Perspectives in Life

Perspectives in life

Olga could only see the street as boarded up doors

Through broken windows dust-covered carpets on floors

The people she rarely spoke to and described them as bores

They had coloured skin a strange language and different laws

Olga could only see the litter dropped on the street

Hated the corners where those in ragged clothes would meet

As far as she was concerned their lives she would delete

She wanted the glitter and glamour of the city light

The neon light the action of the clubs at night

Gifts of expensive dresses from men were her delight

She searched so hard for the man who might

Tanya saw the queue outside the chapel for the soup

She saw distress and volunteered for the kitchen group

Felt good when she helped a young child mend a hoop

Told the little girl in rags that she looked cute

She gave her time to help clear litter from the street

She was soon joined by others that she would meet

Helped with the construction of the old ones’ seat

Joined in to help the young form a club at night

Shared their music and saw joy and delight

One showed selfishness and the other sowed God’s seed

Where one felt only greed the other so clearly saw need

Copyright: David Hopcroft May 2024

Sometimes I am shocked to read or see posts that denigrate an area and do not see they spread discord and hate. Communities are built around love and care and we need to find that not run away from the need.

Sugar Morning

Sugar Morning

Wandering through the many chasms in my mind

I can recount the numerous occasions that others were kind

So I celebrate that somewhere hidden in a gene

There may really be one that isn’t kind of mean

A gene that prompts to say ‘Thank You’ and ‘Hello’

A greeting to those you meet and do not know

Just a few words to put a smile upon a face

That says ‘You know we are both part of this human race’

The gene that prompts one to go the extra mile

The message you send to say you are not hostile

The moment you step aside and say ‘After you’

Or open the door and say ‘Please go through’

The simple gestures are often those that matter most

Remembering to send that birthday card in the post

Just a little thought can make another’s day

Why not try this and make a start today

Copyright: David Hopcroft September 2023

Our Street

Our street

There is so much of my life that could become lost memories

My childhood of toys and games and friends could fade away

I thank my carer who chats and asks me for my old stories

She’s a fantastic listener who comes around every day

We lived in a terraced house with the door open to the road

There was a gleaming green Austin Seven outside number nine

On Friday the tally man came around collecting what was owed

In the back yard there were dolly pegs on the old clothes line

Bill Finkley owned the corner shop that sold almost everything

Packet of five woodbines a liquorice stick and a bar of soap

With a bell over the shop door that went ding-a-ling

They kept a slate of the wall for the folks who were nearly broke

On the cobbles we played our football games all the year

My sister pushed her dollies up and down in a pram

We made carts from pram wheels orange crates and rope to steer

Everyone came running at the sound of Jelly’s ice cream van

On a Friday night after work my dad would stagger home

Part of his wage packet gone to the landlord of the Kings Head

By Wednesday he’d be begging the gaffer for a pay day loan

We knew that tea was then going to be lard on bread

Gossip spread on Mondays when the mums did the stones

My carer thinks it’s important to try and write all this down

A life before computers televisions toasters and mobile phones

So younger ones can see the changes of living in our town

Copyright: David Hopcroft July 2023

Unwanted

Unwanted

Pulled from the freezing water by a friendly hand

Wrapped in an emergency blanket lying on the deck

Hoping for safety and a welcome in a foreign land

Watching as the boat sank and became a wreck

His brain still fogged and clouded by the disaster

Bodies trapped inside consigned to a briny deep

Crying out for their souls he prayed to his Master

That they might find a peace in their final sleep

Greeted by banners of hate when he reached the port

Insults shouted by the hordes gathered on the quay

Treated like a fugitive who had finally been caught

Fear and suspicion lurked in those who came to see

Crammed together in dilapidated huts cold and damp

Confined to the camp by a perimeter of barbed wire

They prayed together each evening beneath a glowing lamp

Rescued once more when the haters set the camp on fire

The months went by and his hopes began to fade

He was made to feel unwanted in his chosen land

Abused and overcome with depression he had no aid

Until sadly his life was ended by his own hand

Copyright: David Hopcroft July 2023