#Feet! Inspired by the homeless living in Glebe, Sydney.


Feet, clothed in designer leather,

Walk slowly toward me and rush quickly passed me

I’m not a beast; I’m not going to grab at your ankles.

I see the look you give me out of the corner of your eyes, I’m not blind, THAT, might make it easier.

They walk by; once again I am unnoticed.

I want to say “This, is not the real me, if you knew me you’d understand

I used to be attractive, confident, admired. Now I am abused, fragile ALONE.

Some blue and white stripes come closer, closer… I’m nervous and try to conjure up some strength,

Too late

They’re right in front of me, I look up to their owner. Slicked back hair, greasy spotty faced teenager. Here’s trouble I think to myself, surprisingly, a hand is offered, $1 in it, gesturing for me to take it.

I reach out my slender dirty fingers and then watch as the coin goes flying to the ground away from me.

I hear laughter from afar, the stripes retreat… I stay where I am, too ashamed to move, the laughter is louder and drenched with pride, immaturity & ignorance.

What have I become? An entertainer for the twisted, a fixture on the paving stones, a ghost…

Nobody cares, everyone disgusted by what they see

“It’s not my fault, I don’t have an addiction, I was a loving Mum and wife, good friend, a pillar of the community! I owned a home, car, clothes, the usual tat.

Then lost it all in the instant

He died.

© Kirsty ‘Mad Eye’ McIntosh 2008


#Midwest Poetry inspired by watching documentary about the dust bowl


                Dustbowl Remembered

As I walked across the desert, sun beatin in my eyes.

Could not see ahead of me, behind me only dust.

Tryin’ to seek salvation like I had been for years

God only knows if I’d left sooner

There’d have been none of the tears.

Maybe if all citizens of Oklahoma cried in unison,

The crops would grow again & sustain us for another season.

As it was each tear that fell got soaked up in the dirt.

And all that grew in wheats’ place, was starvation & hurt.

No sooner was it discovered, land was sold & bought,

Families came from far & wide to live in a tiny hut.

Mud was turned “the wrong way up” to some peoples’ horror,

No one saw what was to come, blinded by the US dollar.

Fields of green turned to gold, one year to the next,

Each family reaped rewards, life full of health & happiness.

Prosperity washed across every farmer that dared to gamble,

No matter which way you looked, wheat was at every angle.

When war broke & price was high, on bushel & mans’ head,

We did our bit for country, sewed more & more each week.

Til finally there was no more soil beneath our aching feet.

The dust was picked by strong winds & blown across each state,

Settlin’ on homes & peoples’ lungs, sendin’ hundreds to their fate.

Many packed up & gave in to natures cruel displays,

Those that stayed & hunkered down thought it was “ the end of days”.

Black Tuesday, saw a lot of men, lose what fortune they had.

Bills were pillin’ up outside the door, things were lookin’ bad.

Years of hard toil feedin’ many from their land,

What thanks did they receive?

Foreclosure from the bank!

Prayers rang out from all around for a saviour to find an end,

Roosevelt was to be that man, givin’ food & jobs to all.

But as to the problem with the dust, even he couldn’t make that call.

The desert that my feet tread, used to be lush prairie,

Had we shared the land with buffalo & people that were wise.

Listened to the words & heeded the blue skies,

Our lives could’ve been carefree.

I take my hat off to those who tried to beat nature at it’s own game.

Plantin’ trees & grass to restore the glory.

But we are only man & earth will never be tamed.

And that, my friend, is the dustbowl, a place I leave behind.

Never forget and learn a lesson, from this, an old mans’ story.

Kirsty ‘MadEye’ McIntosh