“Pheobe”

We met her

she just came out of the blue

she just was there

a  women

with a little wheelie basket

and white hair

that she could have been homeless

but she told us that she was

ever since the 70’s

and that was just because

of circumstances

much of that

beyond, her control

she had been sleeping

on park benches

and how can one console

her spirit

and her loneliness

and her reason to go on

slipping through the net

she swam away

and  she was gone

her son was in New Zealand

so very far away

she was almost 80

imagine that

to pay

so high a price

for circumstances

out of her control

it was hard to keep the tears

from falling

and this women’s soul

we could join her but for fortune

it can happen

to anyone

and today

those nets

have larger gauge’s

they nylon seams can run

far more of us are falling through

women  on the streets

supposedly they are down and out’s

what is it we can do

her husband had bought a franchise

McDonald’s but then he

left her for a younger women

God knows where he be

she heard that he had sold the business

but by this time her life

was spiraling

out of  control

so laden down with  strife

she was forced

onto the streets

such really awful thoughts

all she had was the clothes she wore

and a bank account  of

nought’s

Imagine stepping on the street

imagining the worst

how had she got to this stage

in her life

had somebody cursed

and was she blaming

all and sundry

were her objectives

to

go out and make something of herself

what now could she do

the streets are very hostile

having no place of abode

cuts you off from everything

a soul who walks the road

who sleeps upon park benches

who is moved off all the time

it hardens you

but “Pheobe”

illustrates, how she did climb

up, not down

she jettisoned

the ideas she had had

she learned a great deal

about the country

and  felt a little sad

about the type of government

she realized were there

and how she was below their radar

though still able to share

the countryside around her

the natural world where she

slept and sat and contemplated

and talked to folks

like me

in her world was communication

distancing herself

from the hum drum world of mediocrity

on no one’s shelf

she had the march of freedom

she learned she had too, fast

homeless since the seventies

we were both aghast

at this so gentle women

her face so soft and warm

wandering the streets of London

facing  storm after storm

of course she had some memories

recalling those that made

her smile and oh! so gently

though many now did fade

Statin’s were a pet hate

though others surfaced too

she had a wealth of knowledge

but knew what she must do

to maintain her equilibrium

to not let herself go

to be proud her name was “Pheobe”

and that constancy did show

she took our names

and internet sites

and was interested to hear

about the great Haarp

playing in the heavens

she was clear

a women where adversity

had honed her till today

she had all her faculties present

as she walked away

was she a sweet angel?

disguised to throw us, we

were moved by her

I cried for her

I found it hard to be

close to her

she emanated light

so much of it

and nearing 80 years of age

was still so proudly fit

a women bent on homelessness

a soothsayer was she

on the ground

she’d not been drowned

by the society

she stood for what she believed in

she hankered not for more

she was a beacon

a of  purest light

of that we both were sure

at Leicester Square

she left us

she mingled with the throng

her favourite park bench

she on course

really it wasn’t wrong

to me though lying in my bed

I wondered how she fared

on rainy days

on snowy days

and for her I just felt scared

But Pheobe clearly wasn’t

the highway was her home

she kept herself together

her life now was to roam

how circumstances  change us

how homelessness can be

felt by such a women

who we were pleased to see

she never held her hand out

not once did she exclaim

that she wanted our money

she left our hearts aflame

she never begged one  drop from us

her calmness in repose

speaking quietly speaking knowledgeably

in the most attractive prose

why she thought to stop

and talk with us

nobody knows

but she touched our hearts

she really did

and perhaps one day she will

find this poem about herself

and realize our thrill

at meeting and exchanging ideas with her

was she from

where was she going

her face was soft

and she

stopped to speak

and she spoke so well

sent a copy through to

enquiries@crisis.org.uk

and to

info@shelter.org.uk

I wonder who she really was

and what was her name really