Homeless Limp Past Heartless
shifting faces echo homeless
record evicted economic woes
weather weep bitter chill turns
slept under rough shelters
as river to ice flows turns
streets empty hard homeless
lost jobs homes families hopes
were once close neighbours lives
not less human heartless eyes
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Homeless
Homeless;
- Down by the muddy Mississippi
Skinny as a rail,
Sleeping under the old Eads bridge
Feeling low, dirty, and frail -
Homeless;
- With less than two coins
In both pockets,
Empty eyes
Look through sunken sockets -
Homeless;
- So many people walk right on by
I wonder how many care,
They all keep moving
Even though they stare -
Homeless;
- Lost a job
Lost a home,
Lost a family
Lost all hope -
Homeless;
- Where will I go from here
What should I do,
I'm so thankful when the weather's fair
And the skies are blue -
Homeless;
- Don't know the day nor season
And, yea, it sure gets cold at night,
I've got an old sleeping bag
I'll be alright -
Homeless;
- There's so many of us out here
Without a home,
Even so
I feel so very alone -
Homeless;
- It's a tough situation
Not pretty, just true,
And at any time
It could happen to you -
Homeless;
- Hey buddy...
Could you spare a dime,
And say a prayer for us
... sometime -
- I'm just homeless, not less human...
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Sea of Immortality
The river flows through life as fish in the sea
The soul follows every twist every turn
Follow them and you will see
Follow life as it goes in time you will burn
Life flows as a river around turns and bends please follow me
Follow the river through its course
Through The pain and trials
Follow with truth if in vain the pain will worsen
Through The long hard miles
Follow the river through its course
Through the dams past the currents will flow
Through the trees and vines that you know
Some places flow high some flow low
Some filled with pleasure some with woe
Yet it shall not slow
The river of life it flows through the turns
Follow as the river moves on
To the ocean, to the sea
There your soul shall be lost
In the sea of immortality
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Philadelphia Revised
The sad images of Philadelphia popped out of my eyes today
And I could see the streets of Philadelphia where the homeless sleeps
And freeze to death
While Politicians, doctors, Dentists, lawyers, teachers, and nurses get rich
Day by day
But the homeless freeze to death in the streets of Philadelphia and even die
But I have to ask all of you fellow americans where is your heart?
And doesn't charity starts at home first?
Don't you have anything at home that you could give away to the Homeless so they could have something either to wear or to eat?
Why can't we feed the homeless?
I can't understand you fellow Americans?
Please put yourself in their shoes for a day and try to picture what do they Have to go throw everyday
Is it right for the homeless to sleep in the streets and freeze and eventualy Die in the streets of Philadelphia?
Would you fellow Americans go few days without eating?
I don't think so
Why should the homeless that lives in the streets of Philadelphia starve?
Fellow Americans it is time to think about others and not just yourself Because others live In America just like you
Fellow Americans do you have a heart?
Fellow Americans did you ever learned to share what you have with Others?
Fellow Americans America is a sad world because we waste 98% of our Food at home, restaurants, and supermarkets
And all that wasted food ends up in the dump
It is so ashame and so sad at the same time
But the truth is that we are running out of food
And there is not enough food to feed anyone in America
But the cost of food keeps going up
Because we have to pay the American farmers who plants the food and Transport the food to the supermarkets
poem by Aldo Kraas
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The House of Christmas
There fared a mother driven forth
Out of an inn to roam;
In the place where she was homeless
All men are at home.
The crazy stable close at hand,
With shaking timber and shifting sand,
Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand
Than the square stones of Rome.
For men are homesick in their homes,
And strangers under the sun,
And they lay on their heads in a foreign land
Whenever the day is done.
Here we have battle and blazing eyes,
And chance and honour and high surprise,
But our homes are under miraculous skies
Where the yule tale was begun.
A Child in a foul stable,
Where the beasts feed and foam;
Only where He was homeless
Are you and I at home;
We have hands that fashion and heads that know,
But our hearts we lost - how long ago!
In a place no chart nor ship can show
Under the sky's dome.
This world is wild as an old wives' tale,
And strange the plain things are,
The earth is enough and the air is enough
For our wonder and our war;
But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings
And our peace is put in impossible things
Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings
Round an incredible star.
To an open house in the evening
Home shall men come,
To an older place than Eden
And a taller town than Rome.
To the end of the way of the wandering star,
To the things that cannot be and that are,
To the place where God was homeless
And all men are at home.
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Greed
“Greed”
GREED
IT IS SUCH A TERRIBLE THING
HEARTS IT TEARS AND MAKES THEM BLEED
AT TIMES IT BURNS SO BAD WHAT A STING
SO MUCH EVIL IT NEVER LEADS TO A GOOD DEED
GREED SUCH A VICIOUS THING
GREED
IT DESTROYS MARRIGES AND LIFES
IT DESTROYS WHAT WE WORK SO HARD TO EARN
IN CASES LEAVING MEN WITHOUT WIFES
BUT YET WE NEVER LEARN
TRUE TOO WIFES WITHOUT MEN
THE WORST PAIN UNDER THIS HAT
ARE CHILDREN THAT STAY WITH NONE OF THEM
SO UNDERSTAND WHAT A BAD BREED
THIS MONSTER IS, THIS MONSTER THAT
WE OFTEN CALL GREED
GREED
IT MAKES FREINDS INTO FOES
IT TURNS BROTHERS AGAINST BROTHERS
IT BRINGS SO MUCH WOES
IT TURNS MOTHERS AGAINST FATHERS
AND STILL WE DONT CONTROL THE NEED
AND TRY AND GET RID OF THIS BEAST
THIS BEAST WE CALL GREED
GREED
IT LEAVES FAMILIES HOMELESS
AND CHILDREN WITHOUT HOPES AND DREAMS
IT MAKES ALL FEEL LIKE SO MUCH LESS
IT BREAKS HEARTS AND MANY TEAMS
THIS TEAMS THAT AT MANY TIMES
WERE BEATIFUL AND HAPPY FAMILIES
BUT DUE TO GREED, FELL FOR THEIR CRIMES
SUCH A BAD CREATURE THAT LIKES TO FEED
ON THE HORRIBLE AND TRAGIC
FOOD WE CALL GREED.
SO PLEASE UNITE AND PRAY
THAT YOU CAN HAVE THE MAGIC
AND HOPE YOU’LL NEVER SEE THE DAY
THAT YOU BECOME THIS THING
CALLED GREED.
GOD BLESS.
MARTIN JAIME GONZALEZ
poem by Martin Gonzalez
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The House of Christmas
There fared a mother driven forth
Out of an inn to roam;
In the place where she was homeless
All men are at home.
The crazy stable close at hand,
With shaking timber and shifting sand,
Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand
Than the square stones of Rome.
For men are homesick in their homes,
And strangers under the sun,
And they lay on their heads in a foreign land
Whenever the day is done.
Here we have battle and blazing eyes,
And chance and honour and high surprise,
But our homes are under miraculous skies
Where the yule tale was begun.
A Child in a foul stable,
Where the beasts feed and foam;
Only where He was homeless
Are you and I at home;
We have hands that fashion and heads that know,
But our hearts we lost - how long ago!
In a place no chart nor ship can show
Under the sky's dome.
This world is wild as an old wives' tale,
And strange the plain things are,
The earth is enough and the air is enough
For our wonder and our war;
But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings
And our peace is put in impossible things
Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings
Round an incredible star.
To an open house in the evening
Home shall men come,
To an older place than Eden
And a taller town than Rome.
To the end of the way of the wandering star,
To the things that cannot be and that are,
To the place where God was homeless
And all men are at home.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Renewed Life
It was mid- afternoon and the sun was hot
As my eyes searched for a cool shaded spot.
But there was none to be found
As my feet burned from the scorching ground.
It seemed like miles that I had traveled
As my thoughts became unraveled.
Thinking about how my life had been
And in this battle could I win.
I lost my job, my house, my family too
Walking these streets not knowing what to do.
But there was something that for years
I had not done or tried
As I fell to the ground and began to cry.
LORD! My life has become empty and hollow
Is this a sign - that with you I should follow?
Right there and then a cloud covered the sun
When I heard a voice say 'your life has just begun'.
Follow this path that I will give
And you will see what it is to live '
Then the sun reappeared and washed away all my fears.
In its place came relief, and with it a new belief.
Of HOPE, FAITH, AND LOVE
Given to me from above.
I followed his path and spread his word
And preached to others that had never heard.
In the homeless shelters I found my flock
And from that point on - I did not stop.
The homeless now have their faith renewed
And this was the path that I had to do.
I had lost and gave up everything
From my old life, and the path
I now follow is of paradise.
poem by Louis Rams
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Good-Night
The skylarks are far behind that sang over the down;
I can hear no more those suburb nightingales;
Thrushes and blackbirds sing in the gardens of the town
In vain: the noise of man, beast, and machine prevails.
But the call of children in the unfamiliar streets
That echo with a familiar twilight echoing,
Sweet as the voice of nightingale or lark, completes
A magic of strange welcome, so that I seem a king
Among men, beast, machine, bird, child, and the ghost
That in the echo lives and with the echo dies.
The friendless town is friendly; homeless, I am not lost;
Though I know none of these doors, and meet but strangers' eyes.
Never again, perhaps, after to-morrow, shall
I see these homely streets, these church windows alight,
Not a man or woman or child among them all:
But it is All Friends' Night, a traveller's good-night.
poem by Edward Thomas
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The Forgotten Hungry And Homeless
The forgotten hungry and homeless nowadays to be found everywhere
There are millions of them close to a billion in the bigger World out there
The refugees of drought stricken Lands and of warlords and the homeless of Poverty Street
Basic human rights of them are denied shelter from the weather and enough for to eat
In a Human World where everyone is supposed to be equal after all we breathe in the same air
But the poor and the homeless and the hungry cannot feel that life is very fair
The minority those who are too wealthy people with too much of everything
Are people that many look up to though their praises I cannot sing,
In an egalatarian Human World everyone would have a home to live in
And nobody would be without food and well dressed and not ragged and thin
The poor by the day growing poorer and that does seem a sad thing to say
And the refugee camps of the World are all overcrowded today,
'Tis sad to think that from the poverty of many that a minority does stand to gain
And I with enough of food and shelter have no reason for to complain.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Winter Night
My window-pane is starred with frost,
The world is bitter cold to-night,
The moon is cruel, and the wind
Is like a two-edged sword to smite.
God pity all the homeless ones,
The beggars pacing to and fro,
God pity all the poor to-night
Who walk the lamp-lit streets of snow.
My room is like a bit of June,
Warm and close-curtained fold on fold,
But somewhere, like a homeless child,
My heart is crying in the cold.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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A Word For The Broken Hearted?
who stopped spoke to the broken hearted
gave them their scarf gloves coat in cold
inhospitable weather homeless starve in?
a minute or two of time brief fails
to warm cold flesh already shivering
'bless you' in name of Christ fails
to feed empty growling homeless bellies
and when Jesus asks when you fed
his poor will you tell stories ten thousand
plate dinner you ego shared with Obama
could have feed a few thousand homeless
instead feeding capitalist exploitation egos?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Stray Dogs Lapping
stray dogs lapping
at the bloody tracks
the homeless leave in the snow.
burnt out Marlboro fingers
shaking with the cold...
small children's big eyes screaming
with silent stinking fear!
and the halls and the walls
of the traders vibrate with smoke...
nothing gained, nothing lost,
in the land of nothing....
my grandmother's Bible lays by
the stove that was never empty...
my father sits and stares at the walls,
listening for the echo of....
my mother's voice....
and all the things we believed in
are lost,
forgotten....
stray dogs lapping
at the bloody tracks
the homeless leave in the snow...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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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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Homeless Brother
I was walking by the graveyard, late last Friday night,
I heard somebody yelling, it sounded like a fight.
It was just a drunken hobo dancing circles in the night,
Pouring whiskey on the headstones in the blue moonlight.
So often have I wondered where these homeless brothers go,
Down in some hidden valley were their sorrows cannot show,
Where the police cannot find them, where the wanted men can go.
There's freedom when your walking, even though you're walking slow.
Smash your bottle on a gravestone and live while you can,
that homeless brother is my friend.
It's hard to be a pack rat, it's hard to be a 'bo,
but living's so much harder where the heartless people go.
Somewhere the dogs are barking and the children seem to know
That Jesus on the highway was a lost hobo.
And they hear the holy silence of the temples in the hill,
And they see the ragged tatters as another kind of thrill.
And they envy him the sunshine and they pity him the chill,
And they're sad to do their living for some other kind of thrill.
Smash your bottle on a gravestone and live while you can,
that homeless brother is my friend.
Somewhere there was a woman, somewhere there was a child,
Somewhere there was a cottage where the marigolds grew wild.
But some where's just like nowhere when you leave it for a while,
You'll find the broken-hearted when you're travelling jungle-style.
Down the bowels of a broken land where numbers live like men,
Where those who keep their senses have them taken back again,
Where the night stick cracks with crazy rage, where madmen don't
pretend,
Where wealth has no beginning and poverty no end.
Smash your bottle on a gravestone and live while you can,
that homeless brothe
song performed by by Don McLean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sudden Sureness!
the bullets
in your hands
are the jobs,
houses, and families,
lost to the mouth
that devours....
the dreams burning
like trash on the side
of the road....
the fields empty, turning brown.
cities of ghosts,
empty buildings to streets,
streets that kill with sudden sureness,
leaving no trace,
and no memories!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Summer Turns To High
Mercury is rising still
Turn the fan on high
I wont step on my own shadow
No one wants to cry.
Someone put a pox on me
I spit in their eyes
Summer turns to high.
Lift my bed sheet keep in sandles
Circle search and there are candles
Summers here but night is raising hopes and dragonflies
If those hopes are overshadowed
Cotton-candy, caramel-wafer.
Summer turns to high
Summer turns to high
Summer turns to high
Summer high
After wine and nectarines the fireflies in turn
Move like syrup through the evening with the sweet resign
I wont fight for cant happen
Im preoccupied
Summer turns to high
Summer turns to high
Summer turns to high
Summer high.
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On 'One' Memorial Day
Blessed I am,
To be given the talent to write.
And be able to have public websites,
To voice the plight of those who are veterans.
Those who put their lives on the line,
To find themselves totally disrespected...
By those they defend.
Veterans completing their tours of duty,
Should not find themselves hungry, homeless...
And without jobs.
To support themselves, families...
Or others who are lost dependent upon them.
Blessed I am,
And as a veteran to say...
Being brave and patriotic does not always pay.
And even though celebrations held,
On 'one' Memorial Day...
Our veterans should be praised,
For giving their lives away EVERYDAY...
To the benefit of feeding the greed,
Of those whose selfish ways...
They courageously appease.
Dedicated:
To ALL my brothers and sisters who have 'donated' their lives,
Liberties and the cost of their own freedoms...
So those unappreciative could feed upon their 'entitlements'.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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An Aussie Christmas Day
In the park after eating barbequed fry the family a game of cricket play
In the warmth of the sunshine of an Aussie Christmas Day
A perfect day for Christmas around 24 degrees
On an afternoon made pleasant by a cool and freshening breeze
On this day in the Land of plenty a thought we ought to spare
For the people who are doing it hard in the bigger world out there
The Homeless and the Stateless dying of hunger and disease
In the refugee camps of the World thirty million refugees
Yet even in the Land of plenty the faces of poverty one does meet
The Homeless and God forsaken who live their lives on the street
Amongst the many well to do the faces of poverty
The outcasts and fringe dwellers of human society
Still a happy Christmas to you on this Aussie Christmas Day
As the family in the sunshine a game of cricket play.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Some Go Loco and More Got Woes
How serious.
Just how serious,
Can these times be?
How serious.
Just how serious,
Can these times be?
People out of work with needs to feed.
How serious can these times be?
More homeless seen on many streets.
How serious can these times be?
Hope from this is a wish to elope.
How serious can thes times be?
Wide awake are the more composed.
How serious can these times be?
Some go loco,
And more got woes!
Some go loco,
And more got woes!
Heeeeey...
Where's the aide?
How serious.
Just how serious,
Can these times be?
How serious.
Just how serious,
Can these times be?
People out of work with needs to feed.
How serious can these times be?
More homeless seen on many streets.
How serious can these times be?
Heeeeey...
Where's the aide?
Some go loco,
And more got woes!
Some go loco,
And more got woes!
Wide awake are the more composed.
How serious can these times be?
Hope from this is a wish to elope.
How serious can thes times be?
Heeeeey...
Where's the aide?
Some go loco,
And more got woes!
Some go loco,
And more got woes!
How serious.
Just how serious,
Can these times be?
Some go loco!
And...
More got woes!
Yes some go loco!
And...
More got woes!
Some go loco!
And,
More got woes!
Yes some go loco.
And...
More got,
Woes!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Our Ziklag Times
Oh what pain consumes our hearts!
Gnawing fears and despondency,
With all jobs lost, income departs,
And the homeless dwell in famined economy.
Now where are the money crutches we had?
Weren't those our firm securities?
Our wealth, our homes, our little gods,
Our empty thrones of prosperity.
In our distress we cry out loud,
In anguish for the loss of all we own,
No more room for the haughty and proud,
For we come to reap what we have sown.
Only in distress will we seek Him,
When we have no more strength to weep,
Unless the suffering hems us in,
We won't give God our lives to keep.
With God all things are possible!
And no global economy can hold Him,
An Awesome God Who is more than able
To reverse Ziklag and our lands redeem.
------------
'Before you call I will answer,
While you are yet speaking I will hear.
For I Am the Lord there is no other,
Return to Me and I will draw near.
I Am the Lord there is no other,
I form the light and the darkness,
I bring prosperity and create disaster,
I, the Lord, do all these things.'
(Isaiah 45: 6-7)
--------------------
Copyright Cynthia Buhain Baello
June 25,2009
Philippines
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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