Odyssey Of An Old Man
The old man shuffled along the sidewalk on worn-out shoes.
Shoes once so shiny, that you could see your face in them.
Long ago the original owner had tossed them in a dumpster,
where the old man found them.
How had the old man come to this?
It was not that long ago he was living the “American dream”.
He had it all…wealth, position and family.
But now he walked the streets aimlessly, like some phantasm.
A corrupt economic system and Company down-size broke him;
35 years of loyal service to a Company was rewarded with layoff,
only a few months before retirement.
Wall Street criminals had already robbed the old man of his retirement.
Unaffordable interest rates from an “Adjustable Rate Mortgage”,
made payments impossible. The bank foreclosed.
Unable to secure another job in his specialty field along with the harsh truth,
that nobody wanted to hire a man pushing 62 sealed his economic doom.
The broken man took to drinking. First it was red wine and beer,
and eventually…anything cheap.
His wife ran away with an old high school sweetheart and moved to Florida.
The old man’s children had left home years before and though painful,
were spared the trauma of mom and dad’s divorce.
Living on the street wasn’t so bad. The burden of day to day struggle,
to make a living had lifted and liberated him. The dumpster behind,
a downtown restaurant provided meals and a nearby freeway overpass
provided shelter.
Eventually the old man saw no need to drink because the old memories,
and negative events had faded. This gave him more time to think and just be.
Yes…life wasn’t bad at all.
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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Related quotes
Convenience
Needing!
And again I am from you...
Addiction free.
What you provided was not love.
What you provided,
Was a convenience to me.
A convenience to have someone there.
To hear breathing the air.
As if the company kept...
Communicated with chemistry.
Needing!
And again I am from you...
Addiction free.
It occurred to me,
To you I was just something to do.
And that wasn't done,
Seriously.
Even together,
You preferred to play hide and seek.
And I discovered,
I want and need love.
And when you left that feeling stayed.
Then I knew what you gave,
Was not love.
But a game to be played.
Needing!
And again I am from you...
Addiction free.
What you provided was not love.
What you provided,
Was a convenience to me.
A convenience that eventually,
Faded.
After the quick and ease of preparation,
Left immediately upon its release.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Too Old To Work And Too Young To Die
That time catches up on us all is surely not a lie
He is too old to work and he is too young to die
On retirement pension and quite bored with life
He spends much of his time arguing with his wife
On their fortieth year of marriage and love between them long dead
With a son and daughter and seven grandchildren and old age ahead
Since the warm feelings of love in their life has gone cold
They have nothing to look forward to but growing old
He and his wife in their mid to late sixties and their best years long gone
And only the will to live keeps them living on
Years ago they used to walk hand in hand to the park off of the street
But nowadays out walking them one never does meet
On his own in the pub he sits and drinks his beer
Looking rather unhappy and lacking in cheer.
poem by Francis Duggan
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My Retirement Years' (For everyone over 62!)
Has anyone else noticed
the new working standards and means?
for those of retirement years, is this what it seems?
That if your able bodied to still work
your employer makes your job harder and act like jerks?
They take you aside and tell you your doing bad
this makes for your day, to be unproductive, quite empty and sad!
You've given them, some of the best years of your life!
So you could have two and a half children, a home and a wife.
But now the environment, your working in cause
walking through your humble abode
with your hands, in outstretching of claws!
I'm over the hill they say, not wanted anymore!
they'd like to have me get so upset
That I would walk out their door!
I thought at the end, retierment, would be my choice to make?
and not that done by some hired henchman
doing companies, pain in the butt heart breaks!
I didn't give all my best years
so I would be treated like crap!
I'll stand my ground, if I have to take it to the TOP!
And then they'll all see, just where
this so called old bucks going to stop!
No company is so big, that they can treat me like this!
I am an American who fought, so this company could even exist!
If they have a profit to make, don't take it out of me!
I fought for this country, so all people could have choices and be FREE!
Don't mess with me, I'm an American retirement age man!
And when I'm darn good and ready!
I'LL CHOSE, when I blow this pop stand!
poem by Linda Winchell
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We asked ourselves what we wanted this company to stand for. We didn't want to just sell shoes. I wasn't even into shoes - but I was passionate about customer service.
quote by Tony Hsieh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our government makes the simple promise of a secure retirement to every American who works for many years and contributes to our retirement benefit system.
Golden Years
he finally reached his golden years
wanted to leave his family,
thoughts and love to share.
so he sat with pen in hand
wrote about his lifes plan.
it started off with just his dream
never expecting the unforseen.
as his plans began to unwind
he found himself lost in time.
he joined the army at an early age
this was to become the setting stage
he survived the street gangs and a war
and never talking about what he saw.
he managed retail businesses all his life
met the woman who would become his wife.
he had always loved children
so he thought it was time
his wife agreed and it turned out fine.
a beautiful little girl came into their life
and everything seemed twice as nice.
now he had two women who captured his heart
and knew right then, that this was the start.
the start to his golden years
with his wife he could share.
all the dreams that were meant to be
was now becoming a reality.
but the years was going by fast
he knew his dreams would not last.
now with this thought in mind
he decided it was time
to put his life in perspective
for the golden years to become effective.
so he changed his train of thoughts
a late retirement he would abort.
he retired before his time
so he could enjoy life the way
that it was meant to be
living happy and carefree.
now that he finished writing
down his thoughts and plans
he let them know
'YOUR PERCEPTION BECOMES YOUR REALITY'
and this is what mine was to me.
the golden years are now mine
and i'm lost in its time.
poem by Louis Rams
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Flying Monkeys
I’m calling on you because I’m a wreck,
And I used to dream of becoming a professor when I
Jogged around the junked golf course
By the side of deep twilight, and the paltry swathed condominiums:
To tell you the truth, I haven’t loved too many women-
Mostly, I’ve been able to count them on two hands
And you rank right up there,
But now my legs are cold from drinking cheap rum:
Can you love a man without any fashion sense
Or social position?
A man terribly wounded in the dark of a fraternity’s
Pick-up truck, so he doesn’t even know where he’s
Hurt, but he just remembers you sometime in
North Central Florida before Halloween in that Asian
Restaurant joint now demolished on 13th street;
What the F-, now it flows- now it flows- I don’t
Yet have a bicycle or a home on an island, but give it time:
And the girl I neglected by dreaming of you has a new
House and better ways to make her living;
And this is not good, and now I don’t care to teach anything
To the living; but love me, if you will, in your time,
In the quieted spaces between the snows and your inevitable
Breast feedings- because I love you,
And it is the only thing that reoccurs to me every evening
As I chop down trees, oiling my joints and looking up from
Time to time to keep an eye out for flying monkeys….
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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I too, have got shoes
Have you seen shoes on children here
No shoes for other children
No shoes for your children
My uncle said to my dad
I lost my shoes—small shoes
from then on
My feet crushed the thorns
from then on
The city was taken from me
But not me from the city
from then on
Many years later my shoe remover died
And I got back my shoes
Bigger shoes—for crushing thorns
from then on
I cat walked in them
And went to bed in them
from then on
I got the city back
Even when I stayed there
from then on
Believe me I too have got shoes
And I slip my feet in them
But not for sleep anymore
Yes I too have got shoes
Other children wear shoes
My children wear shoes
Wear shoes why not
Why not why not why not why not
Shoes in the cot
Shoes to school
Shoes to the market
Shoes to the office
Why not wear shoes
poem by Moses Kainwo
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Great Sutton
Great Sutton
Cypress lane, I lived there for years never saw a tree.
Gas fire in the living room, the bedrooms were glaziers,
If it hadn’t been for the pub nearby I would surely have
frozen to death; that’s why I used to fall asleep on
the sofa, in the living room, when coming home from
the pub. If my wife was in the mood she sat up waiting
for me, most of the time she wasn’t; said I was a drunk.
Sober people came knocking on my door, insisted on
telling their story, politely I let them talk, but I noticed
they smoked a lot and that wasn’t good for my throat.
Warm pub, cold bedroom, no contest, I got up and left.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Ace
By: jimmy buffett
1971
Hardly seems a long time
Just a minute of the day
But the man who stood beside me
More than gave himself away
The food stain on his spotted shirt
A gray beard on his face
A man composed of many names
So i just called him ace
Chorus:
But ace can't read and ace can't write
And he sleeps on a bench at night
A little man the world has left behind
He ain't bitter, he ain't sweet
Makes his living on the street
Never knowing what he's gonna find
Born in mississippi
Picking cotton as a child
Left soon for the city
Where he heard that life was wild
That was fifty years ago
When nothing's really strange
>from a poor dirt farm to dirty streets
Is really not much change
Chorus:
And ace can't read and ace can't write
And he sleeps on a bench at night
A little man the world has left behind
He ain't bitter, he ain't sweet
Makes his living on the street
Never knowing what he's gonna find
Go back to the country
No he really can't do that
Wasted years have left him
Nothing but an old straw hat
So he puts it on his head
And waves a last good-bye
No time left to turn around
And no time to ask why
Chorus:
Ace can't read and ace can't write
And he sleeps on a bench at night
A little man the world has left behind
He ain't bitter, he ain't sweet
Makes his living on the street
Never knowing what he's gonna find
And this old world has left poor ace behind
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Kiwi Dave
For forty five years I've been working and I'm just an unfettered slave
And I have gray hairs to show for it I am quoting Kiwi Dave
Five years to go to retirement I was sixty last birthday
And ever since I've started working it's been uphill all the way.
My ex wife said that I was a drinker that I was too fond of the booze
That was her excuse for leaving she said I was born to lose
But I take it in moderation after work three or four beers
And I've been a slave for her and for my children for close to if not twenty years.
Fifteen years ago she left me and she went to live with younger bloke
She got more than half my assets for years to her haven't spoke
She turned my son and daughter against me and my six grandchildren I don't see
And I will spend my usual Christmas on my own watching T.V.
Kiwi Dave is a good person though just a little soured by life
And things for him would have been better had he had a faithful wife
'A woman she can make or break you' with that who could disagree
Dave could see the truth in those words for who would know better than he? .
For forty five years he's been working the hard worker Kiwi
Dave
And for his ex wife and his children for years he has been a slave
He looks older far than sixty the hard life has made him gray
Five more years left till retirement it's been uphill all the way.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Another Harrys Bar
Wet wind on the sidewalk: Im staring at the rain.
Walking up the street, yeah, and walking down again.
And my feet are tired and my brain is numb.
See that broken neon sign saying, hey, in you come.
Got the scent of stale beer hanging, hanging round my head.
Old dog in the corner sleeping like he could be dead.
A book of matches and a full ashtray.
Cigarette left smoking its life away.
Another harrys bar -- or thats the tale they tell.
But harrys long gone now, and the customers as well.
Me and the dog and the ghost of harry will make this world turn right.
Itll all turn right.
Gods tears on the sidewalk: its the mother of all rain.
But in the thick blue haze of harrys, you will feel no pain.
And you will feel no soft hand slipping on your knee.
You dont have to pay for memories, they will all come free.
Another harrys bar -- or thats the tale they tell.
But harrys long gone now, and the customers as well.
Me and the dog and the ghost of harry will make this world turn right.
Itll all turn right.
Now when harry was a young man, harry was so debonair.
He walked a bouncy step in his shiny shoes.
And when harry was a young man, well, harry could walk on air.
He mixed a mean cocktail and he talked you through the late news.
You want to hear some great news?
Harrys still here.
Wet wind on the sidewalk: Im still staring at the rain.
Walking up the street, and Im walking down again.
And my feet are tired and my brain is numb.
See that broken neon sign saying, hey, in you come.
Another harrys bar -- or thats the tale they tell.
But harrys long gone now, and the customers as well.
Me and the dog and the ghost of harry will make this world turn right.
Itll all turn right.
Another harrys bar.
And another harrys bar.
And another, and another harrys bar.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stories Of Hope Series #4 The Elders
His wife died fifteen years past, and he knew
Living with his children would not last.
They would want to put him in a assisted living home
Just so that they could be left alone.
They could not foresee that one day they would be elderly.
They joked about him becoming senile
But he knew that would not happen for quite a while.
He was only sixty two with so much more living to do.
He knew the only thing he had left was HOPE.
And with life’s burdens he would have to cope.
So he decided to go back to school
And learn a new trade, and show his family
that he could make the grade.
He learned carpentry, and bought all the necessary tools
And what he couldn’t get, he borrowed from the school.
He already had in his mind of what he’d like to make.
And he knew that a long time it would take.
He decided to get the WESTERN RED CEDAR
For its softness and durability, and aromatic smell
This wood he knew would work quite well.
He found the perfect picture of what he had in mind
And viewed every detail and every line.
He wanted it to be about three feet tall
And two feet wide because that size would be just fine.
He started off very slowly, just chiseling away.
And sanding it down perfectly
For that’s the way it had to be.
He used each and every sculpting blade he could find
To define each and every line.
He did each part with delicate care
For with this piece there was a love he shared.
Slowly but surely it started to take shape
He was impatient, he could not wait.
But he knew that this was the way it was meant to be
So that everyone could see the beauty that had to be.
He worked on it every day, and his worries
Seemed to slip away.
Being put in a home was no longer his concern
And that his children would have to learn
That as long as he could breathe and walk
All of this was just talk.
This sculpture became his obsession
and his passion and made him grow strong
And doing this is where he belonged.
His teachers were very impressed and said
He was the best student yet.
They said that this was a work of art and of beauty
And should be put on display
And that for this the public would gladly pay.
He knew there was something missing
And that it was not complete,
and this problem he would defeat.
Then it dawned on him that it was needing color.
He needed the darkest blue and the deepest brown
And went about painting it without making a sound.
The darkest blue was for the piercing eyes
And the brown for the shoulder length hair
This was the perfect pair.
For three months he had toiled with perfection
For this was of the LORD and his resurrection.
And this was how it came to be
That this elder found harmony
HOPE IS THE KEY TO SET OURSELVES FREE
poem by Louis Rams
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As Years Go By
Tell me how the years go by
Its been a long long time
Tell me how your plans fell through
And how you changed your mind
Tell me bout the hearts you broke
How many have you known
Tell me how the years went by
And left you all alone
Tell me dear
I want to hear
bout the lost and wasted years
Tell me when now tell me why
Tell me how the years go by
Tell me how the years go by
Like borrowed dancing shoes
That gather dust beneath your ned
Mislaid and seldom used
Like a heart that haunts a phone booth
On a corner far from home
Tell me how the years went by and left you
All alone
Close your eyes
Tell me what do you see
Its an imperfect world
Still we dream perfect dreams
Its no big surprise when were down on our knees
Truth isnt always what we will believe.
Tell me how the years go by
In seasons at your door
And how the things you left me for
Dont matter anymore
Tell me how the more we learn
The more we leave unknown
Tell me how the years went by and left you
All alone
Alone
Close your eyes (x3)
song performed by by Level 42
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Homelessness In Winter
back about 30 years ago,
living on the streets in Charlotte...
finally found a job... was lucky enough
to have a place to take a shower...
sleeping in the backseat of a broke
down Ford Maverick... cold winter...
got up and walked 4 miles to work
every morning,4 miles 'home' in the
evening...
went on for a couple months before
i got a place to live...
so yes i know what homelessness
feels like...and i cant help thinking
about all the empty foreclosed houses....
empty houses, homeless people....
back then, even if you couldnt find a
real job, they had a place where you
could go and line up to do day work...
worked all day for about 25 dollars...
if you couldnt do that, you could always
sell blood.... i dont know what they do
now....i just know it's a hard life...and if
you've got family, got kids...
something to think about the next time
you see a homeless person walking the
streets!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The prisoner of his conscience (Story Poem)
He was very poor and he married a rich woman
So he got money but he became a very sad man
She couldn't have children, even it wasn't his game plan
One day he saw a widow walking down the street ''It's later'
He told her calmly and begun to discuss about life with her
He didn't know why he suddenly felt to touch her so tender
He understood her when she confessed her cried coeur
Saying that she had three grown children and she was very poor
And she had to work as housemaid at a loudmouthed boor
She was in pain and he felt that and to help her was his concern
He wanted to take care of her family asking nothing in return
He thought never to dishonor her acting as a father to her children
He begun to understand how unhappy was the woman he loved
When he left her for another one and she became so grieved
He asked her to talk about his feelings for her and she approved
He wanted to divorce to marry her and take care of her needs
Certainly he wanted to become an adoptive father of her kids
To make her the mother of his future children he made a bid
His wife didn't agree to divorce but he left her on her demand
He took the widow and went to find their soul in a far away land
His wife got crazy and she killed herself they found her on the sand
He went to her funeral to see her last time without annoyance
He begun to scream releasing something deeper and fierce
Without his wish releasing the prisoner of his conscience.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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A Short Report
It was a short report
on the third page
somewhere near the bottom
an elderly woman
living alone
no relatives
or at least none nearby
no friends
or at least none that cared.
She had some money
how much they didn't say.
She walked down the high street
giving it away.
The social services got involved
put her in a home
doped her with pills
found someone to manage her money.
She can live on it for years and years.
But if the money's hers
why shouldn't she give it away
does giving have to mean
you're either senile or insane?
poem by Gillian Commerford
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Dream's Treat
As I walked in the street,
I met a beggar, asking for some money.
I gave him a few pounds and went on.
As I walked in the street,
I met an old man, asking for directions.
I gave him a few roads he had left to go.
As I walked in the street,
I met a Poppy Appeal fundraiser.
I gave him a few pounds and then a 'Thank you! '
As I walked in the street,
I met a preacher asking, 'Are you saved? '
I gave him a handshake and I said, 'Amen! '
As I walked in the street,
I met the Saviour, Lord Jesus, my friend!
I gave Him everything, my heart and my love...
When I awoke from the dream,
I could still remember the face of Jesus...
It took ages to draw and paint, but it's done...
Every time I pray at home, I gaze at His face.
I call my picture, 'The Master Peace'...
Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2011.
poem by Denis Martindale
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(Growing Pains) Red Shoes Blues
This is a song which should be chanted! (Based on a childhood memory)
............................................. ................................................. ..............
Red shoes,
she wanted...
red shoes...
they had to be red she said,
they had to be red...
no way she could explain
when she was only three...
no way that she could dance
through her three-year-old day
without
red shoes...
red shoes...
she got the red shoes blues.
She wanted
stiletto heels...
stiletto heels...
stilet-tos...
stilet-tos...
she was fifteen
and there wasn’t any way
that she was going to dance
through her teenage day
without stilet...tos...
with those...
pointy toes...
she got the winkle-picker blues.
She wanted... high boots...
she wanted... ankle boots...
she wanted stamp-your-face
Bob Marten bovver boots...
she wanted... slippers
as wide as... kippers...
she wanted sandals
with wedge heels,
flip-flops and pumps...
she walks into a shoe-shop and everybody jumps...
And now she’s forty
it isn’t naughty...
to try ‘em, to buy ‘em,
not to walk on by ‘em...
But nothing ever beat those
red shoes...
red shoes...
the red shoes...
dancing through the day until you’re dead shoes...
red shoes...
red shoes....
she got the red shoes blues.
poem by Janice Windle
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