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The Churchs Tramp

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Below is the poem entitled The Churchs Tramp which was written by poet Glenn Sentes. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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The Churchs Tramp

His hair grew as coagulated blood
His scalp perpetually trying to reach his eyebrows
Skin greased and calloused 
His eyes soulless 
Yet seemed searching
Everybody was not afraid of him.

I gave him food once
I placed it on the ground where 
He stood outside the church’s door
He barely moved
He slowly stooped
It was like watching a snail’s body melt 
when you put salt on it
I wonder if he has ever uttered a word in his life
Of course I never expected him to say thanks
He was still slowly bending but I knew he
Wouldn’t get it unless I was not in sight.
But I desired to see him get it
I wanted to see if his face would ever change a bit
So I just went away thinking I starved him with my presence
I went back after a moment
The container lied on the floor, no chicken bones.
His eyebrows twitched no more
But the eyes were looking…somewhere. 

I was baffled, have always been.
How is he supposed to live?
I can’t always give him food.
The priests might be busy too.
The altar boys might have been annoyed by his stench
 So they would not get near either.
My house’s far from the church.
That wounded man would just keep staring at him from up the cross. 
I wonder if the tramp ever asked the man to come down from his cross
And give him something to eat.

Or did he ever contemplate on bringing him down?

For Catie Lindsay's Free Verse Contest

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  1. Date: 1/26/2012 10:57:00 AM
    Intriguing poetry Glenn, I would imagine that the thought perchance crossed his mind, but it is easy to jump to conclusions. Those that are that close to the wounded man often times are those that are the furthest away, oddly. The man on the cross comes down when people like yourself stop to help.