Short Squalor Poems

a vicious regime for riches or,
a virtuous regime for squalor?...

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A pregnant woman rises in squalor, rubs her belly, smiles and says, “Hello! Mr. President”...

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Wretch lives in wealth
Glory is in squalor 
Which is blasphemy?
my pen, tongue, or fact?...

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Engraver Gustave Dove
with lithograph art did love
Social  squalor in a bad dream
were his usp theme...

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Prepared Parlor Full od Squalor

prepared our parlor
which was so full of squalor
not worth a dollar...

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we can
collectively
show compassion to help 
the needy to uplift them from 
squalor;
they do not know why they suffer,
put in such condition,
not of their own
wishing!

4.5.2020...

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I used to fill my tank for a dollar

   Now, paying forty bucks makes me holler

      I need a loan from the bank

         Just to fill my thirsty tank

            If this continues I'll live in squalor...

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I used to fill my tank for a dollar

   Now, paying forty bucks makes me holler

      I need a loan from the bank

         Just to fill my thirsty tank

            If this continues I'll live in squalor...

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I’m leaving when the even tide
Descends upon this day
I know of many fleeting hearts
Persistent in this way
Feelings left to fight in squalor
Tell me how it’s fair?
I should hurt myself to learn
That you will never care!...

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blues and greens, gently trickle out of the day
night's henchmen, shadows gather on corners
demise looms in leaking squalor, exsanguinate
remorseless swelling of silhouettes, cardboard
cutout scenery until freedom dawns... revival...

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     Noise, the medium, of endless tedium 
       low decibel levels at a premium

     Female artists as naked as Eve    
       snake around poles the devil weaves

     Rubbernecks gawk, pay top dollar
       to writhe in sweaty squalor
...

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Wanton decay daily displayed
In cities all across the USA

Parks abide in these urban scenes
Taunting insults at concrete memes

Asphalt is the ghetto's grass
Decorated with the indolent's trash

Why men choose to live in squalor
Has no connection with having dollars...

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I used to fill my tank for a dollar

   Now, paying forty bucks makes me holler

      I need a loan from the bank

         Just to fill my thirsty tank

            If this continues I'll live in squalor

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved...

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The tiniest flecks of darker color 
flourish me with vibrant intensity;
Pulling from abundance and from squalor 
they merge together reviving beauty;
With the deepest of roots I grow stronger
until the clouds are all that I can see;
Freckles in the air no destination,
blessed with these petals of imperfection....

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Squatters acquire the land
And no questions are asked.

Hovers litter the place
And open drains greet the eyes.

Stench queezes the life
But sellers defy the odour;
Frequent epidemic and death,
But the population continues to grow.

Nobody to care;
No questions are asked;
Sheer naked life,
Ever ready for the end....

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Between sleep and awake I’m free
Navigation comes easy for me

Along fault lines of earthquakes I travel
With barely a ripple of gravel

Equations and troubles I conquer
My victories soar above squalor

If wakened I hasten my return
To slumber in peaceful nocturne

O.... the grandeur I reap
My magical place         middle sleep...

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The sunset girls won’t be muted,
high-pitched voices are high dollar;
They’re fleeting cascades of color,
those ardent eyes aren’t diluted;
Lightning flashes undisputed
will break through any choke collar;
The sunset girls 
are nothing if not sure-footed;
Never entertaining squalor 
make no mistake call them brawlers;
Color blocked magic saluted 
the sunset girls....

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Rome
A cat
Drowned

A middle ground
Of Europe
Searching for a new identity

A new entity
New parasite born

The King is dead
Long live The King

An image of filthy streets
Garbage
Rats

A new squalor
New age of technological progress

States rise and fall
And survive through art

Literature of hart
Paintings and machines
Bringing modernity's beginnings...

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thoughts   completely unbidden
burst  beyond consious moments
struggling times overwhelm
threating normal dephts unhidden 

dream  like  haze
unnoticed surface sounds
completely mocking maze
deathlike ressurection abounds

where innocent despair rains
notions squalor admist pain
embittered rattling
betwixt cuddled minds 
battling bemuddled ideals     
 confusion squeals...

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He leans against
the silent factory
as bustling parrots
regard his plight
with heartfelt indifference
bathed in the glow
of touchscreen devices
and the notion of
absolution through
repetition.

Heels clack firm
paced on schedules
trampling the dust
into pavement cracked
and pocked like
the lamentable stares
of cardboard refugees
sprawled limp beside
grates pumping
exhaust....

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Tainted kisses,
silent misgivings,
frantic limbs and souls
struggling against a deep freeze,
always trying to reach
for some sort of safety
in the midst of 
emotional squalor.
I remember you,
trying to cut the tie
with no clear cut ending,
that was a long time ago,
but for what it’s worth,
when I close my eyes,
I can still see,
your eyes,
searching mine,
for an answer
that could never be....

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We domicile here
Right in the wing of squalor
Alas poverty has made war on us
Heat of the sun runs in me
Like playing clouds before rainfall
The sun on the top of our roof wants
To darken my heart
The rain stretch to cloth me with cold

We are alone in this poverty race
No one comes close 
Our home is dark with emptiness
Poverty fruit of humbleness
From my face I am tired
My spotting desire is expired...

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Living on mama’s dollar,
Living on papa’s dime,
Living in hard times,
Playing card games,
Paying no mind to squalor,
I get high on crime,
And when the pocketbook gets thin
I’m still a bawler,
Because I’m living on mama’s dollar
Living while papa’s doing time
In the 9 to 5
While I dispatch rhymes
And whine about paradigms
How do you expect me to survive,
When I’ve never been deprived

Humboldt State University, 2014...

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through streets of déclassé squalor, i wander, 
courtesan of chaos my feet bare, 
ballerina on the dirty floor 
o the city's kin of decay, 
ragtag orchestra plays its dirge;
an eerie swan song.

i dance with shadows, a mistress of midnight's 
in alleyways, i hear the ghosts of carnal revelries,
know the dolled-up ghoul of society's sweet melee,
her cocktail shrouded in obtuseness, 
shares its waves of beer-fused intoxication...

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You speak of my failing
Without knowing my heart
Your pity is mocking
This life playing its part

You scoff at such squalor
As you toss in a coin
Lest a hero or scholar
From your coven may join

Go home to your warm bed
Waste not one precious thought
From tenets left unsaid 
With that last pence you bought

Shed but just one tear, don't leave vexed with a sigh
For there but for privilege even your dreams might die

02/20/2020...

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