"squatter" poems
Oh there once was a swagman camped in the billabong,
Under the shade of a Coolabah tree;
And he sang as he looked at his old billy boiling
"Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me."
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda, my darling.
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.
Waltzing Matilda and leading a water-bag —
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.
Down came a jumbuck to drink at the waterhole,
Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him in glee;
And he sang as he stowed him away in his tucker-bag,
"You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me."
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda, my darling.
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.
Waltzing Matilda and leading a water-bag —
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.
Down came the squatter a-riding his thoroughbred;
Down came policemen — one, two, and three.
"Whose is the jumbuck you've got in the tucker-bag?
You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with we."
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda, my darling.
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.
Waltzing Matilda and leading a water-bag —
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.
But the swagman, he up and he jumped in the waterhole,
Drowning himself by the Coolabah tree;
And his ghost may be heard as it sings in the billabong
"Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?"
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda, my darling.
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.
Waltzing Matilda and leading a water-bag.
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me
5.2k
I am haunted by a soulful song; lacking lyrics, lo lost, lest lament found.
I am taunted by a merciless melody, mixed - measured threefold - with melancholy and memories legend-long.
Salvation and sweet, shall be Silence's Sound.
Dec 18, 2021
Dec 18, 2021 at 12:51 PM UTC
i never understood the concept of
intellectual ************
coming from people with more than three
children.
personally i found it more economic
to sell the theory of relativity
than i cared to see three *****
telling red from blue apart...
the concept of intellectual ************
had me lost...
i could only understand the worth
of ************ intellectually
had i the capacity to breed 3 or more children...
i found that intellectual ************ always
existed in people who had the capacity to breed
Irish families... and did so... without discouragement...
inclusive of some ulterior prompt,
or some Amazonian whim.
or a potato famine.
as paddy always does: move to the whimsical
care for strata.
intellectual ************ only makes sense
if you come from large investment familial circles...
or rabbit libido. who cares?!
none of them will ever build a Coliseum
what's the bother? a pint of Guinness?! why, i can pass
that one modern bother...
i rather ********** intellectually,
than fulfil my biological obligation of a catholic
family... paddy oats.
what do you get when you scratch a potato
long enough?
CHIPS!
squatter mckenzies! limp *****
kilt prone! chequers & cheese!
cheap joke... ha ha... hmm ha:
you got to load up on the romance
to **** off what's never bound to be funny.
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 1:06 AM UTC
The laundry heap sighs, one shirt less burdened
Ever tense, the afternoon, ever still
Clouds crawl by like television static
Not a drop of rain meets the windowsill
Just a squatter, hidden away
Idle hands, second-hand body
A vacant home, a fragile world
Everything fits a bit oddly
Aug 15, 2021
Aug 15, 2021 at 11:54 PM UTC
#
You have to stop giving it so much 'power'
beautiful girl..
It only knows to do
what it knows how to do--
(And be, what it was formed, to be).
And if you go through life
never feeling the deep value
of your beautiful, True core
In the end, you will not
be held, accountable...
--which is the very reason
for your current 'squatter's creation
..I see you.❤
#
Dec 16, 2021
Dec 16, 2021 at 11:45 PM UTC
What are we now?
A half-buried sentence
A message delivered to
The wrong address
I reach for you and touch nothing
I hate the squatter in my skull
Your voice pacing my corridors
Your face nailed to the
Backs of my eyelids
You’re gone
But I still wear your fingerprints
Like burns
The safest place I ever knew
Has collapsed
The walls I leaned against
Are rubble in my throat
I gag on dust
I choke on your ghost
Everyone tells me to “move on,”
Like it’s just a switch I forgot to flick
But your absence is marrow-deep
It hums through bone
A phantom limb jerking at nothing
I want to amputate the thought of you
But the blade keeps turning back
Into my own skin
You are everything
And nothing
And I am stuck in the wreckage
Beating my fists against a locked door
Leading to nowhere
Aug 28, 2025
Aug 28, 2025 at 6:00 PM UTC
Those lies you spun like a spiders web
Took place, built homes,
Inside my head.
And I didn't try to relocate
Because all I could do was appreciate
That someone finally cared.
And yes I was scared,
Of the danger, of living with a stranger
The inconsistencies, the mysteries
The roller coaster that was you and me.
But I stood my ground,
Too thankful,
To finally have someone around.
Those lies they weaved,
There way into the darkest corners of my mind
And in desperation I gave up trying to find myself.
Still I remained a squatter
In the squalor, the mess
New levels of doubt and distress arrived
But I pushed them aside
I waited for them to subside
As I sat, in tears, screamed and cried
And I confided in you, trusted in you
A sea of unfamiliarity,
Swimming in a river,
That was murky,
Searching for clarity
In a place
Where nothing was sign posted,
No sense of direction
Desperate for any form of connection.
Feet rooted,
I made no attempt to escape
As your cape began to drown me.
You chipped away
Day by day
My foundations
And I so badly wanted it to be okay
Because I could finally say
I had someone.
Someone that said they cared
Despite the bruises I bared.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 6:29 AM UTC
Four black matchstick legs
with white strike tips
large belly and a strong black haired back
Gunk in his eyes and
behind the top of his long ears
he leans into delight
strong torse against leg
behind swaying in the breeze
belly rubs and dominance
the possessively agressive- toilet paper connoisseur
arthritis in his back right leg
I the nightly electronic chair lift
squatter on grass green blanket
I was away when it got worse
no acclimation
full on hell storm
ten years ago...
second grade he pooped in the hallways
he's grown out of the escapist gene
looking back now with our loving eyes
my best friend and brother
Spyro: My Brother Dog.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 10:12 PM UTC
How do you want me
MR GOVERNMENT?
Roasted, grilled or stewed
With mustard, salt and pepper
to taste...
How do you want me?
Plain or with some dressing
May be drowned in sauce
May be downed with red wine
Just smack your lips
You are going to meat me there.
What wrong have I done this time?
Being a Squatter, Vagrant, Streetkid!
A beggar in the land of plenty
Yes, we have plenty misery
Suffering there...
The guns bark their chorus
And muffle the wail of the hungry and weak
As the law pins me against the wall...
Law the watchdog for the powerful
That chants its mumbo-jumbo
Against the poor...
I hear the loud voice of the gun
You are going to meat me there...
There, I am wanted
For tax evasion when I am not employed
For asking the meagre returns
Of my sweat and blood
For demanding back my poetry
They stole from the archives of my heart...
Yesterday I was arrested
For riding my master's mistress in a dream
Today I am dragged before a Judge of Law
For being found with maliciously true poetry
In my heart...
Tomorrow they will charge me
For singing a song
They will claim to have composed long ago
In their hearts...
I stand accused.
You turn me into a bull's eye
For your mahobhos
I am booted and teargassed
I have my back stuck to the wall
And the fingers curl on the triggers...
Too, too many fingers employed for the trigger
For sure they want to meat me
....there!
-dougwa-
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 3:22 PM UTC
Dean Roberts had two homes
One was in port Adelaide and the other was in rhw Adelaide hills and he lived in the adelaide hills but he had paranoid mates living 3 doors down from his Port Adelaide home
You see there were squatters living there making everyone living around there scared to leave their homes and this usually happened every night from 4pm till dawn and then it appeared to be early but nobody went near the hooise except for dean Roberts who was hermless but the residents
Of the nearby homes barocsded themselves in their homes and there were psychiatrists around for anyone who becomes too scared to cross the main road and making sure no vunerable person was struggling getting to where they wanted to go or where they lived and dean Roberts was unaware of all this because there was no sign of people living there and dean's best friend Toni was the target in some way, you see she lived in the house opposite that house
And she called the police numerous times which forced cars to follow her making her look very scared but she still wanted to help the police remove them so she used herself as bait to catch them
But this was easy for them but Toni was in danger of losing her life making her scream so loud
But while Toni was with them dean was trapped inside his port Adelaide home but he broke the window and iinstead of going home to the hills he slept in his car waiting for the
Squatters to come back and When they did dean grabbed a broom and came in there saying come on get out of my house and then while that was going on Toni was panicking crossing the road making it half way across and then going back especially after they took her from her place of work and dumped her at the lights making her scared to hold someone even the police
Cause she watches the news where people dress up as police to take advantage of ladies like Toni and after dean got rid of the squatters for bow
He drove home with people yelling out to him hi mr hero
With people bipping their horn
Saying you are port Adelaide's
Hero but Toni was still struggling to get home and this forced the police to grab her and take her home
To take her medication and go to bed and one of the squatters returned and was caught and shoved in Ron coopers psych ward where he was put on eppelim and he was forced to one day tell them why he lived in dean Roberts property and squatter said his name was ken
Psrtley and Ron gave ken an injection of abilify to calm
Him down and Ron went back home and had pizza and coke
While ken was stuck in a Place he hated and Toni was still paranoid about crossing that road and dean helped her get through this like a friend would
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 6:10 PM UTC
Anaemic black mist creeps its way between toes,
crawling eyewards, worming stealthily up shins,
pausing only to cup bolted knees and find more
progress toward the stomach's pit where it will rest,
For now.
The soaking - from outside in - is a violation as a pore
stretched aside is all the space this ten tonne mass
needs - a callused finger pulling back a fleshy curtain
to claim squatter's rights - mashing its body into a crawl space,
It curls.
Right here, in the depths, it will feed from its host and
gradually weave a tendril through intestines and bile
like a periscope, seeking and feeling for a route to the stem:
The source of everlasting sustenance;
The end goal.
Once it latches, it will live forever suckling stance.
The insipid parasite, the binding leech; as it takes hold,
consumes with its voidwalker embrace
and paints every memory with your fault;
Perpetual guilt.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 7:50 PM UTC
After each honey-dipped dispute the hapless toddler bounces on a squatter’s mattress,
Teething and drooling like an adorable zombie, gormlessly tossing chewed toys and causing a mess.
On a drenched bed drifting in a flooded car park, the infant paddles towards a collapsed lamppost using a G.I.JOE.
Strobing, the broken light dances in the gloomy water and animates the odd objects below.
Inquisitive, the primal child scales the desecrated metallic obelisk with caution.
Oily and perverse the rain-greased pole requires instinctive body contortions.
Briefly understanding the enormity of the ordeal the naïve kid starts to scream and clings,
Prays for mum, for help and repents for all the bad things,
He thinks he has done. He loses his grip and slides down, landing on his grimy float,
Skimming like a stone across the charged lake, he bounds over used nappies and punctured plastic bags in his boat,
And settles like a fallen petal. He is safe and apologetic.
Though he finds his feet and jumps ignorantly again. His capacity to learn is pathetic.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 7:51 PM UTC
Wow! you are so ****** stupid to sit and copy paste my words and claim them as yours. someone posted you were on hellopeotry every day since you created your account and
what did you do? You created a new account called http://hellopoetry.com/-fuck-you-poetry-computer/ and start copy pasting all I posted. Get a life off hellopoetry and stop getting ****** and being big freaking kid when someone points out that you live on here. Copy paste that you net squatter loser.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 4:06 PM UTC
"This too shall pass"
is a phrase that I apply to remind me this anchor will detach,
But as for now, I stare blankly at a fellow passenger's rust colored shoe,
paying close attention to the stitching--every detail.
Pushing down the urge to *****
Angry at every beautiful thing that's here when you're not.
My ears muffled with despair at every voice I hear that is not yours,
Reminded of the lively ants that littered the porcelain sink I bent over when I got the news.
REminded that their lives were pointless.
I could thumb their bodies into the porcelain and end them.
They were my only company though,
and misery likes that sort of thing.
The smell of travelers permeates the air.
My bag full of ***** laundry and this journal.
People stare at me and I believe their eyes say "sorry",
I must look like a freshly cleaned window.
I'm writing like you taught me to,
a poem,
like you taught me to,
Struggling with the decision to touch your now cold hand
or remember your warm one.
"Cold hands, warm heart",
You told me that.
With my guitar, I'd make like Orpheus and compose a melody,
to fish you back to me.
You loved when I played and I'd fall asleep to the sound of your piano---
laden with arthritic flaws, making it perfectly human.
You were my Beethoven.
I want to leap onto a bed of your clothes,
your sweaters, because you were endlessly cold,
your scarves that accompanied your overcoats,
Your lotion, your perfume, all items in your room..
NO little kid in India can have them!
You and I were friends, generations apart.
I hope I can live without my heart.
**** that house, all the doctors!
**** the faithless kin!
Anger resides in me like a squatter,
I don't want to be this angry-not for you--not on behalf of you,
NO. You are kind.
Hug the anger out me!
I will wait for the beauty to slowly leak back in and not be a nuisance as it is now.
The flowers **** me off because they live without you planting them.
I hate tea--I don't want to drink it anymore because that is OUR thing.
I am mad at all the wonderful things that exist because you don't.
A sign above me reads ,
Life vest under your seat
I'll bring it to you.
See you soon...
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 5:41 PM UTC
You crawled into my chest
And took residence
Like a squatter
An unwanted guest
There you found space
Beneath my ribs
In a heart
That's been left a mess
You thought it could be fixed
With a goodnight kiss
But made it worse
When morning came
You turned around and left
I lay with a shortness of breath
As though you had punctured a lung
And felt it hiss whilst I slept
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 3:42 AM UTC
How can I expect thoughtfulness from one who doesn't feel ?
I cringe at your definition of friendship
I know you don't know how to be
While you trample on sacred ground
with a head full of high I's
I see you've never known love
I see the writing on the wall
a play not written by you
Repeater of those vanished voices
Ashes at what once was alive
Resentment passes landing on your doorstep
Careful trotting on rotten floor boards
To lose yourself in dream killing doors
Excuses will not fill the void
Stumble around in a cloud
Clenched teeth
Hurting
Hoping in mirrors and ghosts for salvation
You're living a lie... time is tick ...ticking by
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 5:46 PM UTC
I know a girl who is pretty.
She has sky eyes, she has eyes that when you look into them
You don’t know anything about her.
Her body used all its energy to create a pair of eyes that are simply beautiful for beauty’s sake,
They express everything that you could ever want to know,
But they reveal nothing.
To gaze into her eyes is to gaze into the night sky.
You get a sense of being a part of something so grand
But are humbled by your Insignificance.
She has wit
And she has charm.
She has push
And she has pull.
She has everything you want and nothing you need,
But you can’t live without her.
To stand near her is to stand next to passion.
And it’s kind of the worst feeling to not know what to do for her
To make her feel comfortable,
To make her feel like she is the only person you’re thinking about at that moment,
And then she rests her head on your shoulder,
And it’s kind of the best feeling ever.
Her smile illuminating
But reveals the slightest twinge of pain, jealousy and hope.
Her laugh compares to nails on a chalkboard
Except it’s the greatest sound there is,
And it’s the only sound you ever want to hear.
It’s the only sound that rings in your ears as you close your eyes.
You always remember this girl.
She occupies your every thought
She is all your pleasures and all your pains.
She begins where you end.
A fleeting image, a peripheral squatter
She resides in the fringe of your mind, and in the forefront at the same time.
When you think about this girl you think of everything you haven’t done,
And all the things that
Could
Have
Been
But you know all the things that have happened.
A seething sludge of memories oozing in and out of each other
With the sweetest scent ever known.
Hers.
You think of the time you kissed her,
If only.
You think of the time you were everything she wanted
And the times that you couldn’t be what she needed.
You just yearn.
You suffer the worst tortures,
But they are insignificant because you think of her
Jumping for joy because of something you said.
And you remember her sitting next to you.
Not next to you
But with you,
But not with you,
She’s just sitting.
And her face is the moon and her hair has a star in it.
And you think to yourself how did I get so lucky
And you think to yourself how did she get that star in her hair
And why does she have a moon face,
But then she says something,
She says…
Your name
And you forget her moon face and her star hair and you know
She is everything you’ve ever dreamed of and nothing you could ever dream of.
She exists only in your dreams now.
But then again she was always just a dream.
My dream girl,
If only I hadn’t woken up.
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 12:10 AM UTC
Your Heart is my Home.
Your Soul is my Shelter.
Your Will is my Way.
Your path, I would take.
I would follow you anywhere.
Become an extension of you.
I would follow you anywhere.
Your property, sold right from the start.
You could have owned me.
But it's not to be...
The deals gone and fallen through.
I've been reposessed, and left homeless.
This was farce right from the start!
My love you do not reciprocate.
Turns out I was a squatter all along.
Occupying a Building,
Left abandoned & decrepid.
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 8:45 PM UTC
The thing with you is that
you occupy my mind
like a squatter-
There all the time and never leaving.
It makes me happy.
You've made yourself at home in
that small little cottage up there,
Filled it with warmth and music,
food and love.
And at night?
All we do is dance the night away
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 9:14 AM UTC
Freight rumbles by
While sweat drips down
And the crackle of a speaker
Still sounds;
Echoing through the tunnel.
A body turns, fidgets, moves
And itches with the heat.
The feet they tap
And dance with boredom
Wishing *** had a seat.
A woman leaning upon a beam
Aggravated by beads from pores
Moves to take a walk, it seems,
But soon she leans some more.
Too hot to move, til a breeze is felt
Coming down the rails
A beam of light, first one than two
And not freight, but silver and blue.
The cool air flows like whiskey at a funeral
Sour, but necessary, to make it through the ride;
And you sleep through stops instead of wondering who the hell had died.
Thumbnail clippings float down the car from conversations had:
Comfy chairs, squatter’s nation, opiates, and ***** mags.
Subtle "sorry"s linger in stale air from bumps that people make
While ******* suits, stiff as cadavers, snoot and snivel of mindless drivel
And look around in shame.
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 12:57 PM UTC
A father of our nation
A father of determination
A light to the children that brighten the dark days
A man who destined freedom
through strive and struggle
A man of courage
who spoke words that lift the spirits of:
mothers who give births in squatter camps,
the homeless and parentless children,
and life prisoners
He is Rolihlahla which meant troublesome
but he was a peace maker
He fought to make a difference
Whenever life put him to the ground
He stood up every time and ran to his people
Utata Nelson Mandela
Jul 18, 2021
Jul 18, 2021 at 3:54 AM UTC
I waited till nightfall
till the water was cold
till the water matched the midnight sky
I threw myself in
Face first I exhaled
till all the air fled my lungs
till I willed them to function as gills
I threw myself in
Motionless I became
till my exhilaration formed into yet another disappointment
till I had something else to add to my pile of outlier experiences
I threw myself in
Sensation returned to my eyes
till the sting of the sun again became a warm embrace
till understanding once again claimed squatter rights in my mind
I threw myself in
The river wouldn’t have me
In the morning on the other side of all the things
I went back to it all knowing
The river threw me out
© Christopher F. Brown 2015
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 9:05 PM UTC
Pain is all I cause no matter how our what I try, I'm always lost no where to go no road to travel like a beggar our a squatter a lonely soul in and empty vessel passing thru the port of life waiting for the day I die so I can reincarnate hopefully to a better life ..........
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 10:51 PM UTC
Beautiful green fern,
you took up residence
in the empty planter
out back.
Coming up each spring,
Growing bigger each summer.
Don’t go yet...
Don’t die for the winter!
i am enjoying your lush green
company every day,
too much to be told.
Soothing balm to my eye,
Soothing balm to my soul.
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 4:07 PM UTC
It's cheap because this place is haunted.
The hallways echo with the laughter of its last occupant.
Who was she?
More of a squatter, really.
She lived here for a long time without paying any rent.
I tried in vain to kick her out repeatedly.
("Legal issues, you see.")
At least, that's what I told my accountant.
She was something else, I'll say.
Seeing her was always a major event.
What happened?
Just up and disappeared one day.
Must've took up residence in some other poor sucker's head.
Part of her spirit still lingers, however, as I've already said.
She left me with little more than her safety deposit, and a ghost.
I'll always resent her for leaving like she did.
I could have loved her the most.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 6:59 PM UTC