Best Panhandling Poems
The homeless are forced to beg on the streets:
their shame cuts deeper than the eye can see.
So, before you label them deadbeats:
ask yourself, what if that beggar was me?
But for the grace of God, that could be you,
relying on compassion and pity.
Stop and consider what they're going through,
panhandling in the dregs of the city.
You cannot picture yourself in their shoes:
you've never stepped outside your comfort zone.
And muttering, you'll just spend it on booze:
you fling barbed words that degrade with their tone.
Charity is a noble endeavor
that depends upon the kindness you give.
And good or bad, Karma flows forever;
fueled by how you have chosen to live.
Imagine how wonderful it would feel
if a stranger decided to help you.
Would you not want Angels to be real,
though Angels amongst us are rare and few?
Categories:
panhandling, 8th grade, angst, anxiety,
Form:
Quatrain
When someone less fortunate begs from you,
there is more to them than the eye can see.
And maybe you should listen, think it through;
before instantly dismissing their plea.
Think how you'd feel if the beggar were you,
dig deep down, and search your heart for pity.
And consider the fear they're exposed to,
panhandling, on the streets of the city.
By recognizing the process of fear,
you become aware of the weight of it.
And lessen it with a smile or a tear
if they're true expressions, not counterfeit.
Charity is a selfless endeavor,
for you get much more than you ever give.
And you don't have to be rich or clever,
it's a matter of how you choose to live.
Try to imagine walking in their shoes;
and take yourself out of your comfort zone.
Your answer can spark a smile or a fuse,
for it's more than just your words; it's your tone.
Now, imagine how grateful you would feel
if a stranger took the time to help you.
You would thank God; His Angels are real,
yet Angels amongst us are rare and few.
Categories:
panhandling, 12th grade, anxiety, feelings,
Form:
Quatrain
my city is very conservative,
a government city,
with clean streets and parks,
high rise buildings mingle with old,
and there was a time, not long ago . . .
when you would never see beggars,
pleading on corners and,
from doorways,
old people, children, young people
in desperation . . .
this is a city of tourists and sites to see.
pleading for help, money for food,
(maybe booze or drugs),
maybe not,
their eyes beseeching,
and full of pain . . .
more and more each day it seems.
there was a time when the citizens,
of this fair city,
would have been horrified,
but nowadays most just walk by,
without a thought . . .
(mumbling something like freeloader.)
really, like would anyone choose,
to sit in the rain and snow,
in the freezing cold,
imploring a passerby for help,
anything, even a kind word perhaps.
the poverty and panhandling,
is terrible now in my city center,
people don't know what to do when they,
see the penniless and needy . . .
in a rich country this is a disgrace,
the destitute are ignored,
walk on by, dodge the outstretched hand,
evade those eyes,
sad but true in this society
where many are one pay cheque away,
from poverty themselves . . .
in this upside down world.
__________________________
February 27, 2017
Dramatic Monologue/Upside Down World Of Poverty
Copyright Protected, ID 880638
Inspired by the contest, Upside Down World
sponsor, John Hamilton
Third Place
Categories:
panhandling, poverty,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Lula Pickering
1887 – 1906
Have you seen my bluebirds today?
Have you fed them a few crumbs of stale rye bread?
I must have taken a hundred walks as a young girl
In search of my freewheeling friends.
And with only my slender shadow at my side,
I recited a million silent invocations to my Lord.
I greeted the noon tide on those many happy occasions
As if in flight myself.
And my only friends,
Regaled in flying blazing blue,
Flew with me to fantastic heights
And I kissed the rising sun a hundred times
But received not even a smiling sigh in return.
And it was in Black Canyon
That I discovered the one true answer to my only question in life.
I discovered that love is a clinging cloud
That arrives and sometimes lingers.
Or it is a cloud that moves on quickly
Like a late train to Los Angeles in 1904
Leaving only a faint wisp of windy dust in its wake.
Roscoe Settle was that cloud;
A cloud at once full of light and rare beauty.
A cloud that stood still and refused to wink or budge.
But I gave Roscoe Settle my pursed lips
And like a silly infatuated fool
I gave him the hidden treasure within my bosom.
God knows that I pleaded and begged like a panhandling maniac
For my handsome boy to stay.
To stay forever with me in this town of sensational sunsets
And of soaring spiraling bluebirds
In search of a lonely jilted girl
Who now walks as an ethereal restless ghost
Amongst the crosses and stone lilacs of this dead land.
Only my parents knew of my untimely demise.
Only the sheriff and Mr. White knew that I took my own life.
And that I ended my life over Roscoe Settle.
I found the old rope in my father’s barn
And the last thing I remember
Was the quick snap of the rope
And of my soft svelte neck
As I threw myself,
Noosed and sad
From my father’s hay loft
On a moonless August evening.
Categories:
panhandling, suicide, me,
Form:
Epitaph
Broken people aren't easily repaired,
born to poverty; their futures look bleak.
As society's throwaways, they're scared,
and the tales they tell will make your eyes leak.
Panhandling coins from strangers on the street,
and forced to beg for a living each day.
On pause, they wait for death to hit delete,
for they have no reason to want to stay.
As fractured egos start falling apart,
shame subsidizes the cost of each meal.
Laughter and ridicule can break a heart,
and yet, no one cares how the homeless feel.
They're treated as the dregs of the city,
surviving in a world without pity.
Categories:
panhandling, 10th grade, angst, feelings,
Form:
Sonnet
Written February 26, 2013
Its all this new slang
Got them banging their heads
Against their bicycle beds
And the foolhardy pledge
To ride tricycles instead
We are the kings and queens
Of the wonderful yard
Of the street corner dancers
And panhandling bards
A generation will rise
So duck and cover your eyes
We're building up through the night
No need to put up a fight
Godspeed to those approaching death
They won't get to see
What we've got coming next
You'll faint from holding your breath
This cold case is closed
No need to stay in repose
To dwell on precious regrets
That are laced with vellocet
Categories:
panhandling, death, metaphor, power, society,
Form:
Lyric
Another year of
Homelessness,
Joblessness,
And abject poverty.
Year after year
He wanders about the slums
Shoeless,
Trudging through mud
With bruised feet
Life's uncomfortable;
A bed of roses
Full of thorns
Pricking his weather-beaten skin
When he lies down to sleep at dusk.
Each daybreak, a blessing
To be alive,
Each day, a struggle
To exist, to survive
Out on the mean streets
Panhandling,
Dumpster-diving,
Shelter-hopping
Perennially down-on-his-luck;
Why is life so unkind
To this poor soul?
''Y'' Contest, New Poems - Poetry Contest
Theme chosen: Year
Sponsored by Constance La France
Date written: 12/02/2021
Categories:
panhandling, endurance, imagery, life, metaphor,
Form:
Verse
PANHANDLING IN ALMATY
Used to think I was street smart till a couple of years ago
Touring in Almaty*, strolling the street, looking western, you know.
Young guy comes up to me and shows me a large bill and asks for small change.
Foreign language….who knew? I got out all my coins and offered to exchange:
He took them all politely. He walked slowly to another tourist and then
Politely did exactly the same thing again.
I’d never seen this con, asking for small change - misleadingly simple ruse -
But not in exchange for his large bill : gambling that tourists he would confuse.
I reckoned his income was greater than mine, maybe 50 000 bucks a year.
Panhandling in Almaty makes a profit big and clear.
………………………………………………………………………………………………
*Almaty is the largest city in Kazakhstan. The city was formerly
called Alma Ata, and it used to be the Kazakh capital.
Categories:
panhandling, adventurecity, me, , western,
Form:
Couplet
I can hope that bullets won’t fly
I can pray for a better tomorrow
I can laugh at myself when I’m foolish
I can struggle against my imperfections
But I won’t without you in my world.
I might dream of bathing in sunshine
I might struggle against an undertow
I might say yes to the panhandling homeless
Give food to the needy; time to the ill
But I won’t without you in my world.
Mercy decided that we’d be together
Grace unfolded a plan for our lives
Now jackals of anger surround us.
Mercy decided that we’d be together
Grace unfolded a plan for our lives
Now the wolves of worry surround us
Categories:
panhandling, anger, animal, anxiety, loss,
Form:
Free verse
Why do I take from the poor, for the rich?
Why do I steal from those who I love?
Don't act like I don't remember, Mom,
When I disrespected my gifts from you.
I told you that Saint Nick got them.
If only I had known the truth.
You're hard as a rock, Pops, I see that.
But don't you think for a second that I forgot
About that time I disrespected you for
Lying about being my biological father.
Don't you also think that I forgot
About how I was treated as your own.
To Miss Kelly in preschool,
Screw you for giving every kid
Popsicles except for me. That made me feel smaller.
And I'm sorry for not sleeping during nap time.
To the Dominican man I farmed with last summer,
Don't think I didn't see you panhandling,
Because I did. I'm so sorry I didn't donate.
I promise that if I see you again, I will.
To all of my little siblings, sorry I don't see you
As much as you want me to.
I should not have taken your big brother away.
Or maybe I haven't taken anything from anyone.
Maybe--just maybe--I really am trying.
I really am trying to work with what I have.
Maybe I'm so afraid of not giving, rather than taking.
Maybe I'm selfless. Maybe I should be more self-ful.
Or am I wrong? Am I not dead wrong?
Categories:
panhandling, absence, depression, divorce, family,
Form:
Free verse
Isolation accompanies him along with his gin
An urban nomadic as he finds shelter in sin
Tarnished from his second hand clothes to his unjustly judged soul
Yet satisfactions rest within his panhandling bowl
Stained teeth glimmer when hearts drop dollars and dimes into his trey
I spare him 5 dollars because I know that’s one method of taking the pain away
May he indulge ever so deep in his liquor and herb
May that curbside prophet find God’s reason on his curb
Her erotic mini skirt synchronizes with red stilettos heels
Young teenage males pass by with curious thoughts wishing for feels
She struts the streets looking for clients with a swagger of glory
Yet she has eyes of the wolf and they whisper tales of a different story
The story of a defeated charismatic with compressed ambition
Her eyes rumor that she submitted to life’s arduous expedition
Her glory defined swagger is all to mistaken
she a wolf that knows her purpose is to be awaken
Her mini skirt is meant to capture eyes
Her sexy stride has ambitions of taking the world by surprise
For this would be actresses only fears rest within her age
She an actor, hooker, and wolf trapped on life’s horror stage
May you find answer in your wine
May you become a star in time
No matter what you do just remember your lnot onely
Nor should you think their isn’t a pack and you’re the only
You should know I love you both and all things come soon
Just know that you’re not the only wolves that tearfully look to the moon
Categories:
panhandling, , i love you,
Form:
Rhyme
moving one thumb over another - it is important
like
butoh
one
knee
up
two
elbows
down
turn
slowly
out
of
car
four
friends
fire-brigade
to
curb
sidewalk
met
sharply
on
my
way
to
urine
screaming
wheel
chair
waiting
which
room
panhandling
veteren
scavenger
for
cigarrettes
says
welcome
home
Categories:
panhandling, allegory
Form:
Free verse
My lids, pierced by splinters of light;
I rub my eyes as I awake.
And though my bedroll kept me warm,
I am hungry, and my bones ache.
Belongings few; I fear their loss,
for they're all that keep me alive.
Yet, they don't get lighter with age;
I may not thrive, but I survive.
A pair of doves serenade the sun,
dispelling the shadows of night.
And I start my day panhandling;
while trying to keep out of sight.
Suddenly, I hear a loud laugh;
with a jeering edge to its pitch.
And some teenagers come running;
being homeless makes me their bi*ch.
As a barrage of fists let loose,
pain radiates with each impact.
My nose is broken and bleeding,
but most of me is still intact.
Wrong place to be; when hate erupts,
for the anger of youth runs deep.
And although time will help me heal,
I have no more tears left to weep.
Categories:
panhandling, abuse, angst, emotions, hurt,
Form:
Quatrain
As days passed and men fell to the hand of death while homeless
I grew into a depression that left me viewing the system as hopeless
I grew so ill that my life fell apart one missed day at a time
I just couldn't watch these human beings get punished without committing a crime
I couldnt continue to bury these people who suffered without being given a chance
See those whom do not encounter shelters, resort to stereotypes at first glance
Civilians have no idea what homeless really means
Imagine panhandling in your neighborhood for a can of beans
Imagine walking 12 miles from a shelter that was already filled to the max
Then arrive at the next to be told the beds were full you get handed a mat
you have to sleep on the floor of a shelter full of hidden disease
people tripping over you while you sleep curled up holding your knees
these are the very reasons I am afraid to return to the homeless population
But inside I know I can change the views of our ignorant nation
I want to open the eyes of those who refuse to acknowledge whats true
Thousands are homeless going without meals thousands of people like you
one day is all it takes to lose all that we possess in our everyday life
you could be struck by a fire tomorrow that takes your home children and wife
End up in a shelter filled to capacity no help no purpose or direction
Standing on a corner with a sign being judged when you search for affection
See why I ask the question at hand wondering if I should return
To help those people stuck in a failing system being burned
As I continue to find my final destination I continue to grow emotionally strong
Struggle in my eyes is time to build knowledge and prepare for where I belong
Categories:
panhandling, anxiety, identity,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
For the struggle is never over for
some.
From sleeping on the streets to
panhandling
just to get a morsel to
eat,
Scrambling through trash cans
Searching for a meal to hold on to
for days even weeks
Becomes the tool of survival that so many
endure and seek.
Seeing visions from thine eyes
gives the painful picture of hollowed
cries
Reaching out thy arms...
asking the questions ..
HOW and WHY?.
Brings us all here today to remember
all of those who ..
Touched Hearts
Sacrificed
and Died.
SO GOD BLESS..
The man, women and child who's
securities have been
stolen
For God always have a better plan
That's why they were chosen.
For we may never understand
of why this is to be
For God always knows what's best,
May they never be forgotten and
may they all rest in peace...
The End....
Categories:
panhandling, life, god, god,
Form:
ABC