18/05/2026
Dan, a resident in one of our LifeHouses, uses poetry to help improve his mental health and wellbeing. Staff at the Lifehouse, a hostel for people experiencing homelessness, discovered his love of creative writing and encouraged his gift of poetry. Dan is learning to channel his emotions and life experience into poetry and hopes to guide other people into being creative for their own wellbeing.
Here is one of his poems: ‘Darbyshire House’
There’s a place in Liverpool, solid and sound
Where lost lads and life meet on common ground.
It’s not flashy or famous, no neon-lit fame,
Just a sign on the wall and the Army’s name.
Darbyshire House – now don’t let it fool you,
It’s not just a building; it’s a ‘start-over’ venue.
Men turn up knackered, some wired, some low,
With stories so heavy they walk in real slow.
They’ve wrestled with demons named Stress, Jack and Gear,
And voices in heads that won’t disappear.
But inside these walls there’s a rule that’s quite clear:
“You’re welcome, you’re safe, put the kettle on, mate”.
There’s banter at breakfast, the dry British kind,
Where humour’s a plaster for trouble and mind.
“You slept alright?” “Define ‘alright’, pal,”
Says one bloke who boxed shadows all night in the hall.
Mental health here isn’t whispered in shame,
It’s spoken out loud, called right by its name.
Addiction’s not judged, not mocked or ignored –
Just tackled one day, one brew, one word.
The Salvation Army runs a tight ship, it’s true,
But compassion’s the captain, and patience the crew.
There’s routine, support plans, and the odd gentle push,
Plus, staff who can spot when you’re hiding in ‘fine’.
Some days are victories – clean socks, clean head.
Some days you just manage to get out of bed.
Progress is messy, it limps, it sways,
But nobody’s timing the race here, mate.
Darbyshire House knows men aren’t machines,
They break, they reboot, they dream in between.
So when one walks out with his life back in tow,
Liverpool grins like it already knows.
Because hope doesn’t shout or arrive on a horse –
Sometimes it’s housed on a quiet old road,
With a cuppa, a chuckle and someone who says,
“Sit down, lad… you’re alright here.”