head on ground
Abandoned by the state
Shunned by those who used to care
Once, they were sons and daughters, mothers and fathers
Days end, these sons and daughters, mothers and fathers
Head home to their tiny public cardboard rooms
Public verandahs protect from rain
grimy, slimy sleeping bags
A homeless girl Giving renewal
A scholarship she won Empowering homeless
Yet still she knows She trains
Cold kills She employs
Coats needed is not a fix.
S0 she sews this bandaid
Yet she knows
On a recent trip to Sydney I was met with homeless people by the score. On every street corner was a person begging. Most sat on their knees with their heads touching the ground. Arms stretched out. A container of some type between them to take what meagre offerings were given. Most people walked past without seeing them. Perhaps without care or perhaps with so much they didn’t know what to do.
The building on a corner near my hotel was home to these homeless people. They had carved out their own space with card board boxes creating rooms. Their sleeping bags lay rumpled as though they had arisen and not made their bed that morning. A soup kitchen on Martin Place fed them. This wasn’t the only place they slept. On arrival at the library for an early morning start one man lay in his sleeping bag, asleep by the front door.
Discussion was held “Do we wake him?” They let him sleep. There was no need for him to be up that early. The library didn’t open officially until 1o. I was overwhelmed. I could give some money but that was such a temporary answer. I was pleased to come across this video on my return. This was what is needed.
My poem is written with the third stanza a V. V for victory as this is what I think this young girl has achieved.
Written in reponse to Charli”s 99 word prompt where she asks:
April 8, 2015 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a renewal story that proclaims, “This isn’t the end; I will go on.” Think of the mythical phoenix that rises up from the ashes; of Cinderella after midnight on the night of the ball; of a hero that faces certain death; of love after tragedy; of renewing life’s lemonade transitions. Go where the prompt leads and own your story; the ones you’ve lived and the ones you imagine for fiction. Stand in solidarity with others to find the semicolons in life that chooses to nurture and not succumb.
Respond by April 14, 2015 to be included in the weekly compilation.Rules are here. All writers are welcome!