Through The Eyes of The Poor

The malleable minds, of a voting majority,
captured and held, by the right-wing press,
that portrays the hapless, powerless poor,
as the cause, that makes their taxes soar.
"Why should we pay", they are taught to say,
"To keep lazy layabouts' hunger at bay?"
Squashed, in their boring suburban homes,
The complacent majority, continually moans,
Thinking they're better, because they have jobs,
Than those they arrogantly, regard as slobs.
Electing politicians, through democratic right,
To punish the poor, by augmenting their plight.
That the poor are human, they don't pay heed,
But reluctantly give them, sub-minimum need,
Decided by officials, whose lifestyles bestow,
Total disqualification, on the amounts to know.
Forced to steal wood, from a lord's private land,
And vital medicines, from a supermarket stand.
If a smartphone, you're able to use and afford,
Generous discounts, via the app's your reward.
But the poor, old & ill to put food on the table,
Must pay the full price, although far less able.
So disadvantaged, by an uncaring community,
Of course they must steal: and with impunity.
But in the popular stereotype, some do not fit,
Their former life and education, do not permit.
So they fail at stealing: not adept at the art.
They fail at begging; they don't look the part.
Thus denied, their inalienable self-evident right, †
They freeze to death, on a dark winter's night.
The cause of their poverty, is of no concern,
Nobody cares, what makes the poor not earn.
Be it bodily disability, or mental dysfunction,
Dearth of opportunity, or economic disjunction.
Can't they see that, everyone's road to advance,
Is steered by, the complex-dynamics of chance?
Governed by this cloistered, Keynesian shower,
By the voters bequeathed, inappropriate power.
Beguiled by, the erroneous ramblings of Hayek,
An inflexible model, that has long been archaic.
It's the way birds murmurate and fishes shoal,
That societies by nature their workings control.
Each one is born, without much of a notion,
Into a tempestuous, socio-economic ocean.
The initial circumstances, at his time of birth,
Will set his life-course, and decide his worth.
His free-will, hard effort, and determination,
Do little to change, his social destination.
Many will say, that you make your own luck,
But this is a myth, with which we are stuck.
Work's a necessity, which matters but little,
And its relationship to money, is very fickle.
But we see, if we observe, what is realistic,
Luck comes by chaos, which is deterministic.
A society of millions, self-governs by laws,
Fractal in nature, where effect follows cause.
It needs no written basis, of artificial rules,
Debated and enacted, by guffawing old fools.
It needs no hierarchy, of class and control,
Enforcing disparity, from the top to the dole.
It provides for all, unlimited opportunities,
If allowed to form, into natural communities.
Where all know each other, and all can be seen,
Each in his free space, with terrestrial means.
Schooled, in the natural laws that are known,
Reciprocally followed, by each on his own.
But can all be trusted, to follow such laws?
Not in today's world, of austerity and wars.
In a benign community, of care and concern,
Each one, the trust of the other, will earn.
Then each, with his best endeavour, will try,
To follow the law, by knowing how and why.
Each interacts, with his immediate peers,
In every community, each is heard and hears.
A few may not heed, at least, not at first,
But each is, in his local community, immersed.
Where his difficulties, all well understand,
All there to offer, a friend's helping hand.
But in the rancid society, today we endure,
There's only one way, they talk to the poor.
Via faceless bureaucracies, on us they pee,
At the very bottom, of the hierarchical tree.
There berated, by their most obdurate rank:
The British Standard Jobsworth Plank.
They bully and threaten us, but never assist,
To find ourselves jobs, that do not exist.
The reason for rejection, be it what it may,
Firms are under no legal, obligation to say.
Yet, every day, I must persist in applying,
To get my benefit, by the rules complying.
This futile chore, invokes such consternation,
The tempers of many, just flair in frustration.
"I ain't paid for this!" is the tetchy clerk's cry,
"Think we're being unreasonable?" we reply,
"It's exactly what you're paid for, no relief!
"As the face of those, who're giving us grief".
Interviewed by a girl, in human resources,
A job with Java, but I haven't done courses.
I'm an adept in 'C', on which Java is based,
But 'Java' ain't 'C', so I'm rejected, in haste.
A programmer's reference card's, all I need,
A simplicity, the flibbertigibbet won't heed.
Obvious prejudices, are now against the law,
But not if, in your personality, they see a flaw.
If you're bodily disabled, black, deaf or blind,
In fraction they must hire, if ability they find.
If you're autistic, dyslexic, or have ADHD,
You're unfortunately unsuccessful, like me.
Capitalism's a system, that thrives on waste,
Its short-lived products, discarded in haste,
Making landfills of plastic and carbon-dioxide,
Polluting our food and biosphere with toxides,
But the conduct that's even more totally daft,
Is its flagrant waste of our skills and our graft.
The poor have existed, as long as civilisation,
Malthus said the cause, was rising population.
In his time there were far less people to feed,
With just as much land, to furnish their need.
So poverty must be, the result, it would seem,
Of maladroit management, by an evil regime.
Only a company is privy, to the means; to pay
us for our labour, to buy our meat and greens.
Once sufficient labour, it already has on-board,
It has no obligation, to our idle jobless hoard.
So onto the dole, we're rejected and reviled,
Them faring well without us, leaving us exiled.
Dispossessed sojourners, alone and forlorn,
Unwelcome in the land, in which we were born.
Absolutely none of it, belongs to the needy,
It's entirely owned, by the great and greedy.
We invade & plant that our needs be effected,
By uniformed goons, we're quickly ejected.
But to live, the human life-form must eat,
So, cut off from the land, it is incomplete,
The goons who eject us, by physical strife.
Flout a law that gives us, the Right to Life. †
Deprived of any means, from nature to take,
We're doomed to the destiny of Daniel Blake. ††
So how do we find a land, of milk and honey?
In a society that's driven, entirely by money:
an arbitrary yardstick, of capricious elasticity,
that compares like with unlike, in complicity,
in terms of, a single dimensionless triviality,
that has no counterpart with physical reality.
The elite have taken, by force and by stealth,
The only means of turning, work into wealth.
So we can't turn our labour, into our needs,
Except by the leave of, these exigent thieves.
So all you poor, please don't be deluded,
From free use of our planet, we are excluded.
The right-wing press says, the poor are lazy,
But expecting them to work, is plainly crazy.
If their brains and muscles, can't be applied,
To essential resources, they're forcibly denied.
But if, by hard work, they're able to acquire,
All will present themselves, ready for hire.
Born on this planet, we must stand and fight,
To regain, our self-evident inalienable right. ‡
To our inheritance, in fair use of the earth,
To free us, of our lives, of continual dearth,
We can't wait for history, to run its course,
Our only way to right this wrong, is by force.
August 6th Twenty-eleven, right on course,
We witnessed the harbinger, of that force.
It was a wake-up call; a plea for kindness,
A stark demonstration, of official blindness.
The spring is tensing; we're gathering pace,
Til social revolution, explodes in their face.
To allow us to survive, with our enormous loss,
They to us, a pittance they call 'Benefit' toss.
But it isn't a benevolence, to make correction.
Their selfish motive, is to avert insurrection.
They stole our planet, as well they know,
So a free basic income, is the least they owe.
The charities help only, those with disabilities,
Unignorable and verified, by medical facilities.
What is not diagnosed, won't qualify, I fear,
But non-recognition, won't make it disappear.
Yet they pester the poor, to give donations,
With no clue as to, their financial situations.
This disparate society, as seen by the poor,
Is a hell hole of strife, they have to endure.
A commonwealth in which, they have no part,
Created and ruled, by the elite of hard heart.
And whose fault is it? Are the poor to blame?
Utterly impossible: they're politically lame.
The fault has to lie, with who has the power,
The majority, who in faceless suburbia cower,
Voting for what satisfies, their selfish desire,
Just as Mrs Thatcher, taught them to aspire,
Without concern, for ravaging ramifications,
Precipitated on others, without reparations.
Following their peers, like spineless sheep,
Scared to differ from the friends they keep,
Don't have the guts, to stand up and fight,
And vote for what, they know to be right.
If there's no party, with which you agree,
Then don't vote; so who governs may see.
Mentally idle, they imbibe what they read,
Gaslighted by press, whose lies they heed.
Convinced of policies, that favour the rich,
But that will tip themselves, into the ditch.
Gulping an opinion, without pausing to think,
That's what really makes democracy stink.
Impunitive wrongdoers, they elect to rule,
Create a society, that's ever more cruel.
Diverting blame, for what they've devised,
Making the jobless and low-paid despised,
By the majority of voters, as if it were so,
Through a public hysteria of Pollice Verso.
Under this burden, we are forced to apply,
Our substantial skills, to deceive your eye,
A justified project, with conscience clear,
To destroy, your despicable system of fear.
If this endeavour, we cannot complete,
Our only option, is to vote with our feet.
From far across the world, as I look back,
I see Toffs & Posh Boys, that nothing lack,
Oblivious to the cauldron, of suffering below,
As about their comfortable lives, they go.
A cruel social order, red in tooth and claw,
Contained by the force, of pernicious law.
What has become, increasingly relevant,
Is the poor are now, far more intelligent.
Not just unskilled, workers and tinkers; but
Scientists, writers and self-taught thinkers.
We see what you are, so feel duty bound,
To raze your evil regime to the ground.
But nothing: from talk to social upheaval,
Has power to root out, this resident evil.
It's too entrenched in the popular will, so
The plight of the poor won't change, until,
This State of exclusion, torture and horror,
Be taken down like Sodom and Gomorrah.
But God doesn't need brimstone and fire,
To destroy this rogue nation of evil desire.
Manipulating money, the elite feel secure,
Giving to themselves by depriving the poor.
But the networks passing their every deal,
Are their rapidly suppurating Achilles Heel.
When disparity and poverty, come to pass,
Their indelible threshold, of critical mass,
T'will trigger a tempest, of dissatisfaction,
An unstoppable, knee-jerk chain reaction.
To the complacent, voting majority; it says,
Best heed the signs, and mend your ways.
For democracy ever to become just and fair,
The majority must be taught, for all to care.
Creating a world that's completely inclusive,
Ruled through law, that's to no one abusive.
To keep us from passing, destruction's brink,
Everyone needs, to be taught how to think.

© 14 August 2023 Robert John Morton YE572246C Versão portuguesa.
† "Everyone has the right to life, liberty and security of person." Article 3 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights of 10 December 1948.
†† Main protagonist in the film "I, Daniel Blake (2016)" written by Paul Laverty and directed by Ken Loach.
‡ The self-evident inalienable Right to the free and unencumbered use of the terrestrial resources necessary to turn one's labour into one's needs of life.

My Poems

Through The Eyes of The Poor