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The Best Down And Out Poems

Details | Down And Out Poem | Create an image from this poem.

New World Order

The Rulers wield their silver shields,
             wear golden coronets
while warders guard the prison yard,
             boast brazen bayonets
and unicorns flaunt ivory horns
             defending martinets.

While Bankers beam Their self-esteem
             (bailed out of broker's debts),
and Bureaucrats grow rich and fat
             in six-star luncheonettes, 
the deep, devout and down and out
             survive as silhouettes.

The Press take pains to wash our brains,
             Their words have mesmerized.
So, mild and meek, we fear to speak
             in worlds They’ve polarized,
and rush to war, through Satan's door,
             watch cities vaporized.

The Lord of Lore tells tales of war,
             of victories far away,
where eyes stare stark within the dark 
             and death is painted gray
on faces cold, some young, some old,
             in spectral disarray.

We're taught at school the Golden Rule
             for all to live in bliss,
but in the wars on foreign shores
             the only rule is this:
“Yo! You and I must fight and die
             inside the black abyss!”

But well alive, the Merchants thrive
            on sales of armaments
that Barons built (with pride, not guilt)
            to quell the dissidents,
while Partisans are posing plans
             to conquer continents.

And back at home, the rumors roam
             “Good times are soon to come,
despite the breeze on frozen seas
             in weathers wet and numb.”
When we’re in need, They’ll intercede
             with prayers if we succumb.

A Tabloid screams of phantom dreams
             to keep our minds at sea 
and TV skews the evening news,
             ensures we all agree:
“With dynamite we fight for right
             and not for tyranny.”

The brain aborts when drugged with sports
               and fashions of the day,
and sevenfold, men think as told
              and so are led astray;
and like some sheep (unless asleep)
             they baa when they obey.  

In search of sense in sounds intense
             of droning drum tattoos
(the beat sustains the endless reigns 
             which swamp the avenues)
souls, thin and worn, traipse by, forlorn,
             delayed by shackled shoes.

Ten thousand eyes belong to Spies
            who watch us day and night
to track our trails and read our mails
             and say They have the right
to know our thoughts and thwart our plots
             to cease Their oversight.

Behind the scenes, behind the screens,
             the rules are fixed, arranged
(contorted smiles conceal Their wiles -
             Their goals have never changed).
When upside-down, a grin is frown
             and common sense deranged.

Along the roads, the future bodes
             in legends made of dust,
and ashes gray the alleyway
             'neath lampposts scaled with rust.
While Divas dine with cakes and wine
             pale orphans share a crust.

Dead colonies of humble bees,
             a ravaged hornets' hive,
rain forests, dales and minke whales
             soon nothing left alive…        
a world laid waste is to Their taste,
             as long as They survive. 

As sunlight wanes in winter rains 
             and sullen shadows crawl,
the evening ebbs, and spider's webs
             seem tattooed on the wall.
Upon the night the Masters write
             The Final Protocol.

Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2015

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The Ruby Spires

There, among the Ruby Spires,
   Stood I, a-gazing toward the mist,
      Red winds cut skin, heaven-kissed,
         Far too cold for Hades' fires ...

Worlds and eons 'hind me, then,
   The joys of youth were swallowed, thus,
      By wormholes, ranged and turned to dust,
         All, the sake of gloried men.

Such an odyssey, we crossed
   Three galaxies and matter, dark,
      To find this rare and conscious spark
         Of Life, (yet life is what it cost).

Tho' I, their peerless proxy, was,
   I felt no debt to human kind,
      And thru that conflict there, did bind,
         A pact of ancient alien cause.

My own, a naught-but-violent race,
   Had found these beings far from home,
      And sought to then rewrite their tome,
        With our corrupt and vain disgrace.

Yet 'fore we could our ruin, spread,
   This planet's unseen chaperones,
      Wreaked mortal plague on us alone,
         'Til naught but I was cold and dead.

Then, those sentient souls and I,
   Did journey up from mountain's base,
      Until we met that jagged face,
         With ruby columns to the sky ...

To every side but one, we saw,
   For endless breadth, the crimson sphere,
      Vermilion glows, both far and near,
         That wondrous planet's crystal maw.

The sparkling slopes of gemstone red,
   That slanted down and out of sight,
      Were being swallowed by the night,
         And yet, no trail had shown ahead.

Far too late to turn around,
   We gave our final fate its due,
      That stunning red, exquisite view,
         That few blessed eyes had ever found.

Astounding visions we beheld,
   That far exceeded all we knew,
      That held us, transfixed, to that view,
         With yearning that could not be quelled.

The colors challenged conscious thought,
   With light at angles inconceived,
      An iridescence not believed,
         Were we not witness, on that spot.

The misty opalescent glow,
   Refracting hues beyond compare,
      Prismatic sparkles here-and-there,
         That danced with flakes of scarlet snow.

Rainbow shafts of glistening light,
   Swirling phosphorescent sprays,
      Shimmering hues in broad displays,
         That flashed, then faded out of sight.

Palette shades we'd never known,
   Reflected beams from crystal shards,
      The wondrous muse of godly bards,
         Presented there for us alone.

A vista words can ne'er construe,
   Such beauty, language can't appease,
      That brought us, weeping, to our knees,
         And left us shaken, thru-and-thru.

The breathless joy that view inspired,
   Was known to only us who'd trade
      Our lives to see that covenant made
         There ... among the Ruby Spires.

~ 2nd Place ~  in the "Ancient Aliens" Poetry Contest, Anthony Slausen, Sponsor.

~ 2nd Place ~  in the "Mountains" Poetry Contest, Julie Leigh Rodeheaver, Sponsor.

~ 3rd Place ~  in the "Fable" Poetry Contest, Nayda Ivette Negron, Sponsor.

~ 4th Place ~  in the "OK Toss Another One In" Poetry Contest, John Lawless, Judge & Sponsor.

~ 6th Place ~  in the "I Cannot Believe I Wrote That" Poetry Contest, Nina Parmenter, Judge & Sponsor.

Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017

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Imagine all the people
who trade in human life,
imagine all the reasons
given to this particular vice.
I visualize the rivers
that run with coagulated blood,
I visualize the tyrant
that stir the waters good!

Imagine all the evil
where nightmares are conceived,
imagine all the weepers
locked in harmony.
I visualize a great peace
when man is down and out,
I visualize a yearning
to stir up warring lout!

Imagine all the carrion
fleeing this earthly scroll,
imagine all the zombies
them humans without soul.
I visualize the populous
with only one track mind,
I visualize the despotic master
not too far behind!

Imagine all the wrongdoers
that wait for the morrow,
imagine all the innocent
with aggravated sorrow.
I visualize his disciples
locked in earthly battle,
I visualize all intellect
smitten with ancient prattle!

Imagine all the dreamers
that dream in psycho colours,
imagine all the dead ones
John Lennon and others.
I visualize the sky
that reflect the sombre waters,
I visualize the time
they’ll be no virgin daughters!

Imagine all the children
born with colour blindness,
imagine all the peace
driven by human kindness.
I visualize a new order
maybe for the best?
I visualize the establishment
being put to the test!

Imagine all the people
with lives of eternal bliss,
imagine all the barriers
created when living with this.
I visualize heaven here
in this heathen place,
I visualize the angel
in pure virgin white lace!

Imagine all the new born
scanner pattern at birth,
imagine all of today’s crime
eliminated through death.
I visualize a dossier
of PLC news speak,
I visualize authoritarianism
of every aspect!

Imagine all the cloning
created for human part,
imagine all the respect
donated to this particular art.
I visualize the unscrupulous
desperate for existence,
I visualize the farm of haste
the plough of insistence!

Imagine, Mother Shipton 
prophecies all came true,
imagine only one statement fails
the end of the world.
I visualize even then 
common sense will prevail.
I visualize only Jesus Christ
will forecast the ultimate end!

© Harry J Horsman 2010

Copyright © harry horsman | Year Posted 2010

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Pun Fun

I had an IPod problem!
I fixed it, this is how!
I named the thing "Titanic",
by God, it's "syncing" now!

I was wondering where the sun goes?
I stayed up all night to see!
Sure enough, next morning,
it finally "dawned" on me!

I'm an avid reader.
I read anything around.
I read an "anti-gravity" book,
and I couldn't put it "down"!

I know some real bad food jokes,
but let me tell you first!
The one about German sausage,
brother, that's the "wurst"!

There are several types of illness,
that leave you sore and weak!
But, when your bladder is infected,
"urine" trouble, so to speak!

I was sorta down and out!
Times were hard, you know?
So, I got a job in a bakery,
because I "kneaded" dough!

NOTE; I apologize if you wasted your
time reading this!  I need to get
a life!  Sorry folks. 

Copyright © RALPH TAYLOR | Year Posted 2012

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Fall to Winter, Rise to Spring

                                      Fall to Winter, Rise to Spring

                                            Fallen, down and out
                                     Frozen, not dead nor decayed
                                           Rising, faith with wings!

                                               Kim Patrice Nunez
                                               November 15,2014

Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2014

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Let The Wind Be Your Eyes

You can hear the whispers of your soul as you stand quietly in tune with a vast universe. As you let the wind be your eyes, the birds your voice, as you listen with your heart as you smell the bark of trees. You are willingly exposed, naked like all life that frees itself of packaging,  you feel vegetation growing inside and outside of your flesh. Your spirit flows with the tide. Your roots grow down and out of the soft fertile side  of the moon. You rid yourself of the chains that bind you to preconceived notions which somehow you knew  had never really applied to anyone or anything. Now as vegetation you grow and you are flying towards the timeless clouds like wisps floating. The unbound sky calls your name as you pace outside earth's atmosphere to become the face  of a Galaxy. Stars live on your black hide, race the void of gravity, the void of unharnessed mass. You?  You are the void. Your intuition directs you, leads you finally releases you of the constraints of a restricted you. You can hear the whispers of your soul and you are you. 16~12~2014 Sponsor: Gail Angel Doyle Contest Name: Whispers Of Your Soul

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014

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A View From A Window

The dawn unfolds beyond my fractured windowpane
and breezes tease while drapes, like serpents, slip aside
exposing worlds that race and run aground, insane,
displaying scenes obscene that savants strive to mask and hide.

Outside, the streets are stark (last night they seemed so cruel 
when demons danced as lanterns 'lumed the lynching tree -
its shadow shuddered, lurking in my vestibule -
within the night, I sense these things I sometimes cannot see).

Perdu in darkened doorways (those which watch the ones that weep) 
men hide their shame in crevices in search of cloaked relief.
The ladies of the evening leave (their time to sleep!)
the alleyways, retaining bitter tastes of untold grief.

Soon drifters (distraught dregs that stray from street to street) 
abandon benches, squat on curbstones some call home,
appeal to strangers for a coin or simple bite to eat -
refused… gaze down… left empty-handed in the morning gloam.

Observe with me, beyond my fractured windowpane,
the boy with crooked smile - the one who's seen the  beast - 
with tears, he stoops and clasps the cross while wiping off the stain -
the abbey door along the lane conceals a pious priest.

While at the mall, Mike sees some cigs, and stealth'ly steals a pack;
the Man, observing, thinks ‘Hey Boy, this caper calls for blood’,
takes aim, then shoots the fated stripling eight times in the back.
Come, mourn for Mike and brother Justice, facedown in the mud.

Fatigued and bored, some kids harass the alley now -
to pass the time, Joe smokes a joint and Lizzy snorts a line;
computer games (which quake with doom) can help somehow,
so Eric plays with Dylan on the road to Columbine.

The shanty towns have hunkered down as if in mortal sport
while broken bodies' shattered bones repose supine,
and mamas (now bereft of child) in anguished pain contort,
their eyes drip drops of wrath which wither on a twisted vine.

Now Mr Baxter, private bankster (cruising down the road,
pursuing profit pushers, waving magic mushroom wands),
adores addiction to the bailout (coffers overflowed)
and jests with all the junkies, while he's dealing with the bonds.

Marauders man the marketplace (with billions guaranteed)  
while kids with swollen bellies beg neath hollow sunken eyes,
and (cut to naught) the down-and-out (like trodden beet roots) bleed.
Life's carousel invites us all, though few can ring the prize.

A washerwoman, timeworn, totters from the tram -
she shuffles to her hovel on a lonesome distant hill,
despondent, shuts the shutters, downs her final dram -
a magpie quickly picks at crumbs forsaken on the sill.

Jihadist and Crusader warders faithfully guard the gates,
behead impious infidels, else burn them at the stake 
(yes, God incites each side for good, the other side He hates),
with saintly satisfaction gained provoking pagan ache. 

The watchers pry behind our fractured windowpanes
inspect us all, tear down the walls of privacy
controlling every point of view opinion entertains,
forbidding thoughts one mustn't think, with which they don’t agree.

Come, cast a furtive glance… there's something in the far…
from towns to dunes in deserts dry, the welkin belches sudden death
by dint of soulless drones that stalk beneath a straying star
erasing life in random ways in freedom’s final breath.

But closer lies an island, where the keepers keep the wards.
No sense, no charges nor defense - a verdict? Yes! … grotesque -
the guiltless gush confessions, born and bred on waterboards.
Impartial trials? A travesty instead, indeed quite Kafkaesque.

Now dusk draws near beyond my fractured windowpane 
while mankind drowns like burnt-out suns in fading lurid light;
and scarlet clots of grim deceit and ebon beads of bane
flow, deified, within the rotting corpse of human night.

Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2015

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No Mans Land

A brand new development for you and me
A gated community you just have to see.
Situated on the plains of deep despair
A rocky road will lead you there.

Surrounded by lovely weeping willows
Beautiful vistas of the sea of sorrows.
So if you are feeling down and out
This community is what it's all about.

The school of hard knocks will teach you well
The Drown your Sorrows pub is really swell.
And should you crave some company
Why down the street lives Lady Misery.

Soliciting is certainly not allowed in here
Opportunity won't come knocking, have no fear.
Undesirable tenants were the ladies Luck and Hope
Fortunately for us they decided to elope.

The restaurants will only serve the bitter pill
Of humble pie and crow, you can have your fill.
For sport we do have plenty of space
Feel free to enjoy our weekly rat race.

So if you feel depressed and without hope
Why we offer bungi jumping without a rope.
We have taken great care as you can see
To offer our tenants every possible amenity.

So if life has turned its back on you
If you have nothing to lose and feeling blue.
Consider buying your very own stand
In this community called No Mans Land.

Copyright © Heidie Buys | Year Posted 2008

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Beyond the skills of escorts
and the appeal of other playthings,
smolders the need of the soul
infused to best every man.
Twelve years have taken
the scars out of the memories,
from the last time I was
up and through
just to come down and out
to find every fairy tale
extends it’s hand
to some tragedy.
The odds don’t warrant
the time of practical effort.
Too keen to the liabilities,
always calculating ends.
It is not the demands of over
or having to start something new
rather, better to remain alone
than to be let down again.
But now I see you,
and it makes me pause
so still, with the whisper --
Are you sure?
	Falls into a deafening singularity 
forbidding even a scream, it’s escape.
I sit and can only see
the touch of Heaven
reaching across the Caribbean
to color your face.
As your smile holds the songs
of every dawn’s temptress,
under the soft disposition
of your eyes 
rests a divine spirit’s symmetry, 
smoothing features
while lensing each strand
the perfect frame.
That once moved a favored King
to murder a man, only to bring
the sword into his own house.
Enabled an army to take 
a strong city with just one horse.
And enslaved the envy of Venus
to sharpen leaden arrows,
but fury slipped her hands
and bled her wrists out.
Blood clotted on the cold muck
of her grave, a suffocating cocoon.
Immersed the viewer becomes, 
and timeless the window
of the heart that is God’s craft,
denying the deceiver’s forgery
of any singed carnality.
As if proximity has been given 
within the mist of your perfume,
in just this one picture
of your face.

Copyright © rob carmack | Year Posted 2016

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Smart and Final Prose

Daylight fades, a city pulsates, and traffic is reflected in store windows.  
Hurrying headlights come out of the darkness. 
They crisscross like dueling knights.  People in the crosswalk scamper 
as if squirrels and streetlights leer gleaming yellow eyes, like watchful hawks.
The shrill trumpets of the charging gale force winds, rattle an awning,
and newly planted maple saplings bend and sway 
in random pairs.  Set in concrete planters, they hang on by tender rooted toes. 
Pages of a discarded newspaper are hurled into the air, 
buoyed on the steely breath of a frigid winter evening.  
Several leaflets scatter into the street and down the sidewalk,
into the path of one lone pedestrian.
He slaps away the sports page, that flies into his chapped, red face. 
Without hesitation, this castaway vagrant, down and out 
by the rape of hard times, will accept an offered dime,
from a passing man in a Red Sox ball cap. 
Head bent low, face hidden, a worn and dirty pea coat
pulled tightly around his thin frame, he carries all his meager belongings
in a large paper grocery bag, wrinkled and beginning to tear. 
Serving as his satchel, the brown bag, damp and worn, 
still displays big bold red and black letters 
advertising "Smart and Final Grocery"--"Located in Three Convenient Locations".
A city bus roars by, splashing through three days of rain, 
and a siren and a blaring horn is heard from the next block. 
The dark silhouetted outcast, stops for a moment, 
peers into a sidewalk trash receptacle, then continues slowly down the sidewalk.
A taxi pulls up along the curb behind him, and the attractive couple, 
dressed in evening wear, emerge, pay for their taxi, and arm in arm, 
enter Mario's Italian Restaurant, the brick bistro 
that sits on the corner of Broadway and 1st. 
It begins to rain again, and across the street people open umbrellas 
and like the afore mentioned squirrels, they scurry home to supper.
The lone man walks in the rain, his pace doesn't quicken, his voice never spoken, 
a spirit broken, ............ his sack held together by circumstance. 
A passerby takes a brief glance...just a quick, chanced moment, 
to take notice of "Smart and Final's" last stance. 

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2011

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The Desert Moon true story

I live in Tucson, in a trailer court on the South side
All Mexican, except for me the old Gringo
I speak Spanish, can get along with most anyone
With all the Mexican border drugs, things can get wild
I am getting old and taking things slow
Was sort of a paradise in the Arizona Sun

The owner has lights, security cameras, claims to be drug free
Even claims to be a heavy duty born again
Not like us old folks and sinner on the South
After a couple of years of watching, seemed counterfeit to me
Said by him last weekend, "This land is blessed, sin cannot get in"
He is one of those feller, born with a silver spoon in his mouth

There has been a murder conspiracy after me for years
By the Old Witch and the Mexican Mafia that continues
Severel months back I could feel a change in the atmosphere
It was the old witch had moved in, with her bucket of fears
Trying to scare me and make me sing the blues
Make me think that my end was near

But then last weekend I saw it all, a crystal ball view
The owner lives in California, was in town
Fell on hard times and the park is empty
Went to the witch and money people, "Anything that is what I will do"
But soon the Devil will let him down
Only to add to his up coming misery

He sold his soul to the Devil, just for a little gain
And maybe when it all comes down, will end this conspiracy
A long story made short, to the court I will report
Set me free, for him will be eternal pain
For a man that sold his soul, God can give no mercy
There are no troops in his fort

Tried to take my last dime, leave me down and out
But I knew that God would not let me fail
I can over come this evil pair
With God, the Devil cannot run me out
You see if have sort of left a "Paper Trail"
"Joe you have sold your soul, you don't even have a prayer"

Copyright © Danny Nunn | Year Posted 2010

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- Pop Music Icon John Lennon -

John, was born October 9, 1940, in Liverpool
He met Paul McCartney in 1957 
John and Paul formed a close working relationship ... COME TOGETHER
Young and fearless guys with music as the common interest
Over time, it became a REVOLUTION
When we talk about John Lennon, his name associates with The Beatles
With members John Lennon, Paul McCartney,
George Harrison and Ringo Starr
WELL, WELL, WELL in the music world it became POWER TO THE PEOPLE

John left The Beatles in September 1969, a new TICKET TO RIDE
CLEANUP TIME for the skilled songwriter, vocalist and guitarist
- He would continue as a solo artist  BLESS YOU

I became LUCY IN THE SKY WITH DIAMONDS when I listened to his music
LIVING IS EASY WITH EYES CLOSED, sounded so beautiful
NOBODY TOLD ME, that John was actually a heavy drug user
IT'S SO HARD ... to deal with
ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE, greatest of all is love
IMAGINE, John and me in the NORWEGIAN WOOD
STARTING OVER, a new life in my home country

MOTHER ... HERE WE GO AGAIN ... I was in love
happiness is a word that tastes sweet in my mouth
Together with you, the song begins to find the right sound

I AM THE WALRUS - a stupid young girl who dreams
NOBODY LOVES YOU (When You're Down And Out)
John lived on BORROWED TIME, 
bitter rivals and demons sparkle in the air
I feel lonely ...  and I'M SO TIRED
 ... YA YA

Song titles by John Lennon, listed below :

NOBODY LOVES YOU (When You're Down And Out)

Sun :) A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2018

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Poetry Destroyed

you claim to be the Poetry Destroyer
but i'll destroy you
i'll kick you into touch because I know Kung-Fu
in linguistics I own a belt thats black
i'll leave you down and out with no chance of a comeback

when it comes to dissing i'm a pro
i spit it fast with a venomous flow
you just can't handle the words that I spit
so here's a razor now get those veins slit

i bathe in the blood of all of my foes
when i'm around better keep on your toes
or i'll leave you dejected
make you feel rejected
you'll begin to wish you'd never been selected

like a sure shot sniper i'll blow your mind
you'll find yourself in one hell of a bind
you'll be without a paddle up a certain creek
my style is strong whilst yours is weak

you've just been slammed by Danny C
now why don't you try and slam me

Copyright © Daniel Corcoran | Year Posted 2010

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Fake Or Real

The long day has pulled her down and out 
The walls are closing in, she needs to shout 
She sends a scream into the pillow case, 
Wipes off the tears and puts it back in place. 
Presentation of perfection she must achieve 
At least until all the guests take their leave. 
Smile on the outside, as tears fall underneath 
Dressed up and proper, naked under her sheath 
Housewife to her misery, mother, daughter, self. 
Married into status, surrounded by welcoming wealth. 
The cards have been played, her queen reigns, 
With a red heart that bleeds lost loved pains 
Sacrificed love for security, a wrong she can't right
Praying for anyone, to come rescue her this night 
Anchored to a life of plastic, made up, and fake
Killing her ever slowly, how much can she take

Copyright © CT Duet | Year Posted 2014

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Blemishes I see upon my body
Destroying my own temple
Could it be that simple

Damned to dream
and not sleep
As so it seem
and soon I will reap

From my own hands the cuts
Showing the pain in my soul
Tarnished it would be
if it was up to me
Unable to separate from what you see

My mind waiting for the day
I could leave as me
All my flaws already known and shown
Could this be green with envy

Head down
with nothing to say
No ones perfect
Imperfection he seeks
the down and out
He would show peace

Copyright © April Walter Skyy | Year Posted 2015

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Disheveled and dirty she sat 
A guy walking by just spat 
It caught her off guard as she wiped it away 
Wanted to move but decided to stay

She looked forlorn and beat 
Begging for a bite to eat 
I approached and offered her a tenner
Her mind I wanted to enter

I asked for her name as I gave her ***
Bent over and lit it she was clutching her bag.
"Melanie," she said as I lit her smoke 
She was well educated I knew when she spoke.

The pavements were bursting with tourists 
Doctors, bankers, and jurists 
Buskers Acrobats, jugglers, and clowns 
Filled the West End with sounds

Saturday night as busy as ever 
The pickpockets thought they were clever 
Approaching the people with stealth 
Lining their pockets with stolen wealth.

I drowned it all out 
Wondered what she was all about 
I asked if she wanted some food
I saw she relaxed, that was good.

My wife bought her burger and fries
I saw the gratitude in her eyes. 
I wanted to help this woman on the streets 
She had more potential than one normally meets.

She once was a doctor you know 
She lost her husband and her daughter 
Life dealt her a mighty blow 
She said between bites and some water

I asked where she would spend the night
On the pavement she said, it's alright. 
I was glad it was summer. 
I thought as I dialed the number

My friend who runs a shelter answered the phone 
This was now up to me I would not leave her alone.
Melanie has now fully recovered 
A brilliant surgeon we discovered.

The shelter still runs with a steady flow
Destitute People come and go
Melanie contributes to the cause 
Fund raisers thunder applause.

You never know who is down and out 
Help, No one should go without.

Copyright © Klio Tsitsikroni | Year Posted 2017

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Still in Love

Please relieve the pressure off of me
I’m in so much pain can’t you see
The day you left me I was down and out
Can you please explain what this all about
I want you to love me like you use to
Doing all the things that we use to do
All day long I reminisce about the past
Praying and hoping to make it last
I miss you more every single day
Wishing to be back with you and hoping you will stay
Hug me, hold me, and kiss me again
Stay with me forever until the end
Let’s try this, please try this once again
Can I be your lady and will you be my man.

Copyright © Sheena Tillis | Year Posted 2014

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Mystical Tides

Mystical Tides

Before me lies the ocean, with its shore,
   maintaining varied limits day and night;
at times, beyond its border, reaching more
   than ever, thrashing out in wild delight.

At other times, so docile, ebbing low
   with timid ripples that creep on the sand.
With highs and lows, the tides reshape its flow,
   by rhythms that obey the moon's command.

And here, I'm like an ocean at low tide,
   in quiet stillness, feeling down and out.
No energy, I let my high waves slide
   and merge with resting seascape hereabout.

But like this ocean, soon my tides will turn...
   as waves roll in and stretch along the beach,
and thrashing out in wild delight, return
   to grasp the joy of everything in reach.

Sandra M. Haight

~1st Place~
Contest: Standard, End of 2018
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Judged: 12/29/2018

~1st Place~
Contest: Tell Me A Story 2
Sponsor: Brenda Chiri
Judged: 11/08/2018

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2018

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If I wasn't me, then who would I be? Where would I go and what would I see? If I don't 
know who I am then who are you and who is she? Sad case to lose your own identity. 
When I am down and out with these looks of doubt I seem to question my inner 
whereabouts. What happened to her and where is she? This cant be me, must be case of lost 
So I look afar as far as I can see and I see me constantly running.
What are you scared of? Whats the problem? You cant keep running, just try and solve them.
So who am I, who are you and who is she? I'm no longer blinded, I am my own key.

Copyright © Danaya Thomas | Year Posted 2009

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Nutty Flavors of life

Life is like a nut,
Differs in shape, size, color or crust,
Life is like a nut.
For some, it’s like a coconut,
Beyond the reach, safe from gust
Very important, much privileged!
Whether unripen or matured.
For some it’s like a peanut,
Malleable, fit in budget 
Widely spread, versatile no doubt
However, down and out.
For some it’s like a walnut,
You can see the eminence clear cut
Set comfortably in its dwell,
In a hard stilted shell.
For some it’s like a pine nut,
Gazes weird I tell you what
Shielded with strong beautiful woody cone,
Prevents you! to invade its zone.
For some it’s like a cashew nut,
Self-interested, pricy somewhat
Tightly attached with red pulpy drupe,
Be cautious! While shelling the fruit
For some it’s like a chestnut,
Down-to-earth, graceful but,
Surrounded with sharp spines called “Bur”
All adversities ought to conquer.
Life is like a nut,
Differs in shape, size, color or crust,
Life is like a nut.

Copyright © Neeru Bhatt | Year Posted 2018

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If You Are Down

If you are down and out, losing hope
Call your friends.
The ones who bring you up
Not the other ones.

Not in the mood?
Of course not.
We hide out when we need them the most.
We retreat when we should be calling for help.

Open the shutters, bring up the shades.
Let the sun reach you.
You like it dark, and dismal and dreary?
It helps you feel miserable, and lost.

Before you eat or drink yourself 
Into a melancholic frenzy, please
Let the sun come in just a peep,
Maybe a crack tomorrow, a little bit
More each day.

As soon as it meets you full force,
Your Vitamin D will kick in 
And please turn off the TV
And the electronic devices.
Now is the time to 
Heal, not to 

My prayers are with
you my friend.
We have all
been somewhere
like this and it
is not fun.

Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018

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feral cats and gods

We've a short time to make it
to the top
to climb the neck bones of our god
a short time to scribe, knead, travel, paint, 
crash land into a soul mate- or two-procreate
to the next consciousness
build your own rose petal nest
life is a fiery sprint, 
a taste of earth a splash of mint
where's the synergy of heart + soul
the silver sheen of youthful shoals..
antidote for hopelessness
the patch on the sink hole

The neck bones have vanished into the clouds 
sundial slipping into the down and out
such a short time to weave warmth into life 
leave something profound, everlasting behind
something more than selfies and a jar of ashes  
such a short time to make it to the very top... 
to dine with feral cats and god
the dream is fleeter than the dreamer, after all.

Copyright © Anthony Slausin | Year Posted 2018

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THE GIFT OF LOVE I know that life is agleam. Incandescent is the word used. You are from the time of little people. You empower to keep the peace. No one can define the world quite like you. You are a universal guru. Consequently, I want to contribute to your happiness. Subsequently, I will give poetry. This is the gift of love. May be small but real Not just something boxed to give. This is a comforter when you down and out. You asked me for something unique Therefore, I will give meaningfulness. Bringing in the New Year, a smile is worth seeing. The roaring of joviality is a blessing to hear. You had your confrontations and you resolved conflicts. Today spirit is fulfilled. Oh, merry bonhomie A feeling so blistering - so intense Your heart is full of joy friend. As a result, your happiness must continue. This is the year humongous Pop the cava and let’s party. Perpetuating things to come Accordingly, exhilaration Oh, merry sylph This is going to be a life worth living. |_____________________________| Penned on November 28, 2014!

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014

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Sometimes I think that life's a bummer  and then you die.............
Then other times I think was that me or some other guy..........
Because in reality life isn't all that bad............
And i'm thinking if I really do think that way it would be pretty sad......
And every time I get to feeling down and out I just think about all my great
family and friends...............................................................
And for some reason or other the bummer abruptly ends..............
I think it is a complete waste of time to stress over things about which you 
have no control............................................................................
All though it seems when it comes to bummers some people really know
how to dole.....................................
So enjoy every day and be sure to take it one day at a time...........
So this is the way I see things, and my outlook on life so I just thought 
I would put it all down in a little rhyme........................................js

Copyright © jack seprish | Year Posted 2014

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A Photographer Looks Back

For all those who’ve been captured by my camera lens,
I wish we could do it all over again.  
But time waits for no one despite what we see,
In images made of you and me.

In the snap of a shutter or the blink of an eye
A memory is frozen like tinsel in time.
Shiny and shimmering like diamonds and pearls 
Each one a treasure, immeasurable world.
Yet never to last beyond dawn’s early light 
As the picture of now is an illusory sight.
To have and to hold like water in hand
Hasten photographers to do what we can. 

To coax, cajole, position and prompt
People and places to do what we want
To fill up our cameras with just the right touch – 
Never too little, never too much. 

With just the right color, right texture, right mood – 
A slim slice of life that says what, where and who.
In a gathering of pixels of zeros and ones,
Technological marvel mixed with light from the sun.  

And oh what a ride I’ve had by your side
Be you stranger, family or friend,
Throughout the years of trying to make clear
What’s moving like clouds in the wind… 

People, places, flowers and trees, 
Sun rising and falling on rivers and seas.
Small creatures and features of wood, sand and rain,
Sky scrapers and ruins of ancient remains.  
The famous and infamous, lost and found;
The good, bad, beautiful and perennially profound.
Healthy, wealthy, humble and weak;
Down and out with nothing to eat.

But your smile most of all is my favorite frame;
Vignette of your memory, your life and good name.
Etched now in the hues of bold colors and grays 
With gratitude I have you to reflect upon today.    

Copyright © Terrell Martin | Year Posted 2016