A Grocery Cart's lament
I see them on the higways and throughways
abandoned under bridges
or trucking the obligato of some homeless urchin
like a destitute's sation wagon
I've seen them stripped bare
toppled and lifeless
straining the filth of a cement river
I saw one hurled from an arch
crushing the sturdy chrome skeleton
the wheels askew and writhing like broken limbs
I saw one bearing a case of bottled water
and a bawling child
a mile from the store
poem by George Murdock
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A Broken Child
A broken child hides at night.
A broken child cries in fright.
A broken child hides the bruise.
A broken child is pushed and refused.
A broken child always with heartache.
A broken child who cannot fake.
A broken child who has no treasure.
A broken child used for sinful pleasure.
A broken child is so scared.
A broken child has no faith to bare.
A broken child lost in dispair.
I am the broken child, the one that no one cares.
poem by Haley Brown
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Snakepit, The
Well we're a mile under the ground
And I'm thinking that it's Christmas
And I'm kissing you hard
Like I've got very important business
And no-one knows
And no-one sees us
Because they're drinking themselves senseless
And I'm writhing
And I'm writhing
And I'm writhing in the snakepit
Well I'm out in a car
And it's just full of stupid girls
And I've forgotten how to speak
And I just can't remember a word
And my eyes feel like they're bursting
And they're splitting like plums
And I'm writhing
And I'm writhing
And I'm writhing in the snakepit
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Snakepit
Well we're a mile under the ground
And i'm thinking that it's christmas
And i'm kissing you hard
Like i've got very important business
And no-one knows
And no-one sees us
Because they're drinking themselves senseless
And i'm writhing
And i'm writhing
And i'm writhing in the snakepit
Well i'm out in a car
And it's just full of stupid girls
And i've forgotten how to speak
And i just can't remember a word
And my eyes feel like they're bursting
And they're splitting like plums
And i'm writhing
And i'm writhing
And i'm writhing in the snakepit
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Electric Eel Song
Ay! me one child Ay-eeee!
Ay! me one daughter
Take out you’ foot
From the black river water
Haul out you’ hand
Out the slow river water
Stay ‘pon the bank
Of the cold river water
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
Electric eel
Is the eel in the river
Shadow ‘pon the bottom
Is the eel in the river
Something like you’ hand
Is the eel in the river
Swimming like you’ foot
Is the eel in the river
Ay! me one child Ay-eeee!
Ay! me one daughter
Foot after foot
Though the black river water
She can’t touch the bottom
Out the slow river water
Shirt like umbrella
In the cold river water
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
Electric eel
Is the eel in the river
Cutlass shape
Is the eel in the river
Black blade or brown
Is the eel in the river
Dozing so quiet
Is the eel in the river
Ay! me one child Ay-eeee!
Ay! me one daughter
Slap of a tail
Through the black river water
Shiver like ague
Out the slow river water
As if she take cramp
Of the cold river water
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
Electric eel
Is the eel in the river
No blood, just a thrill
Is the eel in the river
Lightning bold
Is the eel in the river
And she Drown now, she chilly
Is the eel in the river
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
poem by Slade Hopkinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Crosses Burning
black-eyed poverty,
angry negativity,
sanity or vanity,
aint nobody free...
still the wheels of life
keep on turning;
in the land of want,
crosses burning.
hate me, hate yourself,
liberty on the shelf,
worthless unless it sells,
drawing water from the well...
still the wheels of life
keep on turning;
in the land of need,
crosses burning.
black and white bleeding red,
cant feed the poor, raise the dead,
drinking water laced with lead,
nooses hung around our heads...
still the wheels of life
keep on turning;
in the land of hurt,
crosses burning.
children sold into slavery,
homeless tents, misery,
wars without victory,
governed by plutocracy...
still the wheels of life
keep on turning;
in the land of sorrow,
crosses burning.
microwave Jesus, tattered flags,
boys come home in body bags,
buildings crumble, bridges sag,
numbered souls without a tag...
still the wheels of life
keep on turning;
in the land of lies,
crosses burning.
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Keep Your Lips and What's Behind Them Zipped
You keep your lips and what's behind them zipped.
No explanation do you give for this.
But then you expect understanding given for it.
And you're bottled up.
You're bottled up!
You do a tantrum dance and go into your fits.
You spit words of venom with a delivered hiss.
And then you wish somebody to bring to you gifts.
And you're bottled up.
You're bottled up!
What makes you think you are deserving of it?
You're not even using those you've been blessed with.
You curse the Earth and spit on it,
When you should give it a kiss!
And you're bottled up.
You're bottled up!
And you're bottled up...
With a half filled cup.
You keep your lips and what's behind them zipped.
No explanation do you give for this.
With your jaws tight together like a big hypocrite.
And you're bottled up.
You're bottled up!
And you're bottled up...
With a half filled cup.
You're bottled up!
You are bottled up.
With guts sucked in and ready to explode,
On a moment's noticed!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Chrome
(chrome)
Chrome, She can see herself In the shiny grill and the
Wire wheels of a red Chevelle with four on the floor and the top down
Chrome, zippin' by on an Electra Glide
With dual tail pipes doin' 105 in the broad daylight
On a two-lane headin' outta town
Forget Pink and purple paisleys
little mellow-yellow daisies
Ain't no pot of gold in her rainbow
Her favorite color is ..Chrome
Chrome, got her leg up high
on the bumper of my big black Mack truck
With a smoke stack pointed towards the sky
And mud flaps, you know the kind
Chrome,I said hey little girl you sure look nice
Do you wanna ride, I won't bite, she climbs inside
Says hell no, I want to drive
Forget Pink and purple paisleys
little mellow-yellow daisies
Ain't no pot of gold in her rainbow
Her favorite color is ..Chrome
It's chrome alright Shiny, nice, polished
Chrome, Chrome
Forget Pink and purple paisleys
Forget Pink and purple paisleys
little mellow-yellow daisies
Ain't no pot of gold in her rainbow
Her favorite color is ..Chrome
Her favorite color is...chrome
That girl is all about chrome
She sure loves chrome
song performed by by Trace Adkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The wagon
I pushed a wagon through a muddy road
I pushed and I pulled all for naught
The wagon did not move nor did it stir
Its rear wheels stack in the murky mire
I withdraw thinking...
This wagon did not want to see the truth
This is why it will never change course or move
A wagon is a wagon
It trots the roads or be dragged on
It lives its life and endures its truth
It is only me
From whom the truth may hide
This plain truth engraved on a rock
Yet boggles taunts and tantalize in a mock
copy rights 2010
Broken Bridges, Broken roads
BROKEN BRIDGES, BROKEN ROADS:
I'm crossing broken bridges,
to travel broken roads.
Where they will take me,
I don't exactly know.
Nothing here to stop me,
so down this road I go.
I will follow the rivers,
where ever they may flow.
Meet me out there,
where our roads and bridges cross.
I'll bring what i can,
consider the rest a loss.
I will meet you there,
at whatever cost.
Together,
We will cross broken bridges,
to travel broken roads.
where they will take us,
I don't exactly know.
poem by Amber Swiney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rain Falling: 12: 52 PM March 13,2012
As I watch the rain,
I wonder if it could wash
The filth away from the street,
But then I notice
The falling water only
Turns sturdy ground into mud.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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No Train
brackish water dripping
from a rusted spicket
a broken wagon wheel
spinning in the sand
smoke rising from
a fire already dead
bells tinkling in the wind
on the porch of an
abandoned house
train tracks, no train!
words i have written
with a pen dipped in blood.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Broken child
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who has seen more than his young eyes should.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who would run away from it all if he could.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who has been ravished by the likes of you and I.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child with to much pride to cry.
I see the face off a broken child.
a child who fights off anyone who cares.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who wishes his mother was there.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who wont let his hardships keep him down.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who refuses to give up and reveal a frown.
poem by Joshua Reid
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Abandoned Zimbabwean Farmhouse
It was a great commercial farm
at a time,
says the uncultivated fields
where the last crop of maize stands
not harvested at the right time,
says the big house
build from rock with Rhodesian teak floors
and great wooden doors
of which only splinters remain
where they had been axed
for fire wood
says the huge barn,
with a now rusting roof,
now stripped from anything valuable
says the stable now bare
from any living animals
and its obvious that the farmer
and his family left in haste
and that everything is going to waste
says the broken china cups, the broken dinner plates
the child’s toys which are scattered, smashed
and I wonder if the family did survive
when the farm was invaded
by a thieving unruly youth
and so-called war veterans.
[Reference: Abandoned Farmhouse by Ted Kooser.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Late autumn
The yellow veldt, the skeleton chestnut trees
specs of orange-red aloes in the kopje
are near to the old white house
and in the late afternoon shades draw long lines
while I walk up to the house on the red-brown dirt road
and most of the flowers in the garden are stripped bare
but a few irises are flowering yellow,
purple and cream brown
and the sky is dull blue and the early evening cold
is already on the wind that is rustling everything
and after years I open the garden gate
are coming back to my childhood home
stripped from illusions,
and I am bare from the childhood innocence
but full of hope
and looking through a mature man’s eyes.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Twelve Days of Christmas – Walking
One fall while walking a path beside the Snake River I spotted a baby's pacifier hanging on a tree limb just over our heads. It caused me to start singing these words to the 12 Days of Christmas tune.
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me
A pacifier in a bare tree
On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree
On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Three baby rattles
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree
On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Four Lysol bottles
Three baby rattles
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree
On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Five baby bibs
Four Lysol bottles
Three baby rattles
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Six baby booties
Five baby bibs
Four Lysol bottles
Three baby rattles
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree
On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Seven hours of bawling
Six baby booties
Five baby bibs
Four Lysol bottles
Three baby rattles
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree
On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Eight baby blankets
Seven hours of bawling
Six baby booties
Five baby bibs
Four Lysol bottles
Three baby rattles
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree
On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Nine burps a burbling
Eight baby blankets
Seven hours of bawling
Six baby booties
Five baby bibs
Four Lysol bottles
Three baby rattles
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree
On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Ten baby bottles
Nine burps a burbling
Eight baby blankets
Seven hours of bawling
Six baby booties
Five baby bibs
Four Lysol bottles
Three baby rattles
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree
On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Eleven diapers piled up
Ten baby bottles
Nine burps a burbling
Eight baby blankets
Seven hours of bawling
Six baby booties
Five baby bibs
Four Lysol bottles
Three baby rattles
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree
On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Twelve fifths of brandy
Eleven diapers piled up
Ten baby bottles
Nine burps a burbling
Eight baby blankets
Seven hours of bawling
Six baby booties
Five baby bibs
Four Lysol bottles
Three baby rattles
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree
poem by James L. A. Huetson
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Every Child!
the faces of...
every child who'll
go to bed hungry tonite...
every child afraid to sleep
for fear of the soldiers,
the bullets, the bombs....
every child abused
by his parents...
every child humiliated
for being different.
every child who's never
known his own father...
every child with no hope
for an education...
every child sleeping
in homeless cars.
every child alone,
lonely, without love.
every child of every broken home,
every child, every color, every country...
staring at me this sleepless night,
tearing at my heart...
all my children!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Now it is winter when trees are skeleton
Now it is winter when trees are skeleton,
stripped bare and have no more leaves
as if they are lifeless
and the weather is grey as if
there’s only chill and sieving rain
with banks of covering fog
that cuts the sun and light,
into a cold pitiless world
and then you first past and come to me
with a yellow raincoat, your pants splashed wet
where you shake your hair out, like a dog does with rain
in a blizzard of spray, getting it out of your hair
and I know that our time is only burrowed
when you stretch against me, cuddly and slim, just you and me alone
and you are hot like a ray of light that unexpectedly comes down,
we are one in passion, in a moment
after which I remove the hairclips from your hair,
your eyes are gleaming like shining pieces of steel
and you are only mine, with soft lips and big eyes
and bliss descends between us.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Dwellers
It was known as the street of despair, where the homeless
And destitute lived- but no one cared!
They all turned their backs
It wasn’t hard to do, because it
Wasn’t anyone that they knew.
They lived in abandoned buildings
with no heat or water, but respect for each other
And their own type of order.
They still walked with a sense of pride
And on each other they did rely…
They created their own commune
And each child had their own room.
The men would go out and look
For jobs that would pay by the day.
They built a playground where the
Children could play.
Lawn maintenance and painting jobs
Could always be found, and at days end
They’d lay their money down.
Although they did not live
The same as you and me
But They lived comfortably.
They would buy five gallons of water
So that they could sponge bathe
For their lives had completely changed.
They bought portable stoves
So that the women could cook.
A little ingenuity was all it took.
They would buy clean clothes for
The children to wear, for that was
The only thing for which they cared.
A proper education was their goal
They would not allow it to be taken away
Exchanged, or stole.
They lived and worked together with one
Thing in mind, that these children would
Live better in a different place and time.
These are the true DWELLERS
That you don’t often hear about
For there is no one there to tell
Their stories and scream and shout.
poem by Louis Rams
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The Maker
Oh, Oh Deep water
Black, and cold like the night
I stand with arms wide open
I've run a twisted mile
I'm a stranger
in the eyes of the maker
I could not see
for fog in my eyes
I could not feel
for the fear in my life
From across the great divide
In the distance i saw a light
Jean baptiste
walking to me with the maker
My body is bent and broken
by long and dangerous sleep
I can work the fields of abraham
and turn my head away
I'm not a stranger
in the hands of the maker
Brother john
Have you seen the homeless daughters
standing there
with broken dreams
I have seen the flaming swords
there over east of eden
burning in the eyes of the maker
burning in the eyes of the maker
burning in the eyes of the maker
burning in the eyes of the maker
oh river rise from your sleep
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Skeleton Man
Im a skeleton Im a skeleton man
Hold my skeleton hold my skeleton hand
I met a child in the hills from the people of the corn
Its been 800 years since this child was born
And in his ribs I found a pearl
An offering from the corn world
Hold my hand
Well walk in the hot sun
Hold my hand
In the hot sand
Down in the valley where there used to be the farms
Doctor digger found a room full of arms
And now theres just a dog that barks
Chained to a one-man trailer park
song performed by by Frank Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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