Category: Poetry and Prose

Sydney Homelessness

I am reposting this as the Sydney street count is fast approaching this month (August 2019).

 

373 people sleeping rough around the inner city on the night of February 19.

I was there counting…

Their faces rushing to me like the dying souls swallowing by the swamp
Their stories I had heard playing like vinyl records

I ain’t got mama ain’t got nothing, papa’ s punches driving me scatty…
If you licked it and you liked it, a couple pearly dewdrops will get you high and die in ecstasy…
I was raised crooked in a dungeon, the city street lights are bright and shiny, it’s so much safer…
Not going back that sty, slave to two pigs from a mode. God I hate them sweet Jesus…
I am a failure as the financial crisis. I have sold my soul to the grog, 10 seconds sober to see my princess walking in school…
When Mama died she prayed God would take me. Now I am here and I don’t know why. Where is my Mommy…
My Dad needs help, he is all schizoed out. My mates can’t help, the weed can’t help…

I was there counting…

One by one the forgotten in our city
The stories were told
None has changed

373 people sleeping rough around the inner city on the night of February 19.

Homelessness

drew-coffman-125736-unsplash.jpg

Mr Scribble came with his blue staffy
He hadn’t eaten for two days
Bluey was well fed though

I told him I missed his devil’s horns tatts along his temples
He grinned and said he would ban his children having tatts
cos the laser removal hurt like hell

Mr Scribble would be homeless for the night
Mrs kicked them out cos coming down from a bad trip
They escaped before taking her punches for the 26th times this year
and it’s only April

He knew I offered them no shelter
He knew I offered them the staff shower facilities
so he would be clean and human again after a day’s work
and back again the next day to demolish more buildings
He called that going to anger management therapy

They stayed for a bit
He told me some more tales of his 5 brothers
except the one visited his room too often

He told me God bless me and my family
like every time before they left my office
I watched their backs to see them off like every time
I prayed for a safe and cosy corner on the street for the night

Mr Scribble and his blue staffy
He was hungry and Bluey was happy

General-Homelesness_Info-Graphics

Over promised, under delivered

came across an old diary entry

‘You are always on my mind’

truth be told

I haven’t thought about you

for years

About wars

wars
were decided by people
who were too weak to fight

wars
were fought in God’s name
who commanded ‘Thou shalt not kill’

lives
were sacrificed by youth
who were too naive to realise
the truth of
wars

 

Grieving

grieving is a process

I wish
it was a project
with limited scopes
budgeted emotional investment
realistic deliverables
mitigable mental health risk
achievable in a foreseeable future

grieving is being powerless
of letting go
of the loss

No prompt poem

writing a poem without a prompt
is like
free falling without gravity

I should

capitalise the uncertainty
flowing on a bed of unmotivated haze

pay attention to the whispering wind
translating its sound into stanzas

So true

I wonder why
you spill everthing
on paper
the good the bad
the beauty the ugliness
the wins the fuckups

then this springs to mind

“But everything exposed by the light becomes visible – and everything that is illuminated becomes a light.”

It is so true!

Today’s prayer

Today
you are on my mind
my prayer for you
my dear friends

May they turn to You
May their hearts be soft toward You

May they trust that
Your timing is always perfect

May they find peace in You
knowing how precious they are
in Your eyes

No idea

I wanted to go to the beach
let the salty air tire me out
I wanted to hear through the seashell
your even breathing in the night
I wanted to cry to the ocean
let her strong arms comfort me

instead

I lied in bed suffer through a migraine
let the pain overcome me
I went to watch the Lion King
dozed off in children’s munching sound
I cooked butter chicken and mulled wine
let the meal speak for itself –

How did I get here?

Truth revealed

when love runs dry

my body cringes

at the sound of your voice

it gives me away

my denial is futile