Friday, 7 December 2012

There's no place

 It's been a cold, wet, and miserable winter's day today, but I've had the benefit of a fire to warm my backside by, and hot food and drink.
Others aren't so well blessed.

There’s no place….

Today has been the kind of day that
shows a man no pity
sarcastic showers of icy rain that
laughing, cut him cold
they’re driven on by gusts of wind that
if dry, would be gritty
but even without dust and grit they
make his joints feel old
The cloud conspires to fill the skies and
block the sun from shining
and driving rain is crystalising,
turning now to sleet
his threadbare clothes are not enough,
without their inner lining
hands thrust deep in empty pockets,
split shoes on bare feet.
This young man stands dejected without
solace in this cold world
his empty heart is lonely, with no
friends or loving care,
Society has rejected him, he
struggles to connect again
but people have no pity on worn
clothes and matted hair
He keeps on walking, even though
his journey leads him nowhere
It’s all that keeps him warm, he’s had no
drink or food to eat
for several days it’s been like this
he’s feeling quite beyond care
he dreams of tea, and egg and chips
or God forbid, some meat.
All the while, he’s looking out for a
warm and cosy alcove
somewhere that he can hide away from
Winter’s boning-knife
and if he’s really lucky, there’ll be a
grille with warm air venting
from a kitchen in the basement
that will maybe save his life.
But sadly, that is not to be,
this mere hallucination
is all he has to cling to
just a dream within his head
For come the morning under snow
his rigid body will be found
In a corner with some rubbish
curled up, foetal, frozen, dead.


  1. Really enjoyed reading this - several times over. Merely as a narrative it catches your interest, elicits your sympathy, moves you forward, and eventually brings you to its pitiful, inevitable finale.

    Reading again to savour the metre, rhythm and imagery I enjoyed particularly 'sarcastic showers of icy rain', and 'winter's boning-knife'. The prosaic quality of 'tea, and egg and chips,' and 'a grille with warm air venting from a kitchen in the basement, keep it all real while pulling in the larger, grander themes of poverty, rejection, and death. Love it, Rob. Lx

    1. Thanks Lynne, your comments fit exactly the way I wanted it to read. Thanks for reading more than once! :0)

  2. Very well done!

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