HOMELESS POETRY
These are poems about the homeless and poems for the homeless.
Epitaph for a Homeless Child
by Michael R. Burch
I lived as best I could, and then I died.
Be careful where you step: the grave is wide.
Homeless Us
by Michael R. Burch
The coldest night I ever knew
the wind out of the arctic blew
long frigid blasts; and I was you.
We huddled close then: yes, we two.
For I had lost your house, to rue
such bitter weather, being you.
Our empty tin cup sang the Blues,
clanged—hollow, empty. Carols (few)
were sung to me, for being you.
For homeless us, all men eschew.
They beat us, roust us, jail us too.
It isn’t easy, being you.
Published by Street Smart, First Universalist Church of Denver, Mind Freedom Switzerland and on 20+ web pages supporting the UN Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities
Frail Envelope of Flesh
by Michael R. Burch
for homeless mothers and their children
Frail envelope of flesh,
lying cold on the surgeon’s table
with anguished eyes
like your mother’s eyes
and a heartbeat weak, unstable ...
Frail crucible of dust,
brief flower come to this—
your tiny hand
in your mother’s hand
for a last bewildered kiss ...
Brief mayfly of a child,
to live two artless years!
Now your mother’s lips
seal up your lips
from the Deluge of her tears ...
For a Homeless Child, with Butterflies
by Michael R. Burch
Where does the butterfly go ...
when lightning rails ...
when thunder howls ...
when hailstones scream ...
when winter scowls ...
when nights compound dark frosts with snow ...
where does the butterfly go?
Where does the rose hide its bloom
when night descends oblique and chill,
beyond the capacity of moonlight to fill?
When the only relief’s a banked fire’s glow,
where does the butterfly go?
And where shall the spirit flee
when life is harsh, too harsh to face,
and hope is lost without a trace?
Oh, when the light of life runs low,
where does the butterfly go?
Neglect
by Michael R. Burch
What good are tears?
Will they spare the dying their anguish?
What use, our concern
to a child sick of living, waiting to perish?
What good, the warm benevolence of tears
without action?
What help, the eloquence of prayers,
or a pleasant benediction?
Before this day is over,
how many more will die
with bellies swollen, emaciate limbs,
and eyes too parched to cry?
I fear for our souls
as I hear the faint lament
of theirs departing ...
mournful, and distant.
How pitiful our “effort,”
yet how fatal its effect.
If they died, then surely we killed them,
if only with neglect.
The childless woman,
how tenderly she caresses
homeless dolls ...
—Hattori Ransetsu, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Clinging
to the plum tree:
one blossom's worth of warmth
—Hattori Ransetsu, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Oh, fallen camellias,
if I were you,
I'd leap into the torrent!
—Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
What would Mother Teresa do?
Do it too!
—Michael R. Burch
Keywords/Tags: homeless poetry, homeless poems, homelessness, street life, child, children, mom, mother, mothers, America, neglect, starving, dying, perishing, famine, illness, disease, tears, anguish, concern, prayers, inaction, death, charity, love, compassion, kindness, altruism
