Uncategorized

Foodbank poets donate to Nourish!!

Joint winners Rachael Clyne and Sara Carroll – well done both! (an offline “like” from Pollygonia who couldn’t vote online went to Belly First). The top votes went to these two poems. Well done poets!!!!

Delivery

Bill, home from hospital –
only a six-week wait for benefits.
Kim, in a halfway house, hopes
she’s done with rough sleeping.
Somewhere, the local women’s refuge
has a new mother and child.
It’s a steep climb to the organ loft
to boxes marked V, F or S –
(vegetarian, family, single).
Laden with tinned & dried goods;
I head to Morrisons, for veg, fruit,
cut-price mince; bread and no fishes.
Unlike most foodbanks,
we supply a week’s worth
of breathing-space, of dignity.
I try to gloss over the shame
of twenty-first century handouts.
I deliver, but do not save.

by Rachael Clyne

 

Belly First
People are falling through the cracks in a system not made to hold them.
The Guardian, April 2018

The day he fell through the crack he went belly first;
tumbling through dark space to land on
chicken bones, fish bones, used tea-bags,
two black pennies – enough to drop on to a church plate.
He put his hands together, called out to anybody there,
and in the silence, tried to climb out.
The sides were pillow-soft, nice,
if you wanted to sit down, watch telly, enjoy
a cup of tea and a biscuit, which he had,
but his mug was empty and before he knew it
he had fallen from a place that was not made to hold him.

by Sara Carroll

nourishlastpic

Advertisements
Uncategorized

Foodbank poems finale!

Thank you to all the poets who have generously given poems to support this project. The poem with the most “likes” (votes by clicking on likes on your favourite poems) will have a cheque for £50 sent to Nourish Foodbank in the poet’s name. The final count will be midday Sunday 16th July.

donateMoney.png

Nourish Community Foodbank provides emergency food and provisions to people in crisis on a referral only basis. Since 2012, they have provided over 110,000 meals to local people costing them on average £3 to provide a meal.

Nourish-b

Uncategorized

Food bank poem by Johanna Boal

This competition raises money for Nourish Food Bank. The winning poem, by public vote, has £50 sent to Nourish in the poet’s name. Voting is by “likes” and ends soon.

nourish

At the Foodbank

The shop seems dingy and a lack of air,
only opened four hours a week.
Morrison’s supermarket donated yesterday’s bread,
someone from the allotment gave potatoes.
The windows plastered with posters saying,
long-life milk, tinned fish, baby food, toiletries.
The shop is tiny, yet it seems cluttered
two tables in the middle of the floor
and queuing, desperate looking people hand in letters
from the doctor asking for food.

The foodbank has not forgotten its manners
on those tables is a teapot, milk, sugar and a plate of biscuits,
but why do I feel like I am in a funeral parlour?

Uncategorized

Food bank poem by Pippa Little

This competition raises money for Nourish Foodbank. The winning poem, by public vote, has £50 sent to Nourish in the poet’s name. Voting is by “likes” and ends soon.

nourish


A Nation of Animal Lovers

Of the two cardboard tubs
at Sainsbury’s main door
the one on the left,
‘Cat and Dog Shelter,’
gets fuller, fills quicker
than the one on the right.
I ask the manager, does it seem ok to you
setting them side by side?
He says he’s received no complaints.
But I am complaining.
It’s bad enough
day after day, week after week, year after year
depending on someone leaving a
can of beans or going hungry. Shame
does the heart in well enough without
a tub full of dog-food cans
next to the almost bare ‘Food Bank’.
What have we come to
that this seems ok?

Uncategorized

Food bank poem: Carolyn O’Connell

This competition raises money for Nourish Food Bank. The winning poem, by public vote, has £50 sent to Nourish in the poet’s name. Voting is by “likes” and ends 12th July 2018.
nourish

The Worker

She left home at six without breakfast
took the bus to her first client
washed him, served him bread & butter,
tea and ensured he was safe before she left.

For six hours she knocked at new doors
helping those who depended on her
as she drank water to keep going,
she was the only person to care

until her shift was over. She stopped
at the dark door to collect a box
of donated food, with a short shelf life,
from a stranger in a Food Bank jacket.

Uncategorized

Food bank poem: Steve Walter

nourishThis competition raises money for Nourish Food Bank. The winning poem, by public vote, has £50 sent to Nourish in the poet’s name. Voting is by “likes” and ends 12th July 2018. Only two more poems left to read….

Food Bank

There’s a shortage of food in the world
like there’s a shortage of money
but there’s more than enough of both to go round…

Call the shortage greed
and you’ll have a taste for what could change.

Uncategorized

Food bank poem: Angi Holden

This competition raises money for Nourish Food Bank. The winning poem, by public vote, has £50 sent to Nourish in the poet’s name. Voting is by “likes” and ends 12th July 2018.
nourish

Journey

The night he came home complaining of the flu
she helped him to bed with enough whiskey to fell an ox,
knowing she had just one chance to make this work.
As he snored she packed the children’s bags,
no more than each could carry and enough space left
for a love-worn elephant, a frayed and floppy rabbit.
At five she brought him tea, more whiskey, paracetamol.
She made him comfortable, waited till he drifted off again.
Then she woke each child in turn, eldest first,
shushing their sleepy bodies into home-knit sweaters,
thick socks, stout shoes, best overcoats; sitting them
in shocked silence as she briskly dressed the next.
The baby she carried to the car, his nappy soiled, afraid
his angry cries might wake the dead, or heavy sleeping.
Brake off, she rolled the car downhill, towards the town,
starting the engine only when she saw the blue-black port,
the island ferry stolid, roped tight against its mooring.
At half-past six she stood on deck, watched the dock recede:
ahead a dullache day of wind-rough sea, of rail and road,
of hope the refuge that she’d read about would take them in.
A decade later, packing boxes at the local foodbank, she sees
another family, like hers back then with less than nothing.
Remembers that first meal: donated tins of tuna, sweetcorn,
plum tomatoes, with mashed potato mixed with forks;
her hungry children slurping tea from gaudy mugs.
Knows that nothing will ever taste as sweet as freedom
and the generosity of nameless friends she’ll never meet.

Uncategorized

Food bank poem: Helen Harrison

This competition raises money for Nourish Food Bank. The winning poem, by public vote, has £50 sent to Nourish in the poet’s name. Voting is by “likes” and ends 12th July 2018.

nourish

Land of Broken Dreams and Custard Creams

Disheartening with no money left after bills are paid
Among those using food banks are workers on low-pay
Donations lack in nutrients that busy people need
Being burnt-up with worry requires more than tins of beans…
While grateful for basics provided by volunteers
The recipients are aging rapidly far beyond their years
Prone to diabetes as they consume custard creams
With highly sugared cereals in this land of broken dreams
For the many volunteers education would be of help
So donors could contribute items suitable for better health
Ask themselves which ingredients they need for balanced meals;
Recipes which provide less processed food for new fresh appeal
When diets are improved so is general mental health
Sadly lacking in societies with divisions in wealth.
So let the food bank users have an input, and a say
Those the ones that eat it at the ending of each day.

 

Uncategorized

Food bank poem: Maggie Mackay

This competition raises money for Nourish Food Bank. The winning poem, by public vote, has £50 sent to Nourish in the poet’s name. Voting is by “likes” and ends 12th July 2018.
nourish

Empty Shelves
She can last a week without eating.
Her wee girl needs new shoes, you see,
but the hours were cut to zero
and the benefit’s not come through.
Those empty shelves break her heart.

The food bank gives you a great cup of tea,
she’d tell you, if it didn’t make her blush with shame,
and that chocolate biscuit is smashing,
just for that moment as it sits on her tongue.

She smiles for once. They listen to her story.
The bag pulls on her arm and she’s glad it does.
The weight of food, the measure of compassion,
three meals a day for three days,
until, please no, there’ll be a next time.

Uncategorized

Food bank poem: Rachael Clyne

This competition raises money for Nourish Food Bank. The winning poem, by public vote, has £50 sent to Nourish in the poet’s name. Voting is by “likes” and ends 12th July 2018.

nourish

Delivery

Bill, home from hospital –
only a six-week wait for benefits.
Kim, in a halfway house, hopes
she’s done with rough sleeping.
Somewhere, the local women’s refuge
has a new mother and child.

It’s a steep climb to the organ loft
to boxes marked V, F or S –
(vegetarian, family, single).
Laden with tinned & dried goods;
I head to Morrisons, for veg, fruit,
cut-price mince; bread and no fishes.

Unlike most foodbanks,
we supply a week’s worth
of breathing-space, of dignity.
I try to gloss over the shame
of twenty-first century handouts.
I deliver, but do not save.