The blistering fall comes with no warning


Banished from our view they are like ghosts,

like skeletons, thin to the bone.

A sin to be home, less noticed;

a sign of our failures.

Their sign to the world,

‘spare a penny please’.

Yet we don’t signal sympathy,

serious faced, drifting on by like a blustering breeze


The blistering fall from feet to knees


They a ghost, a skeleton,

a pile of bones sitting

on some old dirty mags

in some old dirty rags

smoking rolled cheaply fags.

Lying between two wrinkled fingers.

A horde lying under bridges,

underpasses, parks, darkened alleys.


The blistering fall from house to bench.


They are the unheard of;

not featured on our screens.

They seem unseen, seen as unseemly,

themes stay the same.

Insane, they say; a pain.

Tossed around, like an empty can,

bossed around, lying on the street.

Litter to all, unnoticed, uncared for.


Bitter after a blistering fall, no one listening.


Listed as a stat, standing tall,

the stabs repeated into the open wound.

Bound to the street corner

found treated like dogs, beaten down.

Their position stays seated, posture lacking

Positivity depleted, dejected.

Rejected by society, accepted for charity posters

for a rough look, the reader given a tough look.

They are forgotten after the flick of the page

like the flick of the switch, the blink of an eye.


The blistering fall in the blink of an eye.


Lost in the city’s engine,

just part of the daily traffic.

The rhythm of the streets,

the never ending beat.

The step of the people in time

winding down the clock,

the sands running thin.









A blistering fall.



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