Feeling homeless and unsettled

Photo by Amadeo Valar on Unsplash

To rest your weary soul
when you’re tired and your
feet feel cold.

To hang your coat on
the same hook plainly
in sight each night.

To feel safe in your
space where no person
threatens your face.

This haven of rest
and peaceful abode
is not the possession
of many young or

No four walls
to rest their head.
No place to call
their homestead.

Others too with
a home and a view
may also be in some
way homeless too.

Whether you have
walls or not, only
a dome of peace,
love, and under-
standing will feel
like “home.”…

a Poem

Photo by Arwan Sutanto on Unsplash

She never drove a car.
She would walk and walk
the distance no matter how far.

Her wrists were dented from|
bags she carried for miles,
but she never lamented,
nor did she cry.

I remember this well,
the buzzing inner city street,
as my brother and I
straggled along with
our little feet.

Brother would beg to be carried
too. As his little legs would tire,
mama knew what she had to

She gently lifted and placed
him in one arm with great care,
while her other arm and
groceries looked like they
would tear.


This is a true story.

Photo by Sean Benesh on Unsplash

I died on 9th Street and St. Clair.
Please let me tell you how I got there.

Raised in poverty of an immigrant pair,
I was one of ten children with not much to share.

By day Papa worked hard but by night drank like a fish.
Mama was a big woman who could whip anything into a
great dish.

All nine brother and sisters were as cold as could be.
Growing up with them they never cared about me.

Average looks or a little less, I certainly was not the
type to play chess.

The Unborn

Photo by Alicia Petresc on Unsplash

Although you couldn’t see me,
you never questioned that I was
there. Consumed by my future
became your daily care.

The first trimester began
with a bang. All your plans you

You made me so happy,
that first day you kicked in gear —
you resolved to be good and
stay away from the beer.
Not an easy task to do,
since it was during your
relapse I came to you.

My teardrops flowed
as I saw you suffer so,
as your panic attacks
increased and the doctor
said your pills had to go.

As if that…

Rita Duponty

Author (amazon.com/author/ritaduponty). Join me at Tidbits for Healthy Living, The Every Day Life of the Unemployed, and at pinterest.com/ritaduponty.

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