A dreadful state to put on show
In front of any nurse!
Best you hail a hearse.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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There Must Be An Easier Way
To earn one's living there must be an easier way
Than working in a menial job for menial pay
You age so fast your hair prematurely gray
And you must work hard till your retirement day.
When you ask the boss for a raise his answer no
For a raise in pay you must have more to show
The unemployed are many and the jobs are few
And there's plenty more to do the job you do.
At 5.30 a m each work day from bed I rise
Before daylight has lit the morning skies
Then long drive to work in smoky old work van
Such is the lot of the common working man.
The chap next door seems better off than I
He does not work yet life he does enjoy
Whilst I'm at work he rest at home in bed
And he doesn't look deprived or underfed
With six year old son and a non working wife
He live an easy and a stress free life
And I've heard it said that he's never worked a day
But good luck to him is all that I can say.
I do not receive or seek sympathy
For there are many far worse off than me
But living life would be a lot more fun
If I did not have to rise before the sun
poem by Francis Duggan
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Flexitime for Friend Denis joe
A blank faced clock which has no hands
must still obey Chronos’ commands.
The minutes pass without display.
Times moves on inexorably
the hours passing speedily
Today replaces yesterday.
Why are men obsessed by the clock
they measure every tick and tock.
What does it matter anyway?
we know that darkness rules the night
and that the day is filled by light.
Some time to sleep and work or play.
Avid clock watchers fail to see
that time can pass variably.
4-May-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Companions
The old maid and her tabby cat
Live together happily
in their small ground floor council flat
Where from the window they can see.
Pedestrians who hurry by intent
upon their own affairs
But others walk more soberly
as though weighed down by worldly cares.
They are content to stay at home
and watch the busy world go by
The cat is far too old to roam
her mistress ventures out to buy.
Although she goes reluctantly
the food they need from local stores.
The grocers and the bakery.
The old cat stays at home of course
but welcomes her ecstatically.
The moment that she steps inside
their haven of security.
Safe from the dangers of outside.
They keep each other company
the old maid and her tabby cat.
They are contents as they can be
in their small ground floor council flat.
29-Jul-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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