Good morning and thank you for visiting to read my 42nd crap poem.
I apologise, but I’ve gone a bit political this time, after my anger started increasing watching some of the news events and political reactions (or lack thereof) to assist in fixing it all.
Things aren’t great at home, and I imagine many of you are suffering in similar ways. It’s unlikely we’ll all agree politically, but I think most of us are tired of a lack of solutions while the list of problems gets longer and longer.
Here is ‘This Country’, with a few of my thoughts.
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Our Country
A culture of bias.
A country that’s hurting.
Bureaucracy reigns.
This set up’s alerting.
Can I be democratic
when care is reducing,
when people are desperate,
and only anger’s inducing?
Can we truly believe
those who are privileged and wealthy
are invested to help us
become mentally healthy?
I find myself blinded
by colours of power.
Whether red, blue or yellow,
this constituent will sour.
I watch on in horror
as wait lists get longer
people dying for treatment
and protests get stronger.
The planet is burning.
The sea’s filled with plastic.
The hole in the ozone
remains just as fantastic.
Pensions are dwindling.
Income is low.
And if you aren’t healthy,
you won’t own, you’ll owe.
To me, this class system
is chronically unfair.
If you’re wealthy and able,
you’ll be helped up the stairs.
But the second you struggle,
when bad luck comes knocking,
those helpers won’t be there
to fill your kids stockings.
For us down here desperate,
left to feel lonely shame,
just a four-yearly chance
to get more of the same.
If you’re one of them
then please just imagine
begging donors for food
‘cause bad luck bought a famine.
Watching a loved one
suffer in silence
while waiting for treatment
with no one for guidance.
Knowing your energy
will tomorrow switch off
because the bill had to wait
⁃ the dog has a cough.
The reality is
you’ll never know fear
because your privilege makes
your life less severe.
Yes, your affected
if prices increase.
But you can absorb it,
let savings decrease.
And waitlists are painful,
I sense your disquiet.
But your status will save you,
you’ve paid to go private.
I get we’re all human.
We all feel this pain.
But the poor are now poorer,
those in power, remain.
I used to feel lucky
to find myself living
in this strong, wealthy country
where society’s forgiving.
But when my luck run out,
and my health went downhill,
my view changed quite quickly,
through prescribed bitter pills.
If you get to the top
the world is your oyster.
But here in the gutter,
pain rots in the moisture.
So stop looking down
and realise the price
of people that suffer
when you roll the dice.
We have ideas
opinions and dreams.
But they’re being forgotten
and we’re out of steam.
First world democracy
where politics is fair
is no longer this country.
And nobody cares.
Society crumbles
as we look around.
What is the answer?
Whose door do we pound?
Sadly, the answer
now falls to us.
Say hi to your neighbour.
Help gran off the bus.
If years of austerity
give us only one thing,
let communities strengthen,
help your loved ones to sing.
Donate to a charity.
Where are you can spend on local.
Smaller business should thrive,
and to fat cats, be vocal.
Spend time with neighbours,
offer them seating.
Each time you do this,
someone lowers their heating.
A culture of bias.
A country that’s hurting.
Is the only solution
communities subverting?
One thing is certain –
we’re all on her own.
But when we come together,
we don’t suffer alone.
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Thanks for reading 💜
Creative Steph 