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The doorbell rang sharply
I threw off my blanket by the door
I answered to two high school kids
"Could you donate to the poor?"
"We're taking cans, and money"
" clothing, gloves and jackets too"
"Is it in your heart to help us"
"can we get something from you?"
I said "Come back tomorrow"
"I'm a little short you see"
"I'll be home from work directly"
"You can come here after three"
They smiled, "see you later"
said the tall one with the hat
"We'll be back again tomorrow"
And I thought, that was that
I closed the door behind them
Went back and I sat down
I was reading by the fireside
Wrapped in an old dressing gown
The heat was off in most rooms
The house was small, and drafty too
I had to heat it with the fire
Or lose my heat all up the flue
I had no cash for cable
A computer? not a chance
I could barely pay the mortgage
I was in bad circumstance
The job I'd had forever
At least since I left school
Was gone now, plant was shuttered
They closed the old Majestic Tool
Three hundred sixty workers
Most had been there all their life
As had been their fathers
It's where I met my wife
She left me when they closed up
Got an offer to head west
I told her take the offer
I told her "I think it's for the best"
She hasn't called in eighteen months
I got the papers for divorce
I figured, I can't afford to call her
So, it's just par for the course
I trip around the town by day
Getting meals where they are free
In a town as poor as we are
It's not a real strange sight to see
There is no work around here
I'll have to move within a year
If things don't soon get better
I'll try to stay real close to here
The morning after last night
You know, the one I spoke about
Where the kids came out collecting
And I pretended I was out
of food and cash and clothing
didn't have a dime to spare
I would have loved to help a little
But I didn't really dare
A can of food would last two days
Spaghetti, maybe three
Although I  wanted to contribute
I need these things for me
I went into the foodbank
The morning after the night before
I would get my Christmas hamper
Along with others, walking poor
I'd take it home, unpack it
And when the kids came by at three
I would give them, at least something
My word meant a lot to me
I didn't have a lot of things
Not much was left at all
But, my word, was worth a fortune
I'd be there when they called
In the back, out of my vision
While I signed and took my box
Was one of the two students
Sorting through some coats and socks
I took off with my treasure
Set to donate when they came
I was robbing Peter to pay Paul
It was such a silly game
The boy went to the counter
He checked my address in the book
He then went to see the head man
He wanted him to take a look
He told him of their visit
How he recognized my face
He realized how much it hurt me
To be reliant on this place
They talked about my visit
And they saw my need was real
And they talked amongst the others
with elvish, Christmas zeal
I was waiting for the doorbell
Had two cans, and a small coat
When the doobell rang, I answered
There was four boxes and a note
Vacant space, they must have run
They had to be close by
What I saw there boxed before me
Well, it made this grown man cry
Instead of coming for donations
They knew how hard it was for me
They had brought along some blankets
And lots of food, for free
I picked the note up gingerly
I was still shaking from the tears
It said "Merry Christmas Mr. Watson"
"and Have a Happy, Safe New Year".
MV Blake May 2015
Workers migrate for the coast
At the first hint of holiday,
Winging their way past lorries and vans,
And coaches coated with spray ochre tans,
Flying along motorways in single file,
The music of freedom for mile upon mile.

Father steers straight with his eye on the road,
Insisting on mix tapes he made as a teen
While necking sweet girls in his imaginative dreams.
Kids shriek games on the warm backseat,
While air hostess mums offer peanuts
And cushions, and packets of sweets.

They arrive with a fuss, and a sigh of relief
While father shakes his weary feet
And the mum takes the girls for an ice cream treat.
They unload their bags of shorts and vest tops,
And the hotel looks grand, at least from the side,
But a moment of doubt creeps in, I confide.

It can’t be this nice, thought the father too late,
I bought it for tuppence, or at least so I thought,
As he read the terms of the room service bill;
The cost of cool water was like climbing a hill,
Just when you thought it couldn’t get much higher…

But I digress; it gets considerably more dire.

The room was a state and mum had a fit
Cleaning up tissues and strange looking stains,
And the girls were fighting and being such pains.
Father took a beer from the fridge,
Ignoring the cost for the sake of some peace,
And stepped on the deck to get some release.
Five seconds later he was running indoors
As the clouds broke their cover in heavy downpours.

Expecting a break, they were fooled once again.
The weekend was spent in the room like last year,
While rain and thunder spoiled all their cheer.
There’s only so many board games to play,
And the food gave the girls a sore and sour tummy
And turned the grand weekend into a desperate plea.
Please let it end, I want to return
To the office of slaves who make my life fun.

Workers return from the coast
On the third day of rest,
Splashing their way past lorries and vans,
And coaches coated with burning red tans,
Dragging along motorways in single file,
The sound of the rain for mile upon mile.
Find the original post and more besides at mvblake.com
Swathi eruvaram Mar 2015
Two big eyes watching
A mighty spider crawling
A cob web spinning
A tiny lock hanging
The sound of coins dropping
Your first piggy bank
Your first savings
Bassam A Nov 2014
Paper that we worship
n' value n' want more

What put our trust
in paper I ask

In Gods name
We fight the game

When death arrives
It's over, it's under

From a baby in the womb
To a corpse in a tomb

We fight for paper
It's value is funny

We lose our lives for it
and **** our honey

Not one inch is fought
for glory or passion

Nor gold nor silver
Nor paper on trees
or digital numbers
of a bank Viennese

I do not fester
Profess or muster

We fight our spouses
for guild and buster

The wars are fought
for power and plunder

If we let go of this
evil and sin

We may get back to
our human within

If we let go of money
We live like a gypsy

Let's let go of money
to be vivid and sunny

Let's let go of money
to be lively and funny
Arataikii Aug 2014
I like to take time out of ever year to test the waters of mediocrity.

I want to see if I can make the transition, take the easy way.

And every **** year I put myself through it and come out the other side a little proud to see I can't take it. I wont sacrifice any part of myself for the so called rewards.
I wont make your doughnuts, I wont shine your shoes, please step aside I'm on my way to the food bank.
She Sat with her bank statements and other bills
mass of paper and debt
too easy spending using credit cards realising
after several years of denial
pressure from debt recovery firms increased
just wanting to be realised!

Eviction from her home was almost certain
yet still had the urge to spend
from a young age she never went without
brought up n a material way
never knowing hardship so grew to expect
with money came respect!

But those days went when her father died
and mother had a breakdown
committed to an institution and remained
leaving a young woman
totally unprepared for a harsh actuality
she to struggling with sanity!

Never making friends and the only child
the family home a trap
yet containing many happy memories
deepening the melancholy
beside her containers of different pills
some laying on the bills!

The doctor did not seem to understand
said take the medication
for a few weeks and return just a phase
was his not so wise words
leaving with her a dilemma unanswered
her desperation not heard!

In a daze took the tablets lonely confused
going onto a deep sleep
the mobile rang loudly it seemed distant
as her worries began to fade
it became bright and there was her dad
to be with him again so glad!

Debt would not bother her any more!

The Foureyed Poet.
The young woman found herself alone and in debt with life could not cope! The Foureyed Poet.

— The End —