To listen to this poem please click on the arrow below.
If you ever look in the eyes of a child so hurt, so damaged that he or she has withdrawn inside his or her self, it is a sight that I doubt you will ever forget. I know I never will.
For some 15 years I was blessed enough to be able to work with the homeless, single parent families and with folk suffering from mental illness.
In those 15 years I saw many a child of various ages about whom this poem could have be written. In truth this poem ends with a question. For me there is one eternal answer. The answer is Christ, but for me to know it is but one part of the equation. They too must know it. So we must ask ourselves, what is our responsibility in this?
Sitting here is really sad,
The world around is going mad.
The people rush past to and fro’
But I’m quite content at being slow.
No-one knows more, about all their waste.
But I’ll never fathom human taste.
‘cause I don’t like living in cardboard boxes,
I don’t even like the lairs of foxes.
I don’t even like that sort of wooden shack,
I prefer my house upon my back.
And cooking food ain’t my belief.
I find my “grub” beneath some leaf.
So to all you people I’d like to say,
In my simple, little way.
Within this poem, is my tale.
Of why I’m glad that I’m a snail.
To listen to this poem please click on the arrow below.
I was watching the television news, one afternoon and it was showing the state of poverty in a country – one that shall remain nameless as which country it was is irrelevant. The pictures of poverty; sick, hungry and homeless children touched my heart.
After the news I was flicking through the channels on the television set and saw one of those holiday programs. They were advertising the very same country and area but the picture they built was very different to that shown on the news.
Ah spin doctors and marketers, you just got to love them. This poem was written in response to that situation and because the same situation can happen anywhere in the world
Whilst strolling down a lonely street,
I sat a while to rest my feet.
Within a doorway painted brown,
of a house now falling down.
As I sat I heard a groan
I knew that I was not alone.
I turned to look and shout, “Who’s there?”
when I saw a man with long grey hair.
He called me closer unto him,
as he stroked the hair beneath his chin.
It’s only now that I’ve realized,
through his star filled gaze was I mesmerized.
He mumbled words I can’t recall,
the decaying house became a ball.
His mystical method frightened me.
House to globe of transparency.
He said to me, “Speak not a word,
present, past and future to you I’ll herd.”
The wizard and I in a see-through bubble,
floated up and over trouble.
Firstly through the past we’d glide,
I was sickened by what we all call pride.
Wars and greed, all just sin.
And what I saw my mind took in.
To go through the present took just a while.
the look I gave made the wizard smile.
So many people down below,
with homes torn down, no place to go.
And on the streets, more pain and grief.
an awesome sight changed my belief.
Blankets of woe, o’er my soul did drape,
the sight of a youth committing rape.
There is such more that I could tell
If time to me some-one would sell.
Life’s the present now, the past that’s been.
If this is life, it ain’t my scene.
Then to the ground our bubble fell,
a crimson mist all around did swell
The crimson mist was soon to pass,
to reveal a castle made of glass.
Upon a throne of gold and red,
the wizard drooped his weary head.
The next few words with pain he’d start,
with every pause he cracked my heart.
“Your future I can’t let you view,
because my child it’s up to you.
If you truly liked the past,
then let your present breath be your last.
To my futurist army you now belong,
so fight with it and make it strong.
Your selfish life just can’t go on.
You now must know that you’ve been wrong.
Then the wizard began to fade,
into a house, damp and decayed.
Is the answer written within this rhyme.
Well if it is the authors, Father Time.
To listen to this poem please click on the arrow below.
Many years ago whilst homeless and living on the streets of Birmingham, England I met a young man called Colin whom I affectionately nick named Munchkin.
After a while he and I and a lad known as “Scouse” moved into a derelict building together. Over the months that I was to know Colin I soon realized that one of his main past times was to contemplate why he had even been born. Leaving your family behind, hitting the streets and becoming street homeless can cause you to become very analytical but the reasons behind your decision to hit the streets and become homeless often have the greater effect.
The thing is that for Colin all this ever seemed to do was make him depressed. This poem reflects that and reflects my belief that trying to reason out your own existence is futile and unhealthy unless you are able in the end to see a greater purpose. For me personally that greater purpose is God.
The Alice in Wonderland (or Alice Through the looking glass depending on your preference) graphic I have chosen to accompany this poem results from another of Colin’s (aka Munchkin’s) past times which was to zip himself up in his sleeping bag which had a hood to it and wriggle about in the middle of the night saying, “look at me I’m a worm, I’m a worm”. A sight which put me in mind of the caterpillar in the Alice story.
I should perhaps point out that there was only one dry bedroom in this derelict house of ours and we only had two mattresses so we all slept in the same room all lined up in a row in our sleeping bags.
This “Look at me I’m a worm” past time of Munchkin’s was one he enjoyed best at 3 in the morning! LOL.
To listen to this poem please click on the arrow below.
Have you ever reflected on the conversation between God and Christ concerning Christ’s mission on earth? I have. This poem is the result of that reflection.
To listen to this poem please click on the arrow below.
Over the years I have been so blessed to have met and grown to love so many wonderful folk of all ages. Many have become family to me. Jeremy is one such person, young, sad, of mixed race and extremely mindful of this, he was rejected by his parents and was so very sad. I wrote this poem for him.
