Wednesday 16 November 2016


“ I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me. Like the bodiless heads you see sometimes in a circus sideshow, it is as though I have been surrounded by mirrors of hard, distorting glass. When they approach me they see only my surroundings, themselves, or figments of their imagination- indeed, everything and anything except me.” 


Invisible they are,
the have-me-not’s
the underclass squashed flat
beneath the piles of what-we-have.

Poverty is hard to find,
almost invisible
unless you care to look for it. 

Look hard behind the eyes
of that dirt smudged child
with half-empty belly and vacant stare. 
Judge easy, fear his progeny,
another stain of dumbing down,
the underclass that never try. 

If only you lived inside his belly,
felt his gnawing hunger,
brain starved of the ability to learn. 
Would you feel for him?
Would you?

Perhaps for a moment (conscience pricked)
you lay pennies in a begging hat
of that waste-of-space that apparent poor. 
Is he really poor or merely a wise
street entrepreneur speculating
on our moments need to put things right? 
You can’t trust the poor.  
Well can you?

Why don’t they get a job instead
of leeching us who earn each and every penny? 
Hard graft we do to fill our bellies
with each and every trinket, consumables.    
How long does an iPhone last
before you need another?
Not long.  Not long.

How can we understand poverty unless
we have lived through it ourselves? 
And if we do, how we long
to remain invisible, the shame of it,
hide in darkened rooms when bailiffs call,
shudder at our situation. 

Of bread, there is two slices left
after eking out a single loaf
for one never-ending week. 

How do I feed my children?

Anna :o]

The above was inspired by Susan’s prompt of Invisibility at Poets United.  Cheers Susan!

The last two stanzas are accurate to a situation my family found ourselves in many many moons ago.  Until I wrote the poem and perhaps of being now (and for a long time) relatively ‘comfortable,’ I had forgotten about it and I am ashamed of myself.

I can remember pretending not to be in when the milkman called for his money each Friday night. I can remember handing over the last money in my purse to the insurance man as I was too embarrassed to say I couldn’t afford it.  I can remember borrowing the bus fare for my son to go school from my next-door neighbour because I couldn’t even scrape that together.  I only did this once, so mortified I was.  I can remember the fear of the postman dropping debt letters through the letter box.  I can remember the bailiff calling, him finding there was nothing of value to take away to solve the debts.

I remember most the two slices of bread.  My hubs and children had had the last of cereals for their breakfast and I knew there was two slices of bread left in the breadbin, so looking forward to toast I was.  When I pulled them out of the packet, they were turning green with mould.  I had never felt such helplessness such despair such utter disappointment in my life and haven’t since.

Also shared with the good folk at dVerse OLN.  Cheers Grace!

Image:  Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Author: For 4the children   

Sunday 13 November 2016


I am the fallen.

Fallen, I became the earth
below this Flanders Field
where once battled raged
now a blaze
of wondrous poppies grow.

I am the fallen.

Two minutes is all I ask of you,
two minutes to remember me. 
Stay silent then,
rid your mind of cluttered thoughts,
turn off your phone,
stay silent then,
remember me.

I am the fallen,
please remember me.


War and strife continue to rage across this world of ours and soldiers and civilians continue to fall day after day after day. 

Lest we forget - many of us do, many of us have.  We seem unable to learn…

Shared with the good folk at Poets United.

Image:  Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Tuesday 8 November 2016


Caught in it I am,
this ever decreasing circle,
this life of ours. 

How to say Goodbye? 

The dog whines in the cellar,
the kettle whistles on the stove,
the baby mewls in its crib
and we hear naught but the silence.

Stuck we are, silently suffering
and the circle ever decreases,
sucking us in.

Love has long floundered,
hearts are all empty
and we sit here in silence,
each unknowing how 
to say the longest


Anna :o]

Walt at dVerse has us writing of the oft sorrow of parting, the oft pain of adieu and the forever goodbye, cheers for the inspiration Walt.

Also shared with the good folk at Real Toads.

Image:  Courtesy of  Wikimedia Commons.

Author: Skedonk

Tuesday 1 November 2016

Gas Chamber (If Walls Could Talk)

I am what I am;
I have neither a heart nor a soul,
yet I have purpose.

Come to me you scourge of the earth,
you gravid with vermin,
you mothers and children,
you sick crippled and old. 
I have use for you.

Show me your bodies naked and awful
and I will show you my worst.  

I have purpose,
I shall cleanse this world clean.

Anna :o[

Mish at dVerse has us writing on the theme of ‘If Walls Could Talk’ and the above is my offering.

Also shared with the good folk at Real Toads Tuesday Platform.

Image:  Courtesy of  Wikimedia Commons

Author: Walter, Bernhard