A Trail of Trashed and Trampled Tickets - HWE 17.11.14
Posted: Mon Nov 24, 2014 12:44 am
Hi Maureen
I had a quick look on here the other week before I headed off on a trip home - just in case I felt the urge to write!!
Started writing a poem, but never finished it to put it up.
But was speaking to Terry tonight about poetry, and it prompted me to finish it.
Having seen your previous post about not getting much response to the last lot of prompts, thought I would still post it - better late then never!!
A Trail of Trashed and Trampled Tickets
© Irene Conner 08/11/14
A trail of trashed and trampled tickets
shroud their shattered souls.
For tickets rule their living
and define their daily roles
as Mummy rides the gambling wave
that binds her tight as any slave
and steals from family their once held goals.
No money left for food today -
they’re hungry once again.
As mummy sobs her sorrow,
her regret seems very plain.
But she is gripped by greater force
that overrides her sad remorse
for gambling shackles her with stronger chain.
Their daddy works to pay the rent -
he’s working day and night,
but she can’t seem to understand
he’ll never win the fight.
For money comes and money goes
much quicker than the river flows
and dreams have long been taken from his sight.
The kids are dressed in hand me downs,
their shoes are cracked and worn.
The neighbours watch them walk to school
their faces sad, forlorn.
They wonder if they’ve eaten yet
as mum puts on another bet;
their sympathy will see a spirit born.
One takes the children by the hand
and ushers them inside
she dresses them in brand new clothes
that they can wear with pride.
One brings them shiny shoes to wear
with pretty ribbons for their hair,
and food their weary dad cannot provide.
They feed them when their mum has lost
and left the cupboard bare.
They teach them that community
is there to love and care.
They tell them that their Mummy’s ill,
so they will know she loves them still
and shine a guiding light in their despair.
A trail of trashed and trampled tickets
shroud their shattered souls.
For tickets rule their living
and define their daily roles.
As Mummy rides the gambling wave
that binds her tight as any slave,
Community restores their once held goals.
I had a quick look on here the other week before I headed off on a trip home - just in case I felt the urge to write!!
Started writing a poem, but never finished it to put it up.
But was speaking to Terry tonight about poetry, and it prompted me to finish it.
Having seen your previous post about not getting much response to the last lot of prompts, thought I would still post it - better late then never!!
A Trail of Trashed and Trampled Tickets
© Irene Conner 08/11/14
A trail of trashed and trampled tickets
shroud their shattered souls.
For tickets rule their living
and define their daily roles
as Mummy rides the gambling wave
that binds her tight as any slave
and steals from family their once held goals.
No money left for food today -
they’re hungry once again.
As mummy sobs her sorrow,
her regret seems very plain.
But she is gripped by greater force
that overrides her sad remorse
for gambling shackles her with stronger chain.
Their daddy works to pay the rent -
he’s working day and night,
but she can’t seem to understand
he’ll never win the fight.
For money comes and money goes
much quicker than the river flows
and dreams have long been taken from his sight.
The kids are dressed in hand me downs,
their shoes are cracked and worn.
The neighbours watch them walk to school
their faces sad, forlorn.
They wonder if they’ve eaten yet
as mum puts on another bet;
their sympathy will see a spirit born.
One takes the children by the hand
and ushers them inside
she dresses them in brand new clothes
that they can wear with pride.
One brings them shiny shoes to wear
with pretty ribbons for their hair,
and food their weary dad cannot provide.
They feed them when their mum has lost
and left the cupboard bare.
They teach them that community
is there to love and care.
They tell them that their Mummy’s ill,
so they will know she loves them still
and shine a guiding light in their despair.
A trail of trashed and trampled tickets
shroud their shattered souls.
For tickets rule their living
and define their daily roles.
As Mummy rides the gambling wave
that binds her tight as any slave,
Community restores their once held goals.
I particularly liked the message contained here -