Best Hand To Mouth Poems
My normal route diverted,
I walked north instead of south
And passed a man who looked like he
Existed hand to mouth.
He’d made a small encampment
Underneath a walking bridge,
Though of course he lacked a bathroom
Or a closet or a fridge.
But I had to give him credit
For I couldn’t help but look
As he knelt before a bookshelf
Picking out the perfect book.
There were maybe twenty volumes,
Neatly standing side by side,
Clearly adding to the ambiance
Of where he does reside.
We can make our living quarters
Cozy, if we are in luck,
But to do so when you’re homeless
Takes a little bit of pluck.
FOUR YEARS, STILL STANDING
Four years bleeding, four years bruised,
Four years fighting, four years used.
Carried the weight till my back near broke,
Choked on silence, swallowed the smoke.
Four years of bills and sleepless nights,
Four years swinging at shadows and lies.
Loved and lost, trust turned thin,
Hiding the chaos I’m drowning in.
Four years scraping, hand to mouth,
Hope ran dry, compassion went south.
Friends fell off, love went cold,
Heart grew heavy, soul grew old.
I’ve been broke in ways that cash can’t show,
Held my tongue when I should’ve said “no.”
Smiled for my kids when I felt like dirt,
Carried their laughter to mask my hurt.
Four years clawing through grit and glass,
Watching the good days fade too fast.
But I kept walking, through storm and flame —
Bent but breathing, still in the game.
If pain’s a test, I’ve passed in blood,
Built from bone and fire and mud.
They thought I’d quit, thought I’d stay down —
But my scars are medals, my battle crown.
Four years wrecked me, left me raw —
But I’m still standing, ready for more.
The fight’s not done, the war’s not through —
I’ve bled for four years… I’ll bleed for two.
Every scar is a map of the war I survived,
proof I’m still breathing where others have died.
Arm to arm, sinews clutch
One another, makes friend and crutch;
One crimson call, which guidance brought
The feeble, stern: the working lot
To stand much greater, taller, strong
Filled with hope, in lines long,
That stretch from pain, from glum, from slum
To the halls of white where nations clump
In the deadest form of gathered hoards
Of finance and shares, secluded boards
Who array the work, who shackle in loans
Whose empty plots tempt the sleeping droves
In tent and rag, in cough and drag,
From hand to mouth, to work and back.
Yet in contempt that line is struck,
Still the routine is mute, no more this work
That builds the villa, never the mason’s,
Unthanked which blooms the fields all season,
The folks split off by plastic partition
Giving wealth immense, yet maimed cognition
Had kept whom bound to desk and ground
Their eyes have met and their fists now pound
Against steel ribbed doors, but why such fear
Thee lords of land in prim kept highest tiers?
Arisen so, on the claim of wealth,
At the cost of Earth, of hearth and health;
How much more flight, behind guarded holds,
Behind sentries and dictates so cold
Even in scorch of war, where poor kills poor;
So the wealth of nations in tons can pour
Onto odd few hands, to hold all us chained
To the will of profit, for profit’s sake.
But in queues, we’ve come, tools shucked
Your batons brooked, your shots shrugged
By the calloused bossom, by tried spine,
That props all of it up, runs it all in time.
And without us many, your wealth is rust,
Without our trust it’s all a fleeting gust
Of paper slips and accords of force
And we see dawn, from these dues divorced.
And the sun to snatch, the sickle drives,
And the barricades the hammer tries,
While the quill writes, not fearing death,
A push for renewal, for a gasp of breath.
Rolled about a bit I’d say
Since Nell and I first met
Denver down to Old Fort Lauderdale
Flatland fever hit one day and
Drowning in our sweat
Mountains pulled us up a dusty trail
Cut down trees and nested in
The Hills of Carolina
Dogs and cats and serendipity
People there talked funny and
We soon ran out of money
Greener pastures called from Tennessee
Love to gather Moss someday
Like other rocks we know but
Moss comes with a price it sure ain’t free
Far off places beckon
That’s when Nell and I must go
Life’s too short for stones like us you see
Too short for rolling stones like Nelly and me
Bogging down in Tennessee
The itch began returning
Folks stopped buying what I had to sell
Call from California came and
Set our hearts to burning
Westward roll might ease this itching spell
Packed it in and mapped our course
For warm Pacific shores
Winter snows brought some anxiety
Would be rough we knew it but
We’d plow our way right through it
Dreaming of the opportunity
Novato, Rohnert Park and then to
Morgan Hill down south
Loved it here we hate to have to roll
Push to shove you forfeit love
Living hand to mouth but
Leaving leaves within our heart a hole
This time we’ll keep in touch for sure
That’s what we always say
True love’s here our hearts must still entwine
Every new U-Hauler sees
This world a little smaller with
Email, faxing, texting folks online.
Love to gather moss someday like
Other rocks we know but
Moss comes with a price it sure ain’t free.
Far-off places beckon
That’s when Nell and I must go
Life’s too short for stones like us you see
Too short for rolling stones like Nelly and me.
Just another Warrenpiece
“WELCOME
New inductees,
To the great American Society
Where dreams like sirens
Beckon,
But the distance before such dreams are reached
Increases with each step you achieve.
The land where meeting opportunities
Depends on mobility,
But beware of people in your passenger seat
Our air bags cause injuries,
And our auto companies
Will deny any direct responsibility.
Life here is a routine day in day out
Maneuvered through by most sleepily
And all lives carry a dollar amount,
Set by a millionaire’s Congress whose skill is stupidity,
While you live hand to mouth.
But here you’ll drive beautiful scenic views
Beautiful people to meet
But don’t be fooled,
Many believe God speaks through the T.V.
And protect and serve applies to minorities.
Here your youths
Will struggle to get through less than new schools
While you pray they make it home each day safely,
Then with their Master’s degree they can work fast food
Or retire from the city with a gold watch after twenty.
Here products are designed with life limits,
Repeat business is how they justify it,
Then sold for as much as business can get,
Because courts say second rate is just good business.
But don’t be dismayed
This is an amazing place
Of Hollywood screen parts
Snake oil, fake body parts,
Magical face creams, and cash until payday.
Plenty of people here will give of themselves,
Just remember to watch your health
As you try to make something of yourself,
Welcome”.
Well perhaps I should talk about foreclosure,
Let’s see, at first as it begins to happen
it feels like your life is being flattened
By a big ole dozer.
It is an especially dire , disheartening fate,
When one’s credit has been almost eight.
You’ve toiled hard and cleared the land,
remodeled the house in the course of seven years
and built a six stall barn by your own hand
with literally your blood sweat and tears.
Oh yes, the post and board fencing
In a Florida sun that’s unrelenting
And the two small rectangular decks
built by dumpster material specs!
Built a sixteen by sixteen air conditioned man cave,
Or it could be a dog house, I guess
If this week you’re not your wife’s fave…
anyway, a nice place, a hobby nest.
All this done while working for the man,
Scraping by with an upside down loan,
Gratefully doing the best you can…
Notwithstanding an occasional moan.
Had to work a few side jobs
To make ends meet.
Some for unethical slobs
But some folks were sweet.
We’ve grown a lot of veggies on our seven acre patch.
Home grown maters and string beans are hard to match.
Then after nine years the man leaves a message on your answering device..
“Found someone cheaper move your stuff out now.” …That ain’t so nice.
Well it’s been hand to mouth and now looks like we’ll lose this place,
Real upset at first but then, one just can’t keep up that pace,
At this age I’ll just roll with the punches ; of late, it’s come in bunches,
Now we’ve graduated from upset to feeling grateful,
God’s got a plan, much better plan; no sense in being hateful.
We’re looking forward to the best, in God’s hands we’ll leave the rest.
In this market, to all who have lost their home,
we’re with you, we understand, God bless you all and…
Shalom.
Borrower,
Borrowing appettite;
Increasing gradually.
Weary to live within means.
Handcap of saving culture;
Hand-to mouth disposition.
Lender connives with bailiff!
chipepo lwele
BOBBY MCGEE - THE POLICE REPORT VERSION
Unemployed and destitute in Baton Rouge
Intending to steal an illegal ride on a train
Feeling tired from too much drink
Bobby sexually allured a truck driver to stop
He took us to New Orleans in the rain
I withdrew my harmonica from my filthy scarf
And played some chords while Bobby sang
For the entire duration of the journey
We lived like hobos from coast to coast
As close croneys and illicit lovers
But she decided (wisely)
To abandon me at Salinas
And try for a more meaningful life
I would (foolishly) exchange my entire future
To return to that past hand-to-mouth existence
And especially the illicit sex with her
Freedom simply means all is lost
“Nothing” itself is valueless, therefore free
Feeling good was an easy option, and that
Seemed sufficient to us both then
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Just a fun piece, written by a devoted fan of
Kristofferson, writer of many great songs.
I have tried to paraphrase the story as closely as possible.
Bowls 'n' bags 'n'
branches 'n' trees
Orchards 'n' lives 'n'
meanings and needs
Taste the sweet meat of
Prunus avium - Bing,
Sweetheart, Rainier, Tulare
the tart, the sweet
the redness - a treat
A bowl, a bag,
by hand-to-mouth
to suck - to chew
to rave - to espouse
© Goode Guy 2013-11-18
ekphrastic for 2013-11-24 at
the Charles Taylor Art Museum of
watercolor "A Bag Full" by Gemma B. Wallace
He came from a galaxy light-years away
On a secret mission was he
Sent by his leader, to land on the earth
To report on what he could see
He landed his craft, then hid it away
And started his trek round the world
Travelling with pencil and journal
To record all events that unfurled
Before him, along his journey
So when he returned, to face his boss
He could use it as an ‘aide memoire’
And no small detail would be lost
He trekked from country to country
East to West, and North to South
From continent to continent, pole to pole
Living from hand to mouth
Taking years, to complete his journey
He eventually returned to his ship
And took off into space, to his leader
To tell him about his trip
He recounted of greed and of hunger
Of wealth and poverty
Of man making war on each other
Of corruption and tyranny
Of using the earths resources
Without giving thought, or a care
His boss listening, quietly, thought to himself
‘Why on earth did I put man there?’
But his herald, continued on with his tale
With a change in the tone of his voice
And as he spoke, the words he said
Made his leaders heart rejoice
As he told of the myriad of earthlings
On his travels, that he’d met
About how their warmth and kindness
Was something, he’d never forget
For although itinerant, they’d taken him in
To their homes, as a welcomed guest
They had given him food and water
And a bed for him to rest
That there were earthlings who went the extra
Mile to help others, which made him glad
And that taken generally, on the whole
The earth’s good, outweighed the bad
“Thank you Gabriel, for your report”
Said the Boss, with a smile on his face
“But we’ll still send a UFO down now and then,
Just to keep and eye on the place!”
Saying your a rodeo rider
Makes it sound so much fun
But living hand to mouth
I assure you isnt fun at all
Make sure your timid horse
Is well fed and warm
Your second in this pecking order
Keeping well is your aim
Driving from one venue
To another i assure you isnt good
But the visions that you see at night
Makes the journey understood
The rising and the setting sum
Is a feast for the eyes
A mental picture that you carry
When your mouth is dusty and dry
When saddling up that muscular horse
To ride into the arena
An adrenaline rush is prevalent
To ride those 8 seconds clean
The satisfaction of big money
When winners are announced
Makes all worthwhile for you
To saddle up for another event
So I tap my hat
Pack up my gear
Pick up a six pack
A few hours to sleep.
Before the next journey
So watch out
A Rodeoman is coming to town.
Did you know,
that in the age of stone,
long before
the age of workflow,
decisions were made
alone, where to roam,
no direction known?
The paradox of
that great unknown…
was not so good back then.
Without a grid,
endless wandering,
hand to mouth,
bone to bone.
From nomad to
no longer, this man
began a small herd,
to comfort himself.
The greater good
became his norm
to weather the storm.
Did he know,
where this choice would go,
the tradeoffs,
the power of workflow,
the politics,
the invisible hand?
I don’t think so.
No, no, no,
more like a fool.
He traded his soul
for a nest and tools
that grew and grew and grew,
into a network of cruel,
the new great unknown.
I for one,
have had enough.
I think it is best
to move this great herd,
to shift the burden,
to give up the ghost
and empty the nest.
Hi there new born baby, welcome to your life,
Off to work tomorrow, mother’s got no choice,
Your at the teats, sister’s slung around her back,
Ten hours in the field, gathering god knows what,
She’s pregnant again, another one’s in the pot.
Oh I forgot to mention, this is the Third world,
Don’t get too comfortable, for time quickly unfurls,
Nine more months, your turn, on mums bony spine,
Dad’s missing, buried alive in a government mine,
Troops rounded up our men, like goats and wild swine.
Yeah sure is tough! gone beyond the point of caring,
At least you have a hut, three orphan families sharing,
Just get on with life, what our indifferent elders say,
Next week compulsory overtime, with no extra pay,
Animals have it better, for in the shade they lay.
Billions on this earth, living hand to mouth,
So what’s the problem, plenty to go about,
All our excess wasted, casually dumped back out,
Its human nature, we want more than the rest,
Yes! some give to charity, never sorts out the mess.
“There go I, but for the grace of God” What!
Conscientious absolution, does not mean a jot,
Actual interpretation “Rather You Than Me,”
Better to say nothing at all, sanctimonious piety.
Population explosion, has them on the brink,
Free contraception, go a long way I think,
Education for all, definitely the missing link,
Without abject poverty, can be no mega-wealth,
Worked socks off for mine, (Hundred Billion To Myself,)
Baby’s mother toils harder, instinctively killing herself.
All together now!
#Oh what a beautiful morning,
Wake up smell the coffee beans today,
She picked them, spine’s lost all feeling,
Everything’s going my way.#
It’s a mess, goddamn mess,
Dirty filthy mess!
It’s a lie, Goddamn lie,
Dirty filthy lie!
Your not real,
This is vile,
In denial!
Don’t exist,
Stop crying,
Keep lying!
Just
Die
Baby
Boy!.
By
David kavanagh.
Oh Mister Obama
Please listen to me
Your stimulus package
Does nothing for me.
My pockets are empty
My cupboards are bare
Though many around me
Have so much to share.
My bills, they keep mounting
With no end in sight
And all I can do
Is pray hard every night.
I live week to week
I live hand to mouth
Which is really quite normal
For us here in the South.
I don't want a hand out
I don't want your pity
But my paycheck each week
Is just itty bitty.
So Mister Obama
Won't you please help me
Before I'm buried in debt
Clear up to my knees?
Josette Key 2009