Sunday 23 October 2011

PILLOWS OF CONCRETE





Pillows of concrete, blankets of sky.

Fitful sleeping as life tip toes by.

Meagre handouts paid for dinner tonight,

Some soup and a roll, a feast? Not quite.

Morning comes early, before you are rested,

Woken by footsteps, your existence detested

By those who are going about their own business,

Closing those deals that will make them their riches.

Little and plenty side by side on the street,

Both breath the same air, same dirt on their feet.

Both born of this world of woman and man,

All born to be equal, well that was the plan.

And as the haves and have not’s bed down for the night,

For some feather duvets will be a most welcome sight.

But for some far less lucky I’m afraid it’s no lie,

There’ll be pillows of concrete and blankets of sky.

Saturday 22 October 2011

A WINTERS MORN





A raindrop falls from a rosebush,

Like a tear from a young girls eye.

The wind blows through the Elm trees,

Sounding like a lovers sigh.

I tread carefully on the melting snow,

A white blanket on the ground.

Slowly the blanket is drawn back,

Slowly, without sound.

The sun is rising in the east,

Throwing light on this winters morn.

There is nothing quite as beautiful

As a winters dawn.

Now in the full glare of daylight,

I see this winters scene,

In all its magnificent glory

It’s as if I’m in a dream.

Be it dream or reality,

It’s a beautiful sight to see.

And one that will forever bring,

Endless joy to me.

THE DREGS OF SOCIETY





They sit on park benches;

Their minds are a maze,

Of remembered occasions

And better off days.

Their home is a bag

Which lays at their feet,

Their only sustenance

Is gleaned from the street.

Relying on refuse bins

Or gracious handouts,

The dregs of society,

Vagrants, tramps, layabouts?

They solicit from need

Rather than greed,

For the price of a cup

Of steaming hot tea.

And as you reach in your pocket,

They’ll smile with content.

You walk away happy,

Your money well spent.

Will our streets ever be

Free from the sight,

Of warn out citizens

Who tour in the night?

They know every inch

Of their chosen locale,

Be it the park of Saint James

Or even The Mall.

They walk without reason,

Their lives have no rhyme.

The dregs of society

Are societies crime.

SHE'S A BEAUTIFUL BOAT





She’s a beautiful boat,

What is her name?

I see you’ve had some trouble,

Well isn’t that a shame.

You say you hit another ship

Whilst sailing out of port.

And the other ship sank,

Well I never would have thought!

Interested in buying?

Oh no, not me.

I’m afraid that I feel sick

Just looking at the sea.

Still she is a beautiful boat

And sailing would be nice,

I suppose I could think about it.

What’s the asking price?