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Emma Apr 2016
SPARE SOME CHANGE
COLD, NEED FOOD
The desperation was clear in the man's writing
On the crumpled trashcan cardboard
You saw him laying there on the cold concrete
In the frosty graffiti street
Against the worn down door
His unshaven face looked up
His wide eyes pleaded
And you looked away

Look away, look away
The stone angels cannot follow
The concrete terror
Can be forgotten
Others will take the stage
You never had the courage
To make a change

*So look away
Graff1980 Mar 2016
The city slept on me

Cold bench bed
Newspaper blankets
Stuffed inside
My ***** clothes

Hiding under
Overhanging
Balconies
Or laying on steel grates
That coughed up
A little tuffs of heat

Till the sound of feet
Kicked me
As the mad masses marched on,

March’s farm of snow
Cultivated stiffness

Rigidity
Became my dream

Death became
My warmth

Hope melted
Faster than
Those flurries

And I was buried
Under a layer of
Human coldness
How cowardly it
is to hide behind the scenes
and play puppeteer,
while my children are starving
in the streets your Benz drives through.

How selfish it is
to ignore paying taxes,
while I scrape and search
for meaningless currency,
with auditors on my ***.

How luxurious
it must be to slumber in
silk and satin sheets,
while my unclad family
bunches together for warmth.

Oh, the nerve I have
to speak loudly against those
harboring every
cent, while there are thousands of
us without one to our names.
Pixievic Feb 2016
Can you spare a bit of change mate?
I'm truly am in need
I don't need a fix of powder
Or an ounce of ****
I need a cup of coffee mate
To help my bones get warm
I need a bed for the night
My sleeping bag's all torn

Can you spare a bit of change mate?
Can't you see me here?
I'm sitting right in front of you
Think I can't see you sneer?
I can't afford a bath mate
I can't afford new clothes
It's how the cookie crumbles
That's how the saying goes

Can you spare a bit of change mate?
I didn't stand a chance
My dad - well he's a wrong un
Played my mum a merry dance
And my sisters gone and married
Some bloke who lives down south
And I'm just left alone mate
Living hand to mouth

Can you spare a bit of change mate?
You'll never understand
Until you've lived a day here
Do you think my life was planned?
I served for Queen & Country
Now they've left me here to rot
A product of the system
A statistic to be forgot

Can you spare a bit of change mate?
Don't just walk on by
With your coat pulled up around you
Can't you look me in the eye?
I ain't no thieving **** mate
I'm a person just like you
Can't you lend a hand mate?

Just to help me pull on through

(C) Pixievic 2016
When I'm not writing or making music I work for a homeless charity here in B'ham called Crisis - I teach percussion, & technical theatre, life skills, &  build confidence. 'My boys'  humble me on a daily basis - this is my tribute to them based on their stories. Homelessness is an increasing problem in Britain but I think it translates across the pond - most of my chaps aren't addicts (although some are) they are educated, intelligent, amazing men who fell through the gaps in the system & are viewed by a lot of people as ****.
whatname Dec 2015
Here I go again
Back on the train
Going in the opposite direction
Of my home
I have been here before
I know this pain too well
Home ridden
He no longer wants me around
In exile - from my own home
Stateless
Anxious
Panic rises
As I carried that heavy suitcase on my way to the train station
I heard my own sighs
Be strong be strong now
I tell myself as I gasp my way another step further
Keep walking
Don't break
luv Dec 2015
i awake blanketed by the morning sun and
the celestial frost that lingers on from
the night. the sound of laughter jolts me.

i watch the couple walk leisurely along
the side of the traintracks. "Hi!" the
woman says behind stale eyes and
wispy blonde curls. she stiffles her
laughter until it bellows out like
a warrior cry.

i can hear the harshness
in the words she speaks of me to
her lover, they grow more distant
as they escape my view.

i can smell the sweat of the lost
souls who found themselves here
before me.


i can taste the saltiness of the tears
that slide down the contours of my
face; an emotionless, knee-****
reaction.

however, i feel
nothing. there
is no despair
left in me. no
more hatred.
not even
sadness.

i feel only
the bitter
cold of the
concrete bridge
beneath
the weight
of my resting
body.

i feel only
the hunger
that aches
in the core
of my being.

i feel only
the rattling
of the train cars
passing , only
the rumbling of
the morning traffic
on the highway above
all of which
are lulling me back
to sleep
All these kids are homeless with dead parents from all these ignorant wars, the ghetto, tragedy and famine and you're complaining about how you hate your parents that are there for you?
What in blue blazes has gotten into you?
People who are good to you
Should never be rejected
I'm sorry, but i cannot accept those words as a fact
Because they're filth painted with temporary coat
Am i supposed to be impressed?
Because i'm not
You did far worse than that
My parents couldn't do everything for me, but it wasn't due to the lack of wanting
It was the lack of everything that prevented them from doing so.
I want to tell the homeless help is on the way
I will be your guide today
But they forgot the language of caring
Due to all their previous mistreatment from other souls
They now almost forgot how to feel
I'm not going to put them on a reel
To give them bait so i could just throw them back into the river
I'm understanding of your pain
And i want something to guarantee you constant gain
Because they deserve it the most
I want to cry every time i see them digging for food out of the garbage can
But i need to stay in my poker face
And stay strong
But i'm not sure it might be for long..
I had to write this.
Dreams of Sepia Sep 2015
Duke Ellington's not happy
his Satin doll's not shown up
' Hey have you seen my Satin doll?'
' Look Mister, I'm not ' Lost property'
& why don't you go & sleep it off'
' What?'
' You've got Whiskey
written all over your face, Ellington'
' Gee, ok, but could you spare a few
I need money to get home'
' I'll think about it, in the meantime,
sing me a song
'' Ok. WE WILL WE WILL ROCK YOU'
Based on a true conversation I had a while ago with a drunk ( probably homeless ) man. I thought it was funny because the idea of Duke Ellington singing  Queen's ' We will rock you' was kinda quirky. (I trust everyone knows who Duke Ellington is & one of his most famous musical compositions ' Satin Doll')
Unter den Linden is a particular stretch of Berlin, the name literally translates as ' Beneath the Linden Trees' due to the Linden trees growing there.
Dreams of Sepia Aug 2015
She found herself in moments,
in the cracks between the pavement,

staring at her moonlit reflection,
twisting the time left to her to perfection,

aged thirty & counting
clouds passing above,

she kissed a couple of frogs
one of them, a Mr Prince Jnr

20 years older, who she hoped
would leave her a fortune

instead, he left her out on the street
smashed up, in the soup kitchen she moaned

about his new, younger lover
getting angrier with every hit

then aimed a shiny gun
at him to prove her point but missed

one day a preacher came along
that showed her the error of her ways

' Come to him, our Lord, child' he said
& she did. People heard her sing gospel out in the street.

It turned out she had quite a voice
& this sweet gift did not go unnoticed

now she's a rich singer of great repute
a happy end you can't refute
Just a little somethin' I came up with.. set in the US of my imagination/ general impressions from  films/literature/popular culture etc... not based on any specific true stories but it makes a good yarn...as for the religious aspect of this, I don't mean to preach about religion, it was just necessary for the story. If you're familiar with Bertold Brecht. ' The Threepenny Opera', I was thinking of it when I wrote this too.
Silence Screamz Aug 2015
When I disappear. Would you care?
I cast doubt on your feelings, for you are not fair.

Shroud hate in my presence, distant in thought
Runaway on the tracks, love can't be bought

Steps of my own, wither in time
Souls of my shoes, dirt covered sign

Parkbench to bed with nothing to eat
Poor beggar child run to the street

Chilled in the cold, drenched by the rain
Think of tomorrow, the blisters, the pain

Two years under bridges, this is my home
See what you did, I am kissing the stone
The plight of abused children that runaway from home..its senseless
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