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Down and Out by Robinson, David
Down And Out by murray, conley
Down and Out by Fraser, Carl
Down And Out by Widener, Willie
THE DOWN AND OUT by Ashton, Darryl
Down and Out by Kania, Yvonne
Down and Out number 2 by Locke, Kaye
Down and Out by Locke, Kaye
down and out by Casanova, Sheena
Down and Out by CARTER, TIMOTHY

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The Best Down And Out Poems

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

New World Order

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

Tycoons hold reins (arrayed as chains)
              where words have mesmerized.
So, mild and meek, we turn our cheek
              to worlds They’ve polarized,
and march 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,
              all lined with jaded clay.

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 Artisans are posing plans
              to conquer continents.

But back at home, the rumors roam
              'Good times are soon to come,
despite the breeze on frozen seas
              in weathers wet and numb.'
They fantasize with fleeting lies
              and pray we'll all 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,
souls, thin and worn, file by forlorn,
              in tame and tattered shoes -
their tears of pain, like streaks of rain,
              have strewn the avenues.
	
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 bumble bees,
              a ravaged hornet's hive,
rain forests, dales or minke whales
              soon nothing left alive…        
a world laid waste is to Their taste,
              as long as They survive. 

The Moguls wield a silver shield,
              wear golden coronets
while warders guard the prison yard,
              boast brazen bayonets;
and unicorns sport ivory horns,
              defend the Martinets.

Ten thousand eyes belong to Spies
             who watch you day and night
to track your trails and read you mails
              and say They have the right
to know your thoughts and thwart your 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.

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


Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2015


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IMAGINE

       
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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The Ruby Spires


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

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

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

Though I, their peerless proxy, was,
   I felt no debt to human kind,
      And through that struggle there, did bind,
         A union 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 before 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,
      The vermilion glow, 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 breathtaking red, exquisite view,
         That few blessed eyes had ever found.

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

Colors that challenged conscious thought,
   With light at angles inconceived,
      Iridescence otherwise not believed,
         Were we not breathless, 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 and faded out of sight.

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

Such vistas, no words can e'er construe,
   A beauty that language does not appease,
      That brought us, weeping, to our knees,
         And left us shaken, through-and-through.

The consuming joy that view inspired,
   Was known to only us who'd trade
      Our lives for the sight - a covenant made,
         There among the Ruby Spires.




* SECOND PLACE in the "Ancient Aliens" Poetry Contest, Anthony Slausen, Sponsor. *

* SECOND PLACE in the "Mountains" Poetry Contest, Julie Leigh Rodeheaver, Sponsor. *

* THIRD PLACE in the "Fable" Poetry Contest, Nayda Ivette Negron, Sponsor. *




Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017


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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 hear these things I sometimes cannot see).

The lady of the evening? Gone… her time to sleep!
But alleyways retain the bitter taste of grief
distilled in darkened doorways (those which watch but cannot weep) -
men hide their heads (her shame extending) seeking veiled relief.

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

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

While at the mall, Mike craves a cig, and stealth'ly steals a pack -
the Man, he smiles and thinks 'Hey Boy, there's gonna be some blood',
takes aim and shoots the youngster 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, Liz sniffs a line;
computer games (which quake with doom) can help somehow 
as Eric plays with Dylan on the road to Columbine.

The shanty town has hunkered down as if in sport
while broken bodies' shattered bones repose supine,
and mamas (now bereft of child) no more exhort,
their eyes drip drops  of wrath which wither on a twisted vine.

Now Mr Barker, banker (cruising down the road,
pursuing profit pushers, waving magic mushroom wands),
adores addiction to the bailout (vaults now overflowed)
and thinks of all the junkies, while he's dealing out the bonds.

Life's carousel invites… though few can ring the prize…
Look! Princes stroll the parkway (umpteen billions? guaranteed!) 
while kids with swollen bellies beg with hollow sunken eyes,
and (cut to naught) the down-and-out (like trodden beet roots) bleed.

A washerwoman, timeworn, totters from the tram -
she shuffles to her hovel, up a long and lonesome hill,
dejected, shuts the shutters, downs a final dram -
a black bird boldly picks at crumbs she's spilled upon the sill.

Jihadists and Crusaders, faithfully guard the gates,
behead the pagan infidels, else burn them at the stake
(yes, God is on their side for good, the other guys He hates),
with saintly satisfaction gained and nothing left but ache.

The keepers pry beyond a fractured windowpane
inspect us all, tear down the walls of privacy
controlling every thought or view one hopes to entertain,
dictating things one mustn't think and things one mustn't see.

But cast a furtive glance… there's something in the far…
although the desert's arid-dry, the skies, they sprinkle death
from soulless drones that search beneath a watchful evening star…
erupt in random ways… expunging babies' blameless 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, bred and borne on waterboards.
The missing trials? Amusing shows, indeed quite Kafkaesque.

Now dusk unfolds beyond my fractured windowpane
while mankind drowns like burnt-out suns in lurid fading light
and scarlet blood 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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Nayda

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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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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- Pop Music Icon John Lennon -





GIVE ME SOME TRUTH
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
GROW OLD WITH ME John,
happiness is a word that tastes sweet in my mouth
Together with you, the song begins to find the right sound
STRAWBERRY FIELDS FOREVER

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
MOTHER said : YOU GOT TO HIDE YOUR LOVE AWAY
 ... YA YA












Song titles by John Lennon, listed below :

GIVE ME SOME TRUTH
COME TOGETHER
REVOLUTION
WELL, WELL, WELL
POWER TO THE PEOPLE
TICKET TO RIDE
CLEANUP TIME
BLESS YOU
LUCY IN THE SKY WITH DIAMONDS
LIVING IS EASY WITH EYES CLOSED 
NOBODY TOLD ME
IT'S SO HARD
ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE
IMAGINE
NORWEGIAN WOOD
STARTING OVER
MOTHER 
HERE WE GO AGAIN
GROW OLD WITH ME
STRAWBERRY FIELDS FOREVER
I AM THE WALRUS
NOBODY LOVES YOU (When You're Down And Out)
BORROWED TIME
I'M SO TIRED
YOU GOT TO HIDE YOUR LOVE AWAY
YA YA





04.04.2018
Sun :) A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved



Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2018


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Imperfection

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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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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Melanie

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 fag
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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Identity

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 
identity.
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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THE GIFT OF LOVE

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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life

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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Broken Alley

Suddenly and
without warning,
down and out
in Broken Alley.

Mind is numb
body in pain,
Struck and stuck
in Broken Alley.

Here she comes down the hall
"savior mine" to light all
the dark nights
in Broken Alley.

Kindly she whispers in my ear
"I'll ease your pain, have no fear,
comfort dear."
in Broken Alley.

Relief comes but not for long
agony sings it's heavy song
helpless again
in Broken Alley.

Time begins it's healing powers
slowly in the quiet hours,
won't tarry long 
in Broken Alley.



Written on 12/1/2005


Copyright © Laura Leiser | Year Posted 2014


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Never Land Part 8

The Monk of Mock has fled the flock caught knocking up a tween. (She brought to light the special rite he sought to leave unseen.) With profaned eyes they agonise, their souls no more serene and at the shrine the flutes of wine are filled with kerosene by men unkempt who once had dreamt but now can dream no more except when bellowed bellies belch an ever growing roar, which churns the seas and whips a breeze that mercy can’t ignore, and in the night, though filled with fright, they try to end the War. The slow and quick are hurling bricks and fight with clubs of rage to break the chains and cleanse the stains of life within a cage, but yield to stings of armoured things that crush in every age. At crack of dawn, a broken pawn, in pools of blood and fire, attends the wounds, in blood festooned (the waves flow nigh and nigher), while ghetto towns are burning down (the flames grow high and higher); and in their wake, a golden snake is rising from the pyre. Her knees are bare, consumed in prayer, applauded by the Friar, and soon it’s clear the end is near - while magpie birds conspire, the lowly worm is made to squirm while dangling from a wire. The line was crossed, the battle lost, the losers can’t deny, the residues are far and few, though smoke pervades the sky. The cool wind’s cruel, a cutting tool, the vanquished ask it “Why?”, and bittersweet, from Easy Street, the Pashas’ puffed reply: “The rules are set, so don’t forget, the rabble will comply; the grapes of wrath may make you laugh, the day you are to die.”
The down and out, they knock about beneath the barren skies where homeward bound, without a sound, a ravaged raven flies. Beyond the Walls, the morning calls the newborn sun to rise, and Peter Pan, a broken man, inclines his head and cries... End


Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2012


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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


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Field of Rest

In a meadow
in a field
field of daisies
field of dreams
dreams of fortune
dreams come true
true blue
true love's kiss
kiss a frog
kiss me quick
quick like a bunny
quick thinking
thinking of you
thinking about life
life worth living
life guard
guard your heart
guard your mind
mind your manners
mind over matter
matter of fact
matter of time
time of day
time travel
travel by plane
travel far away
away from home
away from it all
all or nothing
all is well
well done
well of water
water of life
water to drink
drink coffee
drink tea
tea with lemon
tea made in the sun
sun rising high
sun beams down
down to earth
down and out
out of patience
out of time
time to go
time to rest
rest easy
rest in peace
easy
peace

9/9/15


Copyright © Kim Merryman | Year Posted 2015


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Limerick crochetes Portrait of a Dead Brit Nazi Lord of the Lollypoppians

Limerick crochetés: Portrait of a Dead Brit Nazi, Lord of the Lollypoppians
                   Part One
Once an uppity man from Poland
Wed a stumpy wench from High Golan
     Result: mangy mongrel
     Was no way you could tell
His front from his toady tail-end
   
In Broughton raised as Mancunian
For his stature was Lilliputian
     Sent up to hot Eton
     To become smooth Briton 
Of hoi polloi he nursed low opinion 

There at the clubby institution   
Three thorough-breds of noble distinction
     Chased him in quadrangle
     Stuck dildos up sockle
In his hock-filled mouth sans elocution 

Lacking shining past in his pedigree
Made him mug up facts in history    
     Shot up into Oxford  
     Father grandeur afford
Marks and shillings through frilly lingérie 


At New College what spoke most was money
Free drinks all around and clothes so horney
     So things ran with his ilk
     Reeking of mothers’ milk
Ere going down he rode high and pretty
      
Once down he was not down and out either
With free hand in till of his step-mother
     In book trade old mongrel 
    The art of the scoundrel
He made much of his blithering litter

Dreamed day and night of the House of Lords
To rub knees with the Chancellor of Boards
      Stuffed Labour coffers cash
      Stood for Commons: whiplash
Injury by hoi polloi on records

© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014 
      
      
	



Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2014