I wonder

we don’t see people
we see our opinions
through people

she looks so thin
she is an anorexic

he has no front teeth
he is an addict

she has been diagnosed with
nasal cavity cancer
what do you expect
she is a chain smoker

he lost the custody of
his children
why are you so surprised
he is a drunk

when we are confronted with matters
beyond our own experience
or understanding
it is easier to
pose judgement or
be clinical about it

but
is that being helpful

wouldn’t it be more logical
to take it at face value
and empathise with the person

Cusp (Capricorn – Aquarius)

standing in the gap
and looking between
Saturn’s and Uranus’ rings
how does the goat reach the water bearer

does he follow the rocky path
and tread through the water ice
but only to discover
it is all just shimmering dust

isn’t it ironic
being on a cusp
does’t necessary give you
the benefit of both states
it often gives you false hopes
destined to disappoint

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