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Best Poverty Poems

Below are the all-time best Poverty poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of poverty poems written by PoetrySoup members

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Don't stop! The most popular and best Poverty poems are below this new poems list.

Prisoner of Poverty by garcia, anatonia
Wage a war on poverty by Tesfaye, Haile
A rich girl dreaming of poverty by Ward, Julia
Poverty a driving force by nnoli, richard
Poverty and Depravity by Dome, Peter
RICHES AND POVERTY by SANG, ENOCK
Profiting from poverty by Tesfaye, Haile
POVERTY IN AFRICA by Mwero, Nzongi
Poverty Gone by Ward, Julia
Ambition Against Poverty by Williams, Jmel

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The Best Poverty Poems

Details | Poverty Poem | |

High Bred Reality

     Soul progress
     back field in motion
The guff
     Chose, chose, live grow leave!  GO!

Leapt from heaven's gold
Jump started into a human mold

    White clapboard poverty with tiger lily blooms,
blueberry rake poverty woolen looms.

Riffs of Emerson, Whitman, Longfellow dawns,
mothers’ hazel eyes, father Davidesque form,
chosen to drive twixt a Jew and a screw.
          Magnet of lunacy...
Tumbled like an agate into the stream of life
part of the dream lesson
scream      lesson

Abuser of power, one who had once roared,
 Eve shaped now, weak and mewling
                 between the weeds of woe.
Care taken by lovers torn.
          Watched over by pedophile uncles.
Befriended by lewd Father of sons.
Adult child, searching amongst the Word
for the Word is God           and GOD …
       There are so many   words
    
Root ripped scenes from beauty to horror
Shiksa* taunts seep in with the smell of borsch. 
 A pumpkinseed amongst the pricks of Brooklyn
A wild rose planted in the asphalt soil 
     Doo-wop      ditty
Jew’s bop to a Dago harmony,
bagels, bialys and the French twisted strands 
of great grandma’s hair.
          Clipped, stripped of family shoved whole 
into yet another new mold.
      True believers,  ah yes,      fanatics all.
The struggle to survive whole healthy
dipped in, dripped in, a bath of acid and  thorazine. 
Polish priests pedal platitudes to the sisters of St. Joseph 
behind the gilded glory of the Church.

Raped by trust and betrayed by lovers,
a rose married to a prickles thorn,
so empathy is gained, and a healer born.
              Metal must be formed in a crucible of fire 
A healer can not be born without tasting the pyre.


Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011

More great poems below...


Details | Poverty Poem | |

POVERTY DEFINES TRUE WEALTH

written 25th Oct 2013


I don't know if human's will ever see
 every soul born, is right where it's meant to be
For the rich to become the richest
 there has to be a place for the poorest

The entire world is built up from the same level of dirt
 each soul is born without knowledge to cause hurt
Humanity teaches us what a human's life is worth, by money and glory
 I am to believe "all lives are priceless, every soul fit's to tell Earth's story

The luckiest to be born, is that of a poor man
 he learn's the treasures, of "everything he can
Those born into all riches, have no true understanding of "richness
 seeing us not as human's, but those living in poverty "as an illness

Love start's from the soul, and from there, it is taught to grow
 the rich find another kind of love, one only brought with dough
Love, trust, compassion and grace, defining the difference in richest and wealth
 t'is the beggar off the street, who climbs the toughest road to earn his wealth 

He is the most blessed man, he is rewarded with the most valuable key
 for his wealth, is humanly "uncountable, for only God know's the value of he...


Award winning this poem made it to the top 100 in 2015 enjoy and leave me a smile to know that you were here. 

Copyright © Denise Hopkins | Year Posted 2013


Details | Poverty Poem | |

Forgotten Soul

Forgotten Soul I turn my head, and there she is once more In her disheveled, worn and tattered dress, One pew behind me near the exit door She sits head bowed…an image of distress. Two weeks now on a Sunday she is there… The same pew in the church, the same old clothes. She shows forlornness that makes me aware Her life is sadly filled with countless woes. This time she lifts her head and looks at me, As tears swell in her eyes and down her cheek. My heart is broken by the hurt I see Within her wanting eyes so dark and meek. I gaze into her face and see her fears Yet, slightest twinkle in her sullen eyes… With tiny smile, she wipes her falling tears Away, but still I hear the painful cries That echo from her heart so silently Of weakened body, anguished mind and soul… I wonder what in life could possibly Have caused her to now suffer such a toll. And I surmise that homeless she must be, But still some faith has brought her to this spot Where healing strength from God might possibly Renew her spirit when her life cannot. The mass soon ends, and I arise and turn, So now in front of her I sadly stand… She grasps my hand and says, “God Bless, you earn His blessings for a heart that understands." Sandra M. Haight ~1st Place~ Contest: Highest View Sponsor: Casarah Nance Judged: 08/30/2105 ~1st Place~ Contest: Structured Forms – Iambic Verse Sketch a Fictitious Character Sponsor: Giorgio A.V. Judged 12/16/2014

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2014


Details | Poverty Poem | |

Children of the Valleys

And as the hills yonder 
Turned red from sunset rays
As darkness engulfed the valley
And the sweet sounds of birds
Rent the cool evening air

Our cows and sheep and goats 
Hurried down the footpath
As though they were late
To a gathering of clans
Or to one of their own

And we the happy herds' boys
Turned our ravenous thoughts
To bananas yams and milk
And all available munch-able stuff
To calm our restless tummies

And as the evening metamorphosed into night
And the stars of the sky reclaimed their might
We the famished children of the valleys
Approached the fireside with widening eyes
As the roughshod soldiers laid claim to all
And shot in the air to frighten us all.

And so we watched with pangs of hunger 
Training our wrath and rancor and dismay
To other sons and daughters of Africa
Who for reasons best known to them
Or known only to their heartless handlers
Proclaimed themselves ‘defenders of our freedom.’


Voila! Children of the valleys of Africa
And of the cities and slums of Africa
You who gather in the evening breeze
After torrid days in the fields and streets
Only to return to a darkening sky
Sans food sans wear sans light. Voila! 

Copyright © Gerald Kithinji | Year Posted 2013


Details | Poverty Poem | |

Humanity is dying

Population is increasing are the deaths controlled? From Lebanon to Pakistan France to Greece global destruction of humanity people are running hiding with no shelter a mother is crying after slitting her child's throat brothers killing their brothers sisters being raped women being beaten holy man abusing a child homes destroyed war ravages democracy plagued evil dictators roaming cowards hiding behind nuclear power Imperialism breathing stronger economies bankrupt discrimination of colour death for nationality and creed gender - orientation - faith prejudice scriptures being misinterpreted ignorant religious warfare poisonous gasses filling the air car after car artificial crops produced in masses are we ready for cloning? global warming generating cancer spreading like fire animals dying - becoming extinct concrete jungles being built poverty, hunger, lack of drinking water; even today? Yet all you care about is your mobile phone or what is on TV and if you are warm Is this the end to humanity? Or the beginning of a new generation Is it the end of the world? The Apocalypse! God - Allah - Jehovah - Krishna - Atheist - Humanist Who you follow makes no difference to me the world is dying - hate is multiplying soon all the poets will stop writing the last warrior will stop fighting producing no more children soon we will all stop existing! The Silent One 19 November 2015 The Silent One

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015


Details | Poverty Poem | |

Looking Down

If wealth is now your blessing,
what then was the prayer?
Avarice, its goal possessing,
yet in penury, despair.

I see them often in the store
eyes ahead, regard for none.
Against the classes, tacit war—
Modus Operandi: shun.

Vaunted compounds they do flout—
absent grasp of their chagrin—
for walls and gates that keep us out
are prisons trapping them within.

They say those vexed by paucity,
should flee to foreign air, 
for wages here of poverty
would make them wealthy there.

Thus, high above the world they scan— 
well hidden from our sight— 
discounting what the common man 
is suffering tonight.

1st Place: Sing to Me Contest

Prompted by the remark made on this topic by fashion company Nicole Miller’s 
CEO Bud Konheim. Thanks to Roy Jerden for his thoughtful help on the fifth stanza, allowing for much greater impact.

With a special nod to the song Royals by Lorde, which has a very compatible message.

Copyright © Mark Peterson | Year Posted 2014


Details | Poverty Poem | |

Unwed Teen Mothers and Poverty

At internet dating sites secrets are hidden
On his roller coaster of lies, Pam had ridden
Though she agreed to meet Joe in a public park
The sun had already set; it was growing dark

No families or lovers were strolling around
When Jim came from behind and pushed Pam to the ground
Pam went home and was afraid to tell her parents
In four months there was a change in her appearance

Pam left home and started living on the streets
Turning away from every stranger she’d meet
‘Neath neon lights on a cardboard box she lay
Night after night, visiting soup kitchens by day

In her eighth month she found a home for pregnant teens
As her mom endured the torment of fearful dreams
Time neared and Pam called home crying, “Mom, I’ve done wrong!”
Grateful mom said, “Dear, I’d have been there all along"

Lifting Pam up from the grasp of dire poverty
Her parents welcomed the newborn to their family
If she hadn’t made that call, Pam would not have known
The comfort she’d receive in her parents’ fine home



* Entry for Gwendolen’s “Mom, I’m Pregnant” contest.

According to Douglas J. Besharov with the University of Maryland’s School of Public 
Policy, almost half of all families headed by women under age 18 have incomes 
below the poverty line. This is almost five times the poverty rate of two-parent 
families with children. 

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011


Details | Poverty Poem | |

Slaughtered Innocence



The hideous and the humble
Blood peppers falling snow
As world hurtles to the tipping point
Life chokes on ignited air
Wrenching love from hungry mouths
Stars fall without sound
Some weep helpless, day through night
Ever wondering how
Never knowing why ...

Copyright © Patricia L Graham | Year Posted 2014


Details | Poverty Poem | |

Please Take The Time

So many times we see someone in need
Most walk by while they piteously plead
Plead for help that may not come
Plead for love because they have none
So many people just don't take the time
To support their fellow man
Like it's too much to be kind
Too much to give a helping hand
To someone who needs it, please take a stand
Stand up for the ones who cannot speak for themselves
Stand up for those who live their lives in hell
They need your help, you may be the one
That saves their life, think of your son
If he were in need and you not around
Would you want others to laugh at his frowns
To see him in need and lift not a hand
To help him up out of no man's land
You'd want strangers to aid him, I know that's true
But don't forget help can also come from you
We are all in the position to assist
I know you know that, but here's the twist
In helping others we also help ourselves
And that is a great reason in and of itself
It feels wonderful to help those in need
To sleep soundly knowing you did a good deed
So please when you see someone who has not a thing
Take time to help, it will make your heart sing

Copyright © April Gabriella | Year Posted 2013


Details | Poverty Poem | |

A Casual Exchange

“Oh Edgar, look at those poor slaves, traipsing after His All Important, High and Mighty, Landlord.”
	“I wish I was a slave.”
	“Hush your mouth Edgar. Don’t be saying such things.”
	“But I do.”
	“Edgar!”
“Look at them May Bel, walking along the road, in their tunics and hose. While we stand here in the mud, our backs covered with more holes, than rag.”
	“But Edgar at least we have our freedom.”
	“Our what? Freedom? I’ve lived on this road all my thirty two years, and never once have I walked it in the direction that they’re going. I’ve only ever walked to the market and back. Just like my father before me.
	Freedom, aah the freedom to come out here into this field, in the rain and snow. To dig this dirt that really needs a rest. And to find that there’s not enough potatoes or carrots to sell for the rent. Let alone our dinner. Slaves don’t have pay rent, or pay taxes.
	The freedom to hear our children’s bellies growl, after they have finished their boiled grass. Look at those slave’s bellies, under their tunics May Bel. Do they look like they go hungry?”
	“We are free to love.”
	“We’re all free to fall in love.”
	“Oh Edgar, that’s enough.”
	“Well, Love won’t put a roof over your head.”
	“Edgar, you do disappoint me so.”
	“Now that I think about it, there’s a hole above your mother’s bed. Did you know? She’ll be trying to sleep with us and the kids, next time it rains. That’ll probably be tonight.
	Edmund tells me these slaves get housed in dungeons. Now there’s a place that would have a good roof, if ever I heard.”
	“And what would your All Knowledgeable, Brother Edmund know about such things? Just listening to gossip, the two of you.”
	“Well at least the Landlord cares enough about those slaves to give them those tunics…”
	“Watch what you’re doing with that stick Edgar! You nearly put it through that potato there. Be more careful.”
	“Through that potato? This stick isn’t even sharp enough to pierce that potato’s skin. I bet the slaves get things like spades and forks to use.”
	“Full of the grumbles today, aren’t we. You must have got out of the wrong side of the bed.”
	“That bed…”
	“Oh no! Don’t be starting on that bed.”
	
_______
I don't write much prose any more, but I thought you'd like this old one.
Cheers
Scott

Copyright © scott thirtyseven | Year Posted 2014


Details | Poverty Poem | |

Young lambs in Poverty

In this dark and dreary world, the urchins forced to toil

Their  body bared and tarnished, gain little sleep and boil

Tiny hands and feets famished, no love they had meet

Like young lambs for slaughter, were they forced to cheat

Sold away by father, with no heart but only greed 
   
How my mind cries, watching this heinous deed

And sighs, its a discriminating fate unfair. 


© Nadiya (22 Jan '15)

*Won 4th place on 4 Feb 2015 in the contest 'Interlocking Rhyme' by Isiah Zerbst

Copyright © poesy relish | Year Posted 2015


Details | Poverty Poem | |

Street People

Lingering (in foggy haze)

Silhouettes of lost souls

(basket people muttering)

Lingering

(as they always do)

Culture of poverty
holding up signs
will work for food
the barefoot children
HIV and hunger
the powerless mothers...

Lingering

Cult of personalities speak
(the politicians)
eager for answers we listen
to false hope.

Lingering

Embers dancing in the wind
and the Spanish Moss
that hangs from magnificent 
oaks
begin to fall like funeral 
draperies
that echo meaningless sighs...

Lingering...
~ ~ ~

Copyright © Ken Carroll | Year Posted 2014


Details | Poverty Poem | |

WE ARE SOUND

We are sound.  Of mind and soul. 
We are sound of earth and gold
We are sound.

We are sound, of constant grind 
Fire and coal we are sound.

If GOD BE told, we are sound
Of strife and right  
We are sound, of toil and might 
Of fist  and fight 
We are sound

Of listless days and  raging nights 
We are sound.  

Of blood and mud 
We are sound

Of tattered shares and ragtag flair
We are sound.
Of guts and fury we are sound
Of grave yard fears, we are sound

This is the song of the renowned 
Pound the ground we are sound.

Copyright © VAL BROOKLYN Rogers BLK PANTHER | Year Posted 2014


Details | Poverty Poem | |

trust the system

footsteps aimlessly
walking on their trails
beaten down and broken
shiny as the rails
the rails of the train
over used and rusted
crumbling ignored
the system that you trusted
the silence of conformity
the quiet crying song
of people lost in apathy
monotony so long
the old man remembered
the booming days of old
and tried to warn the youngster
with stories he had told
the young man in the t shirt
can hear no warning cries
television cataracts
covering his eyes
commoners injected
with complacent misdemeanors
fed intravenously
from mass media feeders
the heretics will scream
with no one to hear their call
the working slaves will perish
society will fall
in the pulpit yelling
mystifying lies
sweating like a demon
with fire in his eyes
passing round a dish
to collect the workers' wage
saving souls ain't easy
so he sets a stage
profiting from fear
preparing them for death
comfort is a business
says his liquor breath
on the front row fanning
the woman says amen
waiting for the bell
so she can live in sin
forgiveness is a blessing
that god will give to few
surely she'll be one
when her life is through
the child in the classroom
with the curious mind
will be beaten and conditioned
until she too is blind 
"trust in the system"
is the motto that they teach
"question nothing,
so higher you can reach"
the land of the free
the home of the brave
only for those of us
content with being slaves
some will stand on street corners
holding big white signs
telling of injustice
held beneath our sights
but those who throw the bombs
which burn society down
those will be the shakers
for true freedom to be found
but the sheep still continue
to justify their life
ignoring others torment
blind to their strife
perpetuating failure
selling bankers souls
to keep on consuming
to get the best remote control
to build themselves a shield
what kind of life is this
numbness is a virtue
and ignorance is bliss

Copyright © JoAnna Mitchell | Year Posted 2013


Details | Poverty Poem | |

Celebrity

They are not rich.
They have no car. 
They have no fat.
They have no dream.

They are not so-called educated persons.
They are not news.

They are struggling for existence.

They have not any exceed of life 
Which is poison. 

They live with their old parents.

They have innocent smile and intuition.

They created their poor house as rich home.

They are my celebrities.
But I am not communist.

SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA

Copyright © Sandip Goswami | Year Posted 2015


Details | Poverty Poem | |

INJUSTICE - MY SPIRIT

Their craving eyes watch hungrily
As food goes down the drain,
Their half-torn, old and dirty clothes
Are drenched by pouring rain.

They never have a resting place,
Or something close to 'home',
They have no proper livelihood -
On worn-out streets they roam.

People think they aren't of use,
Some even call them 'unwanted',
Still, there are some who will look past that,
And try to help them, undaunted.

I hope, that one day, all this ends -
That 'discrimination' isn't a word,
And I know inside, my wish will come true -
The 'poor' will change the world.

For 'SHOW ME YOUR SPIRIT' Contest

Copyright © Sneha RV The literature lover | Year Posted 2015


Details | Poverty Poem | |

I long for the day

I long for the day, when all we feel is love,
no more hatred, no more pain, just happiness.
I long for the day, there is no more war,
to pick up a newspaper and see only peace.
I long for the day, where there is no hunger,
an end to poverty, drought and famine.
I long for the day, children can live without fear,
no oppression, no abuse, no manipulation, no hurt.
I long for the day, when we can all live as one,
no sectarianism, no warfare, no killing of innocents.
I long for the day, where anyone can love,
regardless of colour, culture, faith and sexuality.
I long for the day, where there is a cure,
for every illness, so no child dies in childhood.
I long for that day, when I can live and not fear,
because of a premature death, signalling my end.

The Silent One. 27 July 2015

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015


Details | Poverty Poem | |

Shaken to the Core

Her sad eyes and tear stained face evoked such ambivalent feelings;
I could barely stand to look upon the half-naked child in front of me. 
She turned her face toward me with a pained look begging for help.
Maternal feelings welled up within for this pitiful tangled haired waif. 

Gaping in abject horror, I observed the orphan's frail arms wrapped 
tenaciously around a dead rat and held close to her dirt smeared body. 
I sensed this sewer 'pet rat' had been her only source of comfort in life. 
The one thing she turned to, when sad or hungry, would never again be.
 
While resisting the urge to gather her up in my arms and dry her tears, 
still I desired to sympathize... whispering, "Don't cry honey, it'll be OK". 
I lied, knowing it wouldn't.  Besides what could I do with so little to give. 
I turned and walked away not wanting to face my growing sense of lack.

I awoke with a start, shuddering, deeply disturbed and troubled to tears.
Sometimes the vivid images, like a horror movie returning to haunt me,
make me question, "Who is that wretched child so forlorn and dejected?
The memories shake my very soul, the hidden message still eluding me. 

Copyright © Charlene McCutcheon | Year Posted 2014


Details | Poverty Poem | |

A CALL FOR LIBERTY

America has another name
her name is Freedom
hidden behind  
Political
Racial
medical
Federal banks
Economical
Educational
Social
all fixed corporations
means extra banks
We the people  protest our freedom
we’re calling for freedom
America
show us our freedom
life requires no credits to score
all lies
we are enlightened beings
we are so much more
so much more than
rich man   poor man
Groundhog  going in circles
working 15 hours a day  man
We’re calling for freedom
liberty is our birthright
to roam the earth at will
is our birthright
We are freedom
we say freedom
America   live up to your name
your name is Freedom
Freedom is the word
word is law
America  follow the law
the  law  says  freedom
we demand truth
we demand  mental freedom

Copyright © Nailah Baniti | Year Posted 2015


Details | Poverty Poem | |

The Great Puppeteer

The Great Puppeteer

The CEO wore a six hundred dollar wool-silk blended suit
and he stroked his tie as he counted his loot
10 million for me
10 million for my stockholders if you please
and that leaves
7 dollars for my employees

leaning back in his leather chair
he muses
thinking of the people he uses
we’ve got to stop raising minimum wage
if we’re to go on living in this golden age

the great puppeteer
he knows he’s got a good thing going here

so with a little hocus pocus
he gets his employees to focus
on poor people who live in despair
he gets them complaining about people on welfare

it’s called divide and conquer said he
you see
the poor are so naive
they’ll never see the card I have up my sleeve
I’ll get them fighting over the scraps I leave
and they won’t even notice
I’m having a feast no one would believe!

Copyright © Wally Flint | Year Posted 2015


Details | Poverty Poem | |

That One Chance

                                                       That One Chance
                                          
                                             If I had that one chance I would,
                                             Eliminate that reality that hate could,
                                             Destory the purpose of loves will,
                                             For hate is a reality that loves to kill.

                                             Having this one chance I would  know,
                                             That my life has that chance to show 
                                             No other purpose is their from hate,
                                             Because hate is not my only fate.

                                             If I had that one chance to love,
                                             I woulld humble its desire thereof,
                                             For I know that its desire is from,
                                             The essence of a true reality to come.

                                             So if one fines that one chance,
                                             To adore its love snd take a stance..

Copyright © Michael S. Johnson | Year Posted 2014


Details | Poverty Poem | |

BLACK STREGNTH

In believing there is seeing And a hope of understanding That black stregnth is power Of our black brother and sister put together As they carry forever As one kind of race Putting many minds in place Comanding, demanding With the most high respect And pride intect. Demonstrated: By high knee and clenched fist in the air Motivated: By a loud cheer, "ASIBASABI!" We dont fear them! Taking obstecles as they come Crying, "WE SHALL OVER COME!" 'Cause the district where they are from Is where poverty reign Being the kingdom and domain Where they'll remain And that is why I'm saying BLACK STREGNTH!

Copyright © siza sibiya | Year Posted 2013


Details | Poverty Poem | |

Belated Acclaim

A homeless man, as he wandered, on ideas varied he pondered, scribe on those discarded bits of paper, of the varied experience life offered. Of romance to delight and murder, a fright of the wrath of the dragon, and tales, that would enlighten. An author of immense fame his works never lame an arduous journey until malady claimed for then came fame as he approached oblivion. Of him sang the old man daily as he sat strumming his guitar across the town square © Nadiya (28 May 2015)

Copyright © poesy relish | Year Posted 2015


Details | Poverty Poem | |

Blue Jean Derelict

Holes in his jeans, but a song in his heart How easily his handsome smile stole mine -- Both jeans and heart! *Written March 15, 2015, for Debbie’s “Three Line” poetry contest

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2015


Details | Poverty Poem | |

The Old Gate-Keeper

I am the old gatekeeper
I come with the increasing heat
I bring fruit to the season
Fragrant flowers smell sweet

The fishermen know
When to harvest the big fish of the sea
And the birds sing
Because the land comes alive

I am the old gatekeeper
The scarcity is past
The early crops bear tubers
Hope is what I bring

The leaves of the vegetation thrive
Living things stroll in their shade
So the fisherman seeks fishing nets
If the garden yields little, the sea comes alive

Copyright © Ligella Mandraki | Year Posted 2015