A Child Of The Streets
A child wanders in a metropolis jungle
of fifteen million people or more.
Too frightened to ask for any help
hungry, thirsty, tired, sore.
Reddened eyes that once wept
for hours, days and weeks.
Unwashed clothes and body,
but who cares if one reeks.
Parent’s advice about strangers
remains ingrained in the mind,
ready to run if sweets are offered
hard to tell if they were just being kind.
No more thought given to loneliness,
survival’s hard when you’re young and alone.
In a dark alley at the rear of a restaurant
is a bed of cardboard and a garbage bin scone.
A day spent looking for food, clothing and money,
running from pimps, perverts and police.
Cornered whilst eating a stolen apple by the river,
police and social workers have a child of the streets.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
May God Help The Poor Children
He help the homeless children the children of the street
He give them clothes and shelter he give them food to eat
He try to shield them from police the police no mercy show
And the glue sniffing children of the streets at their hands suffer so.
I watched a documentary on Guatemala the saddest I've seen for years
The crimes against the children moved hardened heart to tears
The police of Guatemala beat the street kids to death
How can men do such evil things and not live to regret? .
The street kids of Guatemala they know Bruce Harris well
He try to keep them from the streets from life of crime and hell
He try to shield them from police from cruel inhuman men
His is an uphill battle a battle hard to win.
He help the homeless children the children of the street
He give them clothes and shelter he give them food to eat
And may God help the poor children such suffering they go through
And God bless all those who help them and God bless Bruce Harris too.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Thought Police
(d. pickerill/p. odonoughue)
Chorus:
Thought police
They will put you under
The thought police
They will take you in
The thought police
They will clean your mind out
The thought police
You can never win
You can never win
You can never, never, never, never, never win
There are people around with problems
Those who live in fear
Running from the shadows
Waiting for another year
Thought of the secrets
Secrets of the mind
Thoughts can spell out danger
To the leaders of the time
Chorus
Thoughts are fleeting glimpses
Of the future or the past
They lock ideas in a bottle
Its time to break the glass
Hiding out in the daytime
Crawling through the night
Keeping out of danger
Just trying to find the light
Chorus
Chorus (x2 and fade)
song performed by by Lisa Stansfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Prodigal's Return
Was it that hard
to stay away from home
swearing you won't go back
eating the pigs' food
day by day
swearing you won' go back home
having spent all your money and youth
having suffered through the hardest calamities
and heart breaks and morbid treatments from people?
you still think it's alright to stay
away from Father's care
the loving and the all accepting God
who is your father awaiting for you
day and night in front of the gate
thinking of you day and night
wondering what you might be doing
wondering where you might be staying for the night
whether you have eaten your meals
or have enough clothing
He awaits you at the gate day and night
his precious child is in hog's stile
eating the hog's food
but he swears he won't go back
for he is completely broke
yet still has his pride
even though he stays with the pigs the hogs
eating their left over food
Some angel or God's messenger has to
visit him in that far distanced region
for his Father is awaiting for him
to safely return home
when one day all of a sudden
this thought came to his mind
'Ah, in my father's house there are many
good things and good clothing and food
why don't I rise and go back to him? '
That's the realization of the first step
that he was wrong and wronged himself and to his father.
Where are you all the prodigals?
Soaked in worldly pleasure
chasing women and fun in life
forgetting totally about the one who cares about you...
where are you going to stay tonight
in a woman's arms or smoking pots
drinking heavily...
but that's all futile effort
to reach self-realization
Tonight your father at home awaits for you
while you might not realize this but
he does
so just come home and receive all the
blessings your father can offer you!
He won't condemn you nor judge you for
what you have done in your life
He will simply run to you with open arms
and welcome you by hosting a big party
for the return of the lost son.
1: 48 pm
(November 11,2012) Korea-Japan Time
poem by Sangnam Nam
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Im Running Up.
Im running up-
My way is hard,
My life is dark,
Im running up.
*
I see your star,
I stare its light,
It seems so far,
But its so bright.
Ive been missing you,
I miss your smile,
Im loving you
As if a child.
I see you light,
I stare wild,
Im running up-
Youve got my mind!
Dont slide away,
Please, wait for me,
Im running up,
Im breathing still.
Im so tired,
But Im so close,
I see your smile,
I feel its force.
*
Im running up,
My way is hard,
My life is dark,
Im running up...
poem by Andrey Fisht
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Killers
I am singing to you
Soft as a man with a dead child speaks;
Hard as a man in handcuffs,
Held where he cannot move:
Under the sun
Are sixteen million men,
Chosen for shining teeth,
Sharp eyes, hard legs,
And a running of young warm blood in their wrists.
And a red juice runs on the green grass;
And a red juice soaks the dark soil.
And the sixteen million are killing. . . and killing
and killing.
I never forget them day or night:
They beat on my head for memory of them;
They pound on my heart and I cry back to them,
To their homes and women, dreams and games.
I wake in the night and smell the trenches,
And hear the low stir of sleepers in lines--
Sixteen million sleepers and pickets in the dark:
Some of them long sleepers for always,
Some of them tumbling to sleep to-morrow for always,
Fixed in the drag of the world's heartbreak,
Eating and drinking, toiling. . . on a long job of
killing.
Sixteen million men.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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The Nomad Is Hungry Part 2
As the temperature start to cool down.
Wandering on the streets, as my belly start to hurt.
I'm hungry! Where am I going to get some food at!
Having lent ball's in my pocket.Did'nt hace any money.
Pasting by, all type of restaurant.As belly kept turning.
For a minute! I thought about going inside.
But, I knew they won't serve me any food.
As I got to the corner.I headed to the alley.
Having eager desire to jump into the trash-can.
As I search for some some food.Thany you, Lord!
I needed all this food.Man! 'I do surely stink....'
Coming Soon!
'The Nomad need to bathe.'
poem by Derrick Clark
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A parent being called to the school because their child had misbehaved was as serious as a parent being called to the police station because their child had robbed a bank.
quote by Martin Lewis Perl
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Holiness Stripped Naked!
the stink, homeless man,
five days same clothes,
no way to bathe...
vomit crusted hunger,
piss, and garbage rolled.....
the perfume of God.
angry, bruised, scared,
face hollow, lips tremble....
love's fists, used, abused,
she walks the corner, alone....
the daughter of God.
crack pipe, stolen gun,
fear rush, dead despair,
concrete jungle, wrong color,
wrong place, wrong time,
prison bound, unmarked grave,
mother cries, justice lies....
the son of God.
stolen tent, hard rain,
under the bridge, under scope,
no work, no food, babies cry,
mothers tears, hard stare,
small fire, past the edge,
old car, out of gas....
the family of God.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Parents Pain
Have you thought about the pain that a parent goes through
When they find out that their child has been kidnapped and abused.
(this is just a story)
She was coming home from school that day
When her life was taken away.
A child predator on the prowl
Waiting to take someone down.
She lived only a block away
When she became the predators prey.
He grabbed her so fast -she could not scream
And since that day she hadn’t been seen.
The search began block to block
The publics outrage would not stop.
They found her body in an alleyway
By some children who went out to play.
The parents screams filled the air
As their eyes began to tear.
The hatred of what this man had done
Filled the hearts of everyone.
As their daughter was put in the ground
This child predator the police had found.
But there is nothing that could take away the pain
For their lives would forever change.
The photographs and memories of when she was growing.
These are the things that this man had stolen.
No more pictures that they could take
For it was now, much too late.
The pains of the parents have got to be heard
And it’s time to spread the word.
poem by Louis Rams
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Who Will Cry?
Who will cry for the little child who goes for days without food?
Who will cry for the little child who parents beat them?
Who will cry for the little child who is mistreated for being different?
Who will cry for the little child who goes unloved?
Who will cry for the little child whose stomach is swelled up?
Who will cry for the little child who doesn't have clothes to wear?
Who will cry for the little child who is shunned for not being popular?
Who will cry for the little child who is molested every night?
Who will cry for the little child who's parents are not around?
Who will cry for the little child who has to take care of his self?
Who will cry?
Will you cry?
Cause I have.
poem by Natasha Ligons
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The Young People Upstairs
The young people upstairs love boozing sometimes they party
all night
And they play their loud music until the dawn's light
Brighten the dark streets of the sleepy old town
They live for to party and not for renown
Because of them I have lost many hours sleep
But a grudge for them I have no wish for to keep
All night long they sing as they drink beer and wine
But any loss of brain cells is their loss not mine
Neighbours kept awake by their noise ring the police the police on them call
Though that doesn't seem to worry them at all
The noise starts again when the police have gone
And nothing will stop them of partying on
One can say of them they are their own greatest foes
But having said that such is life one suppose.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Ingrained
memory ingrained in the memory,
faces ingrained in the wood.
light ingrained in the darkness,
evil ingrained in the good.
poor man ingrained in the bricks
that built the rich man's home.
father ingrained in the child,
his destination, gone...
freedom ingrained in oppression,
moth ingrained in the flame.
tomorrow ingrained in today,
the nameless ingrained in the name.
courage ingrained in the fears
that determination overcomes.
God ingrained in the human,
left standing when all is done!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Street Child
Who will care for me when i am born into this world?
For day and night i've been walking on the streets;
And i have to struggle to survive for i am a street child.
No, not even one!
For many parents do not even know their children;
And i was born into a lovely home but now,
I do live on the street as a street child.
Lust and sex,
We were born out of it;
But how many parents still know that we do exist?
How many?
They really do not care abour us,
And i have to struggle to survive on my own;
How many days more left for me?
And i have to make ends meet from the streets;
Because there is nobody around to help me,
And i have no place called home again.
A street child that i am,
And of the many rivers to cross for my survival;
How many social workers do know of our plights?
How many?
How many streets do we have to sleep on?
How many? Hopw many governmenets do we have to wait for?
How many?
Yet still i am a street child.
Who really care about us?
And who really care about me?
My parents do not even know my where about;
Right from Kwazulu Natal Province to Tingitingi,
And from Obbia to Nima!
How many do care?
I am born into this world but,
I am living on the street;
And who will care about me?
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Big Bayou
(gib gilbeau)
I took a long, long trip to the city
I was determined to get somewhere
I spent all my hard earned money
I had saved to put me there
Big bayou where did you go
To the river thats running slow
And to the gulf of mexico
Big bayou carry me home
I took a cotton picking job in memphis
And the people there treated me good
But my luck run bad in nashville
I had to walked the streets of hollywood
Big bayou where did you go
To the river thats running slow
Into the gulf of mexico
Big bayou carry me home
Oh lord Im going home
Where the fish jump in the air
You know I dont need a lot of money
Cause I aint going nowhere
Big bayou where did you go
To the river thats running slow
Into the gulf of mexico
Big bayou carry me home
Big bayou carry me home
To the river thats running slow
Into the gulf of mexico
Big bayou where did you go
Im gonna catch a southbound
Train home one of these days
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vincent 5
The teacher
this women who is supposed to nuture young minds
the giver of presious knowlege
the one person a kid of 14 can trust
with one act runied a child
A child in a teen body
A child so afraid of changes
a child so freindles
look to her for compassion
On my own parents other dutys
I bathed not
worn clean clothes not
did not know how to not
To think she this teacher would help
reach out get me what I needed
nope as I sat waiting in class for her to arrive horror arrived instead
down the aisle she walked she even smiled
then sat in the row ahead of me, like I was garbage
not even good enough to sit with
A child/teen of 14 has feelings
and mine were shattered in instant
never to return
people hate even a child/teen screaming for help
poem by Vincent Armone
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Why Work Ourselves Hard
Hard workers are long lived that does seem a lie
For the harder you work the sooner you may die
You drive a car hard though it's engine and body is strong
It quickly wears out it does not last that long
Hard work on the ageing body does take it's toll
Relaxation is good for the muscles and the soul
A time to recover when you are feeling tired
A balance in life is the thing most desired
By sensible people who know how to relax
Too much of hard work on your health a huge tax
In a World where many are driven by greed
The more money we have the more we think we do need
Why work ourselves hard when we can live on less
The heart it lives longer without strain and stress.
poem by Francis Duggan
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When I Paint My Masterpiece
Oh, the streets of rome are filled with rubble,
Ancient footprints are everywhere.
You can almost think that youre seein double
On a cold, dark night on the spanish stairs.
Got to hurry on back to my hotel room,
Where Ive got me a date with botticellis niece.
She promised that shed be right there with me
When I paint my masterpiece.
Oh, the hours Ive spent inside the coliseum,
Dodging lions and wastin time.
Oh, those mighty kings of the jungle, I could hardly stand to see em,
Yes, it sure has been a long, hard climb.
Train wheels runnin through the back of my memory,
When I ran on the hilltop following a pack of wild geese.
Someday, everything is gonna be smooth like a rhapsody
When I paint my masterpiece.
Sailin round the world in a dirty gondola.
Oh, to be back in the land of coca-cola!
I left rome and landed in brussels,
On a plane ride so bumpy that I almost cried.
Clergymen in uniform and young girls pullin muscles,
Everyone was there to greet me when I stepped inside.
Newspapermen eating candy
Had to be held down by big police.
Someday, everything is gonna be diffrent
When I paint my masterpiece.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When I Paint My Masterpiece
Oh, the streets of rome are filled with rubble,
Ancient footprints are everywhere.
You can almost think that youre seein double
On a cold dark night on the spanish stairs.
Got to hurry on back to my hotel room,
Where Ive got me a date with botticellis niece.
She promised that shed be right there with me
When I paint my masterpiece.
Oh, the hours Ive spent inside the coliseum,
Dodging lions and wastin time.
Oh, those mighty kings of the jungle,
I could hardly stand to see em,
Yes, it sure has been a long hard climb.
Train wheels runnin thru the back of my memory,
When I ran on the hilltop following a pack of wild geese.
Someday, everything is gonna be smooth like a rhapsody,
When I paint my masterpiece.
Sailin round the world in a dirty gondola,
Oh, to be back in the land of coca-cola!
I left rome and landed in brussels,
On a plane ride so bumpy that I almost cried.
Clergymen in uniform and young girls pullin muscles,
Everyone was there to greet me when I stepped inside.
Newspapermen eating candy
Had to be held down by big police.
Someday, everything is gonna be diffrent
When I paint my masterpiece.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hands Of Time!
the hands of a small child,
shaping sand on the beach.
the flutter of wings,
a sparrow's first flight.
seeds planted by hand
in the fresh plowed ground.
the light teasing shadows,
late afternoon to night.
the war hero's silence,
his eyes grown hard.
the family burying the child,
the mother cannot weep.
the hungry stare
of poverty's stink.
the addict's hard edge,
bare rooms, bare walls.
the hanging tree,
and the lovers oak.
the bullet in the chamber,
and the open mission.
the church locked empty,
boxes to beds in the alley.
the old man who cant forgive
what the young boy did.
the hands of a small child...
the hands of time!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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High Heels
Compassion like razor blood
Banquet of envy
Industrial town without industry
Divorced child, single parent
Broken down school
Rape
Incest
Suicide
Streets of Oxycontin, drugs
Gangs
Promiscuity
Into the arms of strangers
Text your messages
Play on the Internet
Pray mother - pray for your child
The streets howl like hungry wolves
Tonight she wears high heels
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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