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Rosalin Blue

Born in a small town near Cologne in 1973 and schooled in Münster, Germany, Blue has an MA in Cultural Studies and Applied Arts from the University of Hildesheim and currently works as a Project Assistant at the Triskel Arts Centre. Blue has performed her poetry in the Future Forest, at the Irish Green Gathering, on Culture Night, on International Women‘s Day and at Ó Bhéal open mic nights. She has also performed in the Munster Heat All Ireland Poetry Slams for the past three years. Her poems have appeared in Southword Journal, An Gob Saor, A Cork Millennium Anthology, Revival Poetry Journal, and in the Five Words Volumes published by Ó Bhéal, Cork. Blue has also published some poetry in literary magazines and anthologies in Germany. Her first collection of poetry In the Consciousness of Earth was published by Lapwing, Belfast in 2012.



The Hobo


I am the homeless man of the city.

I sit by the shopfronts on the streets.

The cup before me fills less by the day

and I can clearly hear you say:

“I need my funds for my family!”

Yes, times are tough, but I can see:

You still have more than what I need!

I am a hobo on the city streets.


I'm one of the begging bums of the town.

Lost my house in the Tiger's crash

then I got ill, but no welfare for me.

I’d love to work and have a home still

with shower, my bed and a kitchen

and every day a good healthy meal.

But like many others I'm living rough

as Europe's demands get ever more tough.


At night I sleep on a cardboard plain

or hidden under it in the rain

my shelter the entrance of a bank.

From that golden hole in the wall

I see people draw out millions of notes

yet my cup's fill is ever so small

and you bail out the banksters for sure!

I’m just a hobo on the city streets.


My coat is ragged and brown from dirt

I reek my stink against the wind,

the crowds avoid to pass me closely

and no-one speaks a gentle word.

But I can clearly hear you think:

“Clean yourself up and go find work!”

Yet no-one invites me in for a shower.

There is no job for the hobos in town.


So I'm one of the filthy bums of the city

My skin is weathered red and rough

from winds and rain, and itchy

from the dirt and dust of the street

and the cheap grub that I eat.

The soup-kitchen's queue is longer today

I'm hungry, so I join in with shame,

a hobo on the sticky streets of the city.


Cold in the drizzle, clammy my clothes

my sleeping-bag is my lonely home

and only the booze keeps me warm.

So my face is red, I can’t walk straight

But I can clearly hear you think:

“It’s your own fault, just stop the drink!”

Unaware that we’d die here without it.

We're hobos on the streets of the city.


We merely exist under politics' eyes,

luckless losers of banksters' greed

and austerity will thrust more on the streets!

We trusted in Europe and welcomed wealth,

but the bubble burst from their lies and stealth.

So high were our hopes, our downfall so deep!

                                        And no-one bails us outhomeless

at the street-corners of so many towns.


©2012 Rosalin Blue


Author Links


In the Conciousness of Earth at Lapwing Press

'Blasphemy': poem by Blue in Irish Examiner USA

Blue reads her poem 'Deaf Culture' at O'Bheal (YouTube)







©2009 Southword Editions
Munster Literature Centre

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