Culture

Poetry Corner

Please allow my indulgence this week, I have just returned from a weekend in Aberdeen and was struck once again by the plight of the homeless, to this end I have chosen a poem from our resident Poet Paul Colvin, I’d like to say enjoy but somehow that seems crude so instead I shall invite you to perhaps read and reflect.

 

I was You.

 

No bed, no blanket, no TV, no home

An army of people but where are they from?

They’re treated like vermin and they take what they can

Pleading for comfort, is my fellow man,

Born to be equal he lies on the street,

On a shaggy old blanket, a flea bitten sheet

Unwashed and unshaved from morning to night

The world passes by, all ignoring his plight,

He’s a right to be equal, a first among men

I see him each morning, again and again

His pitiful face weathered by summer’s sun

His lullaby’s whisky, God, what have we done?

Someone must know him, I ask him his name

His eyes look right through me then close down with shame

I’m the man who was you, a long time ago

Look into your heart, you already know.

I’m your brother, your father, yes even your son

As you fought their battles, they’d already won

And when you’ve delivered they’ll cast you aside

Don’t worry for me,

I’ve already died.

Paul Colvin 18 June 2016

 

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2 replies »

  1. That’s very good.
    “I’m the man who was you, a long time ago.”
    That catches it.
    That’s one of the most dread-full things – folk who die, inside, while they’re alive.
    And they don’t have to be on the streets – you can see those dead eyes in far too many people.
    Some ‘go under’ and end up in a situation which shows their despair, others – just despair.

    “How can you tell me you’re lonely, and say for you that the sun don’t shine? Let me take you by the hand, and lead you through the streets of London – Ill show you something that’ll make you change your mind.” ‘Streets of London’ by Ralph McTell.

    I look at our house, from our garden, and say “Thank you – thank you for it all. Not just the house and garden, thank you for it all”. My life, my lucky chances.
    “There but for the grace of God.”
    You started me off on one there, Paul. And that’s what good writing does.

    Like

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