Hello Angelicamarie.
I very much appreciate your posts and the concepts that provide for me an impetus for rhyming verse. In this case I had a flurry of three poems about homelesspeople whom I helped in the past. There were many more, so I expect I shall be on a run of rhyming verse on this subject for some time. One of my motivations for writing these rhymes, is the fact that these people are all now deadand it seems a shame that they will not (otherwise) have any place in any historical record. I went to their funerals and was alone apart from the undertakers and the clergyman. I feel as if these are folks whom society would like to forget when they're alive and they certainly forget them when they're dead. So below are three poems about specific individuals who eventually made it off the streets for a short while before they departed this world.
My work with them when they were alive was important tnad rewarding, hope you like the tributes to them as I feel sure that they would appreciate the concept that people still think about them and their lives - which were just as imortant as anyone else's!
Best wishes
Bill
ABODE.
An abode is a residence
so, it is no coincidence
that most will view it as their ‘home’
rather than a place to roam.
But spare a thought for all those that
don’t have that warm, safe habitat,
and have to live in the outdoors
without a roof and walls and floors.
There are so many that I meet
make their abodes upon the street
for so many varied reasons
across all four of our seasons.
It’s not so bad when weather’s warm
but it is hell when there’s a storm,
and in the bleak midwinter’s freeze
one cannot live outside with ease.
One man I met, had made his bed
in a small allotment shed.
In this abode he felt secure
despite the fact of no tenure.
This shed had been his home for years
until one day his deep down fears
were realised, when one dark day
they told him that he could not stay.
Fortunately, he came to me
and I secured for him a key
to his own accommodation
on my own recommendation.
Which goes to show, they can succeed,
but maybe what these people need
is someone who is in the know
to help them to a bright tomorrow.
B. Withers 2019
ABODE 2.
In the first verse that I wrote
I tried to make the briefest note
about the homeless folk I’ve met
and the abodes that they may get.
In this, the second verse I write,
I will now focus on the plight
of others in this situation
regarding their accommodation.
There was one man whose parents died
so, walked and walked, ‘till he espied
a pill-box at the side of the road
and this became his own abode.
For years he used this dank, dark place
as his retreat and sleeping space
until one day he came to me
because he had been so hungry.
Of course, I fed and clothed the man
and he came to the group I ran
for many other folks like him
whose circumstances were quite grim.
From that point on, no need to beg
we sorted out his gammy leg,
making sure he now had food,
and overcame his solitude.
This poor soul was not that bright
so, it would never have been right
to be abandoned on his own
without some social chaperone.
It was at our instigation
that he found accommodation
and received the help required
which is what this man desired.
B. Withers 2019
ABODE 3.
This is the third rhyme that I write
about the homeless and their plight
for I feel they deserve to be
preserved in written history.
This third man, who I write about,
was neither lazy, nor a lout,
and though he was illiterate
he was always considerate.
All his past life, he’d paid no rent
as he lived in a bender-tent
right out in the countryside
where, from most people he could hide.
He was not an unfriendly chap
but had a social handicap,
because house-dwellers in their psych
would seem to have a deep dislike.
They do not trust the gypsy folk
and so, would ostracise this bloke
from their own community
at every opportunity.
But, every time I visited
I found he had reposited (put away)
food and drink for me to share
though his food store was often bare.
Here was a man with a big heart
who had had a deprived start
yet he was generous to a tee,
well, at least he was to me.
In the great storm of eighty-seven,
he almost ended up in heaven,
as an oak tree fell on his tent
and frightened him to some extent.
Then he decided it prudent
to have a flat instead of tent.
B. Withers 2019