Invisible – Choka (Reprint) – January 3, 2016


he’s invisible
just sitting there in the street
we all walk by him
and don’t really see him
from New York to Rome
homeless – living in the streets

through embarrassment
or is it indifference
now we look away
they’ve become invisible
those people no longer seen

© G.s.k. ‘15

Blessed are the Poor – Choka – (Reprint) January 3, 2016


this scrap of paper
found in a tattered notebook
poems for misfits
in a world of mad ravens
frayed social weave
where the orphan needs courage
lost in hiraeth
for Eden isn’t of this world …
benedictions flow
from the rich and the potent
who rummage deeply
in their sterile souls seeking
how to keep – not give
except for a few marbles
in a Christmas-time stocking
found in a five and dime …

hypocrites in church
on a hot Sunday morning
hearing the words
spoken by a homeless man
nod your heads then say – Amen!

© G.s.k. 15

Molly and Louis – Friday Fictioneers – December 4, 2015

Roger Bultot (2)

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Molly was seventeen and had lived on her own since she was fourteen, from the day her father, drunk as usual had tried to take her to bed.  Luckily he’d fallen into a stupor, so she rifled his wallet and set space between them.

Now she worked as a waitress in the cafeteria of an office conglomerate next to an old factory.  The money was ok, plus she had all she needed to eat. She’d found a small work shed that she’d cleaned up and made homey.  Just she and her cat Louis lived there.

She didn’t feel at all homeless.


4 DECEMBER 2015 – Friday Fictioneers

Homeless Campers – Five Sentence Challenge (Prose Poem) – February 5, 2015


Walking along the city streets, wandering and wondering, at the many improvised beds I see of the homeless campers in the streets.

A flattened cardboard box used as a mat, paper and plastic bags to keep out the damp, and layers and layers of old clothes, these for the improvised beds of the homeless campers in the streets.

Ignoring the incessant traffic that rolls by, the midnight partiers who weave through their improvised dormitory, like drunken warders in a private school or those who take their dogs for their last evening spin, but not the police who sometimes round-up the homeless campers in the streets.

In the silence I watch the faces of those who’ve made it as they look on with disgust society’s human failures, who didn’t quite make the grade in our consumer heaven of bubble and bust economy and I see barely hidden fear, that one day they too might become homeless campers in the streets.

It’s bedtime … and I have a bed and home waiting for me, with a mattress and feathered duvet, no traffic, no dogs, no police nor drunks will disturb my rest, but maybe in my dreams I’ll see homeless campers in the streets.

© G.s.k. ‘15

Lillie McFerrin Writes

This prose poem was written for:  Five Sentence Fiction – Bedtime