Best Handout Poems
The job search continues, though unemployment has run out
For me, accepting a government handout set a precedent
If only the largest corporations are to qualify for bailouts
Then I’d like to shake up Washington and run for president
Not of the United States, no, I don’t want Obama’s job
But I’d like to take the reins of a business with some courage
To refuse taxpayer money like Ford, not GM on the rob
Like the public, I’d heal corporate wounds with my own bandage
Now I fill my hours volunteering for various causes
Senior centers and children’s groups show appreciation
Operating in the red, they are used to accepting losses
And in my heart I receive a different type of compensation
Thankfully Socialist Santa wasn’t elected,
because we now have a lovely wall being erected.
Given will be no free handout for the illegal masses,
and received will be no gifts of crime, drugs, and grasses.
Lights from above will twinkle from helicopters,
as tear gas will float to choke out the coughers.
Asylum seekers they surely are not,
the invaders will be rejected and never achieve the globalization they sought.
So, sleep in comfort and in peace dear little children,
Our wonderful president Trump keeps America secure and free from criminal invasion.
Our country sleeps well because the good gave a good fight,
so sleep well to all, and to all a good night.
I have been
A shut in and shut out
Kicked in and kicked out
Strung up and strung out
Sore thumb that's stuck out
I'm not a saint or girl scout
But I've cut ink and bled out
Mi vida loca like "Blood In Blood Out"
And each one I've wrote about
Knowing at least I'm not a sell out
This is the therapy of my soul shout!
I'm not looking for a handout
Persuading you I have clout
I do this for me…
If this you ever do doubt
Then you can kick rocks and get the hell out
The lass is lonely her life weary
Her stormy days restless and not easy,
She seeks of giving yet the weather dreary
Perceiving her world through bountiful eyes.
For sure therein her highest of mind
Yet for not of the common woes,
Gifts she loathes of many tributes
To handout the most regal of rose.
Yet a copper coin here a penny there
A wholesome batch of homemade bread,
To those the scruffy village urchins
She pursued the ragged poor instead.
Her father M’lord at his table rife
Silver sheen catches the sunlight,
Tis’ head waiter swings the liberal knife
Sweet daughter of protocol pretends.
For I was of urchin the village claimed
But she was educated and filled my head,
For now I am M’lord of the manor
Did grieve not when M'lord pronounced dead.
© Harry J Horsman 2020
Cares pull my spirits down
Always force me, ‘wear a frown’
I heard, “You’ll in darkness drown;
For weeds in you are also sown.”
Seeds like unknown fear and worry
Sprouted in my nursery bed of merry
On watering, I nourished misery
Unable to differentiate their finery
Gradually grew seeds called health and wealth
But sorrow and sufferings sapped its strength
I battled and struggled to save my breath
Expecting someone to fill my heart with mirth
With this frame of mind
No way of escape I could find
On reaching office, I read this thought
Recited it several times in my heart
That every sad day
Is followed by a glad day
As a team we discussed the layout
Of a very important handout
Green is good and soothes the eye
Yellow and black never get an instant goodbye
Red and navy blue give a professional look
Lavender or sky blue, gets anyone on hook
Everyone suggested a hue
And it granted me a cue
Of great surprise among a few
That if colors carried a clue
Of a top secret message
Then I remembered a passage
For this world Jesus is the true light
Who makes the face of any man bright
He’ll weed and make me alright
My life like aroma will ascend in His sight
If each and every shade
That Almighty has made
Reflects God, as a mighty tower
And also expounds His awesome power
Unique His way of having seen my form
Being formed in womb like a worm
Fearful yet surprise filled is His greatness
I wonder and move about carrying His likeness
reaching out to touch a heart
is not very hard to do
but the only way you can start
is by sharing what's inside of you
everyone needs a pick- me- up
it's not a handout per- say
cause it really does'nt cost that much
to brighten up someone's day
a kind word or gesture
sometimes is all that's needed
for happiness can only be measured
by how someone is treated
so if you're trying to do something worthwhile
you dont' have to go out of your way
sometimes it just takes a smile
to makes someone's day
What do you do if you can't find a job
and all your monthly bills keep piling up?
Collectors are as vicious as the mob,
You wonder when all these problems will stop.
You changed your lifestyle hoping for the best
and started your life over with clean slate,
Then you are faced daily with many test
some of them you wish would disintegrate.
When what you need is not just a handout,
('Cause people do get tired of a leech,)
but a blessing to turn your life about
and you will see nothing's beyond your reach.
It's time for you to use the things you've got
and trust the Lord to help you find your lot.
Copyright © 2007 Jacquelyn Sturge
jay5
a classroom if you will
no acts of kindness
more like the answer
to the question
are we paying attention
back in sixty-five
forty second and San Pedro
backroom of the barber shop
racking pool balls for pennies
or whatever them players
saw fit to handout
hustle in some folk’s eyes
scripture in others
Gandhi or Elijah Muhammad
Jesus over Iceberg Slim
a world like a bordello
filled with pimps and Johns
and the only ho' in the room
was me
What splendid creatures God has formed.
I think of whales who swim above the silt,
giants of the sea that are cruelly harmed,
harpooned from life by men without guilt.
An industrious creature God has made
in the miniscule form of the worker ant,
hustlers gathering, never rest in the shade
while lazy people complain in angry rant.
What grievances men perpetually bemoan
with their fingers ever stretched for a handout.
In line for freebies while holding a new cell phone,
taking what they can; that's what they're about.
No notion or thought that giving is the better way.
We're the greediest animals this planet has ever seen.
Whales could easily crush the biggest ship in the bay,
and ants are busy keeping their home safe and clean.
Is there some lesson to be learned from ant and whale?
They lack free will and we can't hear what they speak.
Ants and whales commit no crimes sending them to jail.
Is it no wonder then, the future of mankind is so bleak?
Land is man's home, but we invade the depths of the sea
where whales swim and feed exactly where they should be.
What fear would mankind have if it had been God's decree
to let whales come ashore to roam among you and me?
What thought do we give for stepping upon little ants?
Even the red ones don't bother us until we annoy them.
If those insects took revenge and crawled up our pants,
would we have new respect and avoid living in mayhem?
You might think my words are ridiculous suppositions
but take a moment for some serious contemplations.
Whales don't hunt us; ants live in underground conditions.
Doesn't that make us a world of aggressive nations?
This is a tropical paradise where many tourists meet.
However, you will still see homeless people living in the street.
These folks struggle to receive a handout.
Each day is living with some considerable doubt.
Survival means putting up a daily fight.
However, it is warm enough so they don't freeze at night.
Along the thoroughfares just north of Waikiki Beach,
the homeless wander well within reach.
Just like the cities located in the continental forty-eight,
Honolulu has some citizens who have arrived at a bad fate.
The Other Side of the Tracks
By Elton Camp
The poor you always have with you”
These words of Jesus are still too true
The folks who read this haven’t known
The cruel nature of poverty of one’s own
That is equally true in my case as well
Just the same, their story I’ll try to tell
For I have seen poverty not so far away
And have heard the things they must say
It’s in a middle-class town where I reside
But penury exists, just not side-by-side
Quite near, just across the railroad track
Live the poor, some white and some black
They remained almost invisible to me
Until I worked census and then got to see
Rooms in a shack sealed with cardboard
As that was the best they could afford
How many baths have you, but never mind
I already saw the crude outhouse just behind
Plank floors, protruding springs in chairs
I’d hate to experience the life that’s theirs
Food stamps and other types of handout
Are the things their life is mostly about
Lacking even a minimum high school degree
Better circumstances they aren’t likely to see
Their children suffer perhaps with silent rage
Drop out of school when they come of age
From this, what could finally come to be
Is it class warfare that we will come to see?
Some few the cycle of poverty will break
But most a success in life will never make
A sad, young girl sits and glumly stares
And wonders if anybody, about her cares
I can only describe what I know to be so
But a practical solution I just don’t know
It was when I paused a moment from my workload’s pressing call
that I gazed upon the picture frames which lined my office wall
and I sensed a strange sensation and was soon to be beguiled
by the host of beaming faces as six generations smiled.
Though I laud the pioneering skills my grandfathers had showed,
my thoughts drifted to the women-folk who also walked that road
and it dawned that all our chronicles, our ballads, poems too
failed to sing the women’s praises in the way they ought to do.
From the dreamtime of our nation and the Aborigine,
long before the new white visitor arrived from ‘cross the sea,
the indigenous black mothers would seek out bush tucker food
in an effort to give sustenance to her nomadic brood.
And the wretched convict woman with her love-child by her side
forced to labour in the work house - and in vain as her child died –
how she struggled for existence in the infant colony
with the hope of serving out her time and one day being free.
Loyal wives of military men who too were forced to dwell
far away from native England and to live here quite a spell;
also women of free settlers proud to stand beside their men
in a land of sweat and sorrow and rebuild their lives again.
When the question of imbalance of the genders rose its head,
many women sought to emigrate and hoped that they would wed;
but the immigration policy developed many flaws
till the Chisolms of the century took up the women’s cause.
Once the mountains to the west were crossed the steadfast settler's wife
looked to find a piece of country where she might live out her life:
far from comforts of the cities to some isolated run
where she fought a running battle with the searing summer sun -
Where a slab hut was her castle - where a white ant bed the floor –
where she always had a handout for the traveller at the door.
Though she bore a swag of youngsters with the aid of her black friend,
sadly some would battle whooping cough: it won out in the end.
CONTINUED
Poem by Jorn Boor '' In the eye of the beholder ''
The path of life I will walk, slowly I will grow old
Along this road I stumble, throughout the years in which I unfold
Insecurity's hold me, only strong tough.. in my past before
Skill & faith... I use my tool set, to build my fundamental inner core
Passing phases of moving progression, through my moments of thought
Life's happiness I treasure in full, it's the ingredient for which I fought
I mature through life element's, painful encounters bring hard challenges for sure
My mind is set on self realization, which is destined to hold ones cure.
I like to run, I love to play, fight through all of my dislikes.
As long as I am still aging, I stay determinate to gain insights
Triggers, traps, challenges.. I won't give in, I will not be afraid.
Life's disadvantages I need to handle, so in the end I can set them straight
I let my inner soul control my destiny, I focus, I pay attention
I'll grow responsible, I create happiness within this true intention.
Birth intended I feel blessed to live, I must shine each single day
I hold in mind to respect my life, I choose to live it in my own way.
I stand up for all of my choices, of which I am allowed to make.
Otherwise I am not able to die in peace, I can't allow that my soul is fake.
Frustration towards Human Race, I feel the truth is loosing ground
One day I trigger the alarm, to your convenience I will let it sound
I'll be my own friend, the bond I create within will set me free
Maybe it doesn't mean to you that much for now, but in the end you'll agree
Hiding is the key for failure, in the end I will regret
I enjoy thunder, the lightings and rain, cleansed air is the result which I expect.
Faith is creating a gift we handout ourselves, it leads us towards alignment
My environment is a product of me, accomplished... so i can die in contentment.
Jorn Boor, Johannesburg SA
Date: 26-10-11
Join the Military
Poor live in poverty while others are rich
And all they seem to do is *****, *****, *****
Their motto is when in trouble or have doubt
Should go ahead and wait for another handout.
When we wanted to buy a new night gown
All of them ended up with a hand me down
Instead of something they would adore
It got bought at some second hand store.
Sure you could say the poor are abused
Mis-used living with things which are well-used
On back responsibility they refused to carry;
To learn better went off and joined the military.
That is why they are called the employer of last
resort and not related to any vacations.
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran
PS. Sound familiar? Oh, and guess you could
call this an identity cross so I checked off
that box also
I am the boy who just wants to have fun.
I am the one that takes life as a game,
hit, miss and run.
I am the Man working hard to make a life.
I am the father with children and wife.
I am the Scoutmaster camping outdoors.
I am the Pimp selling the whores.
I am the Prophet, a man of many words.
I am old and gray feeding the birds.
I am the Hunter seeking his prey.
I am the Chef fixing a tray.
I am the Gambler dealing to a crowd.
I am the Drunk obnoxious and loud.
I am the Preist seeking perfection.
I am the Junkie high on injection.
I am the Crimminal fleeing from the law.
I am the Man in the woods,
destroying nature with a saw.
I am the Beast that prowls in the night.
I am the Bogeyman spreading fear and fright.
I am the Cowboy out on the trail.
I am the little Crippled Boy,
so weak and so frail.
I am the Builder that makes your homes.
I am the Traveler that wonders and roams.
I am the Soldier who fights to survive.
I am the Doctor that keeps you alive.
I am the Sculptor, the artist in paint.
I am the Good, the Evil, the Bad and the Saint.
I am the Beggar in the street,
looking for a handout, a peice of meat.
I am the Poorly, I am the Well.
I am the Heaven, I am the Hell.
I am the one they call MAN.
I am all, for ALL THAT I AM.