The Poet Among Drunks and Derelicts

The poet slipped into a welfare system that provided just enough for him to survive . After paying the rent there was very little left for food and daily living expenses . It was getting hard to do the everyday things in life .
When the landlord put rent the poet could no longer afford to live there so he moved out .
He a few clothes and all his original inside a suitcase and walked off through the snow into a dark and cold night .

The poet had not just left his flat but he had retreated into then back streets of a world without mercy or hope .

His biggest headache now was money . He had very little left to live on .
During the next few weeks he slept and wrote down some words on scraps of paper and filed them away inside his suitcase for a later date .

He discovered the place called cardboard city and moved in .
There was safety in numbers and they lived in a tight little community .
No one judged him and he was free to come and go as he pleased .

Residents there were half insane . Many of them talked to themselves .
Some had completely lost touch with reality . I tell you there were more mad people there than any mental institution could ever hope to hold .
But there was an understanding there .
It was accepted .

One morning he rose from his cardboard box and as I made his out of the Bullring as it was known .
He was somehow getting known by the community and other visitors to cardboard city like the once a week Christians out looking for converts to their faith .

The Poet shared his poetry with Ziggy who he had met in the social security office . Ziggy enjoyed listening to some poetry as he waited for his dole money over the counter .

Ziggy asked the poet around to his flat ,
Because he trusted people the poet went along .
When he got there he discovered a bunch of crazy drunk kids who had just put in some dole money for alcohol .
They had found some kind of liquid paradise .
An oasis in the wilderness .
They lived life as if there was no tomorrow .
I guess they were also letting off a lot of steam in the process .
It was there that the poet got to meet street poets and other kinds of people who lived free and easy .
He stayed there and shared some poetry and they shared some with him
There were young girls who had been through a rough time but they were able to write about it ,
The Poet decided he would try to collect some of their work and maybe if he could them share those with others it would speak for these rare breed .

He asked if he could write down some of their poetry .
They had no problem with that .
He invited some of them to cardboard city .
Some older men there seemed happy to do that .
It looked as if they had been alcoholics and homeless for most of their lives .

The poet talked with them and they got along well .

He stood among the drunks and derelicts like a guard at the gates of the palace . These people were special and they had dignity .
Now and then some offered him a drink from their bottle .

Later that day the poet brought a few of them to cardboard city to meet some of the residents there like Peter the guru from India who shared his philosophies with anyone who had time to listen .
As a small group sat around his cardboard box Peter shared many stories . We were all lucky to have heard and shared that .

At the time Skinheads and punks returned to the Bullring .
They often went out around town during the day for limelight money .
Such was the cost of fame . They confronted tourists on street who for a small fee would take their photos .If there was such a thing as innovation these glam homeless teenagers took the cake .
At night drunk and disorderly they usually ended up sheltered in each others arms . If not in cardboard city then in some shop doorways out of the wind .

Most of these kids had come from broken homes and ended up with broken bones and broken hearts .
The Poet took a copy of a poem penned by Skinhead Susan . This is her work .

See the little children asleep on the street.
Poor little children so battered and bruised .
Tossed out like refuse on the street .
Pity the little children .
They are lost and confused .

Susan (Skinhead on the street)

Susan was 17 when she was homeless . She had to be hard and grew up rough on the street . Each day she used to shrug off the emotions that would otherwise have devoured her . Then with a smile she would place herself in the face of those well dressed people in the city centre .. Susan could boast to make a living each day begging .

Then there was Maggie and Barbara two young girls from Scotland who had come to London in the hope of finding a permanent job . They both ended up falling pregnant and feared returning home . Both of them hit the skids and it wasn’t long before they both were on drugs and alcohol .

They were proud of the two men who remained with them . Even though they were all down and out they made a go of it together . There has got to be a lesson there for all of those who think their relationship isn’t worth fighting for .

Marian and Barbara along with Derek and Del clung on to each other with all their strength and somewhere in all the grit and the grime they had found an unconditional love that in this world is very rare indeed .
Many young kids who had been kicked out and abused by their parents ended up in Cardboard City . They were really hurting and in need of healing .
Many of them wrote poetry of just scribbled down their thoughts .
That helped them deal with some issues .

Cardboard boxes had a massive melting pot of suffering alcoholics and runaways and rejects .They all had something in common .
Some had aids . Most were victims .
There were some prostitutes .
There were even babies born in cardboard boxes who lived homeless .

Perhaps those babies who were left dumped in a cardboard box were taken up by another and kept alive by the daily begging on the pavement .
That how life was . The poet remained with them for a few years .
He was fond of a few like Laverick John a homeless man and poet like himself .
One of handwritten pieces of poetry collected was the following little treasure by Laverick John .

You passed me by on the way to the theatre the other day,
Head up, shoulders stiff , eyes looking straight ahead at some
Imaginary destination deep in the distance .
What did you think I was going to do ?
Mug you with my cardboard begging box ?

You pretend not to see me on your way to the play ,
Though your friend cast me a coin
to scrub my unwanted image from his eyes .
what was the play about I wonder ?
Did it give you good conversation on your way home past my bed ?

Don’t get me wrong .
I wouldn’t dream to trespass on your time ,
Or deny your pleasure in your hard-earned recreation.
All I ask is that your eyes acknowledge my existence
Next time you pass this way,
So if you step on my toes again beneath my grubby blanket
You’ll realise that you’ve done it ,
Instead of simply passing by .

Laverick John (homeless Man)

Alf was a writer and also a qualified chef who had come to the city looking for work . Guest of cardboard city he ended up securing as job as a chef’s assistant in a city restaurant . and until he did he remained a resident at the Bullring at Waterloo .

Sam was another soul of the street and died homeless . Before he died he wrote this beautiful
Poem ,

I’m only an old rough diamond
Tramping the roads care-free .
I’ve been all over the world
And everyone has a smile for me .
I live for the dawn and sunset
Care of the man on high .
I’m only a rough old diamond
Yet king of the road am I .

There was always a stream of journalists on the roam around cardboard city .
Stories were many as the stars in the sky but did they really care for those who gave them a front page heading or photo ?
It was the flavour of the month .
These photo journalists arrived in their nice cars .They wore expensive clothes and smelt of perfume and after shave .
They looked healthy and well fed .
They all probably had a lovely home to return to at the ends of their busy working day .

It was decision time for the poet .
He could not take another day of this façade and left the community of cardboard city .

He returned back to life again and secured a job as a night security guard for a large store in the city .

He got well paid to make sure the cleaners never stole anything while they were in after hours .
The poet saved some money and moved into a small flat near the railway .

THE END

By Paul McCann