I thought today I would share something from one of my old journals. But I first came upon my special place where I have recorded my daughter’s poems and my own favourite pieces of writing. I have not looked at it for some time. It is a large spiral journal with a beautiful wave curling, about to crash into an angry sea. It’s funny, It caught my eye inside a little book store in Guadaloupe where I was visiting for the day from a cruise. It is funny how you sometimes don’t notice things until years later. I just noticed that there is a broken canoe within the picture with a man hanging on. I chose it because of the wave and never even saw the rest of the picture and the story it was telling! The artist would have been disappointed if he had known.
I was drawn to a poem I had written years ago soon after an encounter with a vagrant when I was waiting in my car for my daughter to finish her dance class. He was old and tired, and just wanted a friendly ear. The others in the car park ignored him, but when he encountered me in my vehicle he knew he had a safe haven, just for a while. He did not ask for money. He wanted to sit and rest his legs. I hesitated, said a little prayer, and then opened the passenger side of the car.
He talked for about 15 minutes mentioning his life and the people he had encountered on his journey, throwing in some names of well known people in our society as if he needed to impress me. I asked him at the end of his talk if I could pray for him. We prayed and then he left, grasping a package of cookies that my daughter would not have needed. The lady in the car nearby said that he shows up a lot in the car park to beg. Yet I never saw him again, and I was sorry.
Here is my poem. It doesn’t do him justice. I found out later that he is called Neville.
Soft but anxious eyes, begging for money a game,
Playing to win, to beat the race
To the ultimate high.
He pours his heart out
Shows his wounds, Shares his sorrows
And his empty belly.
He watches for someone
Anyone who will listen
Paces around, restless,
Until his eyes rest on me
That compassionate soul, he has found her!
Waits to connect,
Plays his cards right and might get a twenty
Today is day 9 of the series Prison Break of Thoughts – 31 Days of Inner Release that I am writing for #write31days challenge.
The Tear Stealer 