Bustbowl?The Dustbowl, 1930s, America
Vivid altruism in a world that sinks in dust,
As dusky morning bathes in homes turning to rust.
Drifting through the country, old jalopies, wagons, trains,
Into camps, heavy hearts, bodies twitching with pains.
They belonged somewhere, sometime, someplace,
Until faceless banks rendered them displaced.
To storm, to blast, to settle in a scene unknown,
Anxious to restore themselves, set something solid in stone.
To live, to dwell, to produce, to dream,
And with them endless souls, hope a mere gleam.
Sweet dreamers dreaming that sweet pick of fruit,
Evicted from their homes by the man in the suit.
Too much they owed,
Never reaping what they sowed.
In anticipation of the beauty they would see,
Sharing all they had, these honest families.
A cloud of hard labour, tired face, hungry soul,
The unacknowledged heroes of the Dust bowl.
It has happened and happened before and before.
And no-doubt will arise again.
The Rustbowl, 1980s, America and Britain
Driving necessity in a world that boomed to bust.
As morning rain drifts, in terraced streets of needs-must.
Another welfare line, another strike on at the mine
Another week of politicians telling us we're fine.
Macro over micro, Thatcherism and 'Reaganomics'
Makes no difference when there's nothing in the bank requiring economics.
They belonged somewhere, sometime, some-place,
Until faceless banks rendered them displaced.
To storm, to blast, to settle in a scene unknown,
Anxious to restore themselves, set something solid in stone.
To live, to dwell, to produce, to dream,
And with them endless souls, hope a mere gleam.
Boarded-up windows, riots and cuts,
Job losses, break-ups, and continue they must.
Too much they owed,
To maintain and keep hold.
A chasm created, an unlevel playing field,
And honest people, merely hoping to yield.
A cloud of injustice, tired face, hungry soul,
The unacknowledged heroes of the Rustbowl.
It has happened and happened before and before.
And no-doubt will arise again.
The Bustbowl? Now, Worldwide.
Competitive ambition in a world where money's lust,
As cold winds sweep, worldwide as if a fine dust.
Another new agenda, another guised cutback,
Another drift from aspirational credit to cash setback.
Coalition and contradictions, and playing with statistics,
Not counting the invisible ones, for they don't meet our best interests.
They belonged somewhere, sometime, some-place,
Until faceless banks rendered them displaced.
To storm, to blast, to settle in a scene unknown,
Anxious to restore themselves, set something solid in stone.
To live, to dwell, to produce, to dream,
And with them endless souls, hope a mere gleam.
Boarded-up windows, class-structures and cuts,
Job losses, break-ups, and continue they must.
Too much they owed,
Credit's desire ran cold.
A chasm perpetuated, a damaged social structure,
And aims at reparation less than lack-lustre
A cloud of injustice, tired face, hungry soul,
What should we call it, international bustbowl?
It has happened and happened before and before.
And no-doubt will arise again.
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