A little girl with hopes and dreams
An artistic mother whose smile beams
A burly father who protects the team
Family is as it seems

A little girl that is confused
A fighting mother who is always bruised
A father that now grabs the booze
Family is far from smooth

A young girl that can’t understand
A tired mother who sits on her hands
An angry father who only demands
Family crumbles like sand

A teenage girl with a broken heart
A single mother falling apart
A father lying asleep in a park
Family is far from the start

A teenage girl who sleeps around
A mother buried in the ground
A father who is chained and bound
Family is not profound

A young adult with pain on her mind
A mother who is still resigned
A father who was left behind
Family is redefined

I hope my life doesn't hit stanza five....I'm quite worried about mt mom right now
Philip Lawrence Apr 22

The soft blow of the trumpet or
the strum of guitar strings cajole the uninterested
to see the hand-lettered sign,
the cigar box, the jam jar
as the loyal dog curls in the doorway.
The deaf, the blind, the besotted, the luckless,
all night thieves of blankets,
sellers of wilted roses on a double white line.
Ghosts on street corners who sidle through the rain
in search of some, in search of any
until a last breath among the silhouettes
of the night fires that lick at the black winter sky.

Never found my TRUE Home.
Sometime, It feels better
To just stay out
On the Streets
Every time, I think I've Arrived,
I just end up feeling
Rejected and Dejected,
I guess that's why I remain
Homeless?

I'm NOT really Homeless.  Yesterday was 4/20 here in Denver.....the anniversary of the Legalization of Marijuana. I don't actually use Marijuana myself, but, there was a pleasant, peaceful, communal feeling out on the Streets, and it was hard to get myself to go Home to be by myself!
saranade Apr 20

My hand held out...
...to guard your back
When your friendships lacked
...to give money or supplies
When you couldn't survive
...to hold your hand
When you needed support
...to give you a hug
When you needed love
...to high five yours
At all of your endeavors
...to pat on your back
When you succeeded this or that
...to throw a thumbs-up
Because you never gave up

My hand held out...
...to cover my eyes
Through all of the lies
...to hide evidence
When you lacked common sense
...to understand the unreal
Amounts of items you'd steal
...to my chin to stipulate
The way you'd manipulate
...to cover my heart and divert
From your stories that hurt.

I could do this when I had two hands.
I could juggle these separate demands.
My dominant hand is limp now.
The tasks I take on are now simple.
I can only do one thing at a time.
Like, write out this single line rhyme.

When you see my hand out...
...from utter desperation
Please don't tabulate your accommodation
...remember I never asked before my disability
That you had previously admired my stability
...homeless, dirty and hungry
Offer to help me, without charging money
...keep in mind, it's the only one I have
My abilities and tasks all need to be halves
...perhaps don't act put-out or surprised
Because the person who's asking is paralyzed.

I feel like my sister is so concerned with money, she didn't offer help to her newly disabled sister (me) until I could pay her. When things got worse, she didn't even check on me because she knew I had no money.
saranade Apr 8

My freedom of expression,
Or, freedom to exist...
I've had to suppress, any implication,
That I was free, IT was free,
Or that I could rest.
My obligations became innovations,
My "freedom" was a serious test.

Shut my mouth.
Silence my thought.
Burn holes in my own sky...
To survive,
Just to... Get by.

There's no blood on the hand
of the devil begging for a gun...
But, the blood of my son,
My thoughts, my thighs,
My sun, my sky...
I'm paralyzed.
I idealized and fantasised
...a metaphor...
Something in-between dead and alive.

But this is literal.

Cry freedom for a body that fails.
An existing breath that bent steel.
Locked in the prison with 10 wardens.
Slave to a super power.
And I'm furious you sent me a bill.
I ate your currency.
I'm... Fed... Up.

Your devil is free to stare,
poke fun and share
...the misery...
...my suffering...
I'm paralyzed.

This is literal.

So many applications
Ocean fires Apr 8

His name was poverty
he's the symptomn of a system that bleeds greed

The rich exploit the young, the poor, so they may feast off the backs of children
Bodies of those lost to the system pile up underneath them

Never shedding a tear for those lost to the streets laying in cold dirt beds with grass sheets

delved so deep in to a dream
I got lost along the way it seems
woke up in a nightmare
murmuring things I didn't mean
and now the clock is ticking
a pendulum of searing pain
backwards, forwards and repeat
at least for me the pain is sweet
to be reminded of my shortcomings
to rekindle the flame of life's deceit
sleepless sleeping is a curse
and lifeless living I feel is worse
with every breath a problem unearthed
spirit and flesh, love and hate
I know not which will falter first
forgive my potential for that's what hurts
having something you forgot how to use
my self worth
my local church
and any gift I had from birth
back to my sleepless sleep I go
in to a realm of the unknown
where I break bottles with the lifeless living
and learn the dead can not keep giving
I am alive
I am alive
I am alive
I am alive
I am alive
I am alive
I am alive
I am alive
I am alive
I am alive
I am alive
I am alive
I am alive
I am alive

Tha’s nobody,
Tha’s  on thee own,
Since being kicked out,
A full beard tha’s grown,
Clothes consists of old jeans,
Jumper and jacket,
An old pair of boots,
That didn’t cost a packet,
You have one pair of socks,
And pants to tha name,
A blanket that tha wraps around,
Tha skinny frame,
Sit in doorway on an old cushion you found,
The only thing that’s keeping,
Your backside from the ground,
Tha’s got a new name now,
It’s called a beggar on’t street,
Asking for spare change,
So tha can buy thee sen sumat to eat,
Long gone those days,
When you owned thee own home,
Went on holidays to cities,
Like Barcelona and Rome,
You were respected,
With wife, and job in the city,
Lost the lot in months,
Since life has shown you no pity,
First to go was job,
Followed by the wife?
The house was repossessed,
Brought the next change in life,
Mounting debts saw everything,
Taken from under your feet,
Finally, all was left,
Was a life on the street?
The subway on a night,
Provides shelter to kip,
From a chipped old mug,
A hot drink you sip,
Occasionally might get tha head down,
In hostel for a treat,
A bed and a shower,
Summat warm to eat,
Once a week,
The facility can be used for free,
Tother six nights,
Homelessness is the grim reality.

REPOSTED

Did you have a home once?
Was it warm and dry?
Did you eat food you chose -
not what someone left behind?

fast food remnants as
dry and hard as your life..

Did your shoes fit then?
Did your clothes?
Did they shield you
from the weather?

Perhaps they were even stylish...

Did you have a bed once
where hopeful dreams
softly danced among the covers?

Were there curtains on the windows
to keep out the stares?

Was there a night light and a lock
on the door to make you feel safe?

and...

Were you loved?

Now the ground is your bed,
the stars your night light.
You have no door to lock.

Are memories locked inside?
Do they float in dreams among the trees?

And keep your soul alive?

JOHN BAVERSTOCK Mar 30

Unshaven,
Dishevelled,
No doubt,
Hung over,
This would be tramp,
Or country wise rover,
His greying hair dirty,
In places ragged,
Face scared,
With troubles,
Possibly jagged,
On a stick,
He had tied,
One dirty old mug,
A pair of tired shoes,
And crumpled old rug,
His eyes were fixed,
Yet somewhat sunken,
Though sensed this warrior,
Could not be broken,
Morning he muttered,
To some old lady,
Any spare change,
For a cup of tea,
She pretended to ignore,
His attempted advance,
Just fifty pence,
Is there any chance?
Begging was his means,
To live and get by,
This an area where,
He couldn’t be shy,
Most people give,
Through sense of pity,
But there are loads like him,
Across our city,
Each day they appear,
From the cold of night,
Each looking
Such a sorry sight,
How would you feel?
If it was you,
Sat on the floor?
Sometimes,
Is it better to give?
Than choose to ignore.

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