in #art5 years ago

Welcome to Beastly Tales. Each has a message, a moral. All are meant to have an element of humour. Naturally, any names included do not depict real folk but are included as part of the joke.

All rights reserved.
(As with Beastly Banter Beastly Tales is written and illustrated by Richard Hersel.)

Thank you for your following.
Richard Hersel



In a country comprising a faraway land,
There existed the very poor, along with the grand.
The extremely poor comprised the majority of folk.
The Grand numbered less; so rich it was a joke.
Then there were the military and bureaucratic twits,
Whose job was to make life miserable for the poorer bits,
Of the population, which is to say, the biggest part.
Devising ways to achieve this was their gifted art.
This was to essentially protect the Grand in their lifestyle.
Considerably repulsive, considerably vile.
The Grandees were like parasites,
Living on the poor, those blighted mites.
The military and bureaucrats were just like fleas.
Determined to inflict further misery on those with disease.
Yes, the disease of being wretchedly poor.
This disease of having much less, and not more.

The military and bureaucrats who did the dirty work,
Fared better, and so definitely did not shirk,
Their daily ritual of vileness and abuse,
Ravaging the poor population who seemed obtuse,
Towards any reactionary actions at all.
Power corrupts to a level that does so appal!
Their dull submissiveness to their lot,
They simply didn’t seem to care a jot.
So what was to become of those millions of poor?
They would be, figuratively, bled to death, to be sure.
They would be worked hard, day after day,
Lucky if they had some rice as their pay.
Whether they worked out on the land,
Or in factories, which was also not grand.
Or, perhaps, in the deepest, darkest of mines,
Could be also digging fields with a fork with blunt tines.
Whatever it was they were forced to do,
There was simply no relief, no pay review.

If perchance, their duty they did shirk,
A soldier, with a whip, did nearby lurk.
He’d stride right out, cracking his whip,
Not tolerating a reduction as to a production dip.
Now, the biggest, fattest, Grandee of all.
Decided, to the area, to make a social call.
He did so in a caravan of black limousines,
Very impressive to folk with limited means.
The fat Grandee sat back in his seat,
He had anything he wanted to eat
And while he saw the workers conditions so dire,
He viewed as a whole, his entire empire.
He desperately wanted his workers to strike some oil,
So that his greed could rise to the boil.
At last his unseemly motor cavalcade,
Arrived at the army base for a parade,
He was, by the commanding officer met,
Grovelling and Kowtowing you can bet.
The fat Grandee said, “Let’s have a military review.”
“Only the smartest of your regiment, nothing else will do.”
“If it’s good, a reward you’ll get.”
“If not, your life will be beset,”
“With a few problems of the kind that kill,”
“For failing an important military drill.”
And so the C.O did nervously salute,
That repulsive fat Grandee brute.

So of all these type of things,
Recollection of history brings,
What’s even more appalling in a way,
Is that this type of thing still goes on today.
Even if the stereotype is not quite so bad,
In more affluent countries, such class distinction is to be had.

world order.png


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The character in the picture looks familiar!😁 This poem is sad but true in so many countries all around the world, excellent poem!

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