Once in a while we see a man down on his luck.
Only to see ourselves look in the window next to him and duck.
What a shame to know that you are no better off than the man down on his luck.
No need to hide and sulk.
Life is but a figment of time.
While luck has no time.
There is no better way to see life through a child's eye's.
Man or Woman makes their own luck not time
Time knows ño age.
Just like luck knows no time.
We are only visitors of our own minds.
Whenever I see someone
Sprawled on a bench,
Exposed to the elements,
Hands in a clench,
I wonder if long ago,
Curled in his crib
Or perched in his high chair,
With drips on his bib,
A mom or a dad,
With the tenderest gaze,
Saw their hopes for their son
Mapped in various ways.
They certainly never
Imagined him stuck
On a bench in a city park,
Down on his luck.
Few passersby stop,
(And yes, that includes me)
Rarely thinking about
How such things come to be.
Hi mister look this way
I'm a guy down on his luck
Sure could use a lift
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
Just saw something very
touching a man,
a man of color looking
like he has been on the streets
for a while saluting old glory
just standing before a flagpole
as the red, white, and blue
flaps in the summer breeze
a random salute, silent in repose
on the side of the street
he was wearing a turban
he was tattered and torn, dirty
scared and broken
I felt I knew what his faith was
despite the fact
that this country's
disrespect for people like him
to fear to hate what is not white
what is not like the norm
at least I can see a man
a simple man, regardless of where he is from
or where he was born
still has respect for his country
I just saw something very moving
a man looking down on his luck
a man looking tatted and torn
like he has been on the streets
just standing for a while
saluting old glory
just a random salute
on the side of the street.
One day fickle Donald Duck
was down on his luck
he chewed on a juicy hot chili
forgot quickly about his melancholy
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Consumed by doubt, down but not out
Swig of whiskey tickles the throat
rags for a coat
Down on his luck, surviving on pluck
Bums another cigarette
breaks out in cold sweat
Begs unabashedly
points to you and me
Inside, you shudder
~ unashamed, I flee
Cape Mendocino
The westernmost tip of California
hard to reach
except by Google earth
the usual method of exploration
these days.
The Point Arena Library
where I hung my words upon
the Poet Tree
growing in the entrance
hardly noticed.
A fellow
down on his luck
the beloved companion
of a wire haired dog
with bad breath
and crooked teeth
Both sitting beneath a leaf
of William Carlos Williams.
So much depends upon
this little dog
for the man
glazed with rain.
There once was a driver named Huck
who found himself down on his luck.
When he kicked the tires,
he incurred her ire,
got left by his self-driving truck.
Drinking booze
Chasing skirts
What's there to lose
How can it hurt
Away from home
for the very first time
With room to roam
on his parents' dime
Years later, he's clueless
and down on his luck
Homeless and shoeless
but by one thought struck
He'd lost his way
ruined his life forever
Hedonism's not horseplay
It's simply not very clever
It was the depression, and he was down on his luck that day.
He was tired, but music usually took some of his sadness away.
So he took out his fiddle, put his case out and began to play.
Many who passed by, picked up their pace with a quicker sashay.
Suddenly a little girl came over and began dancing to his tune.
She threw her arms out to the sky, as if there was a morning moon.
She began to joyously laugh, and immediately began to croon.
He began to feel energetic and valuable, his mood changed very soon.
The little girl let his music take her to sing along town.
She began to sing side to side and up and down.
She danced also, twirling and whirling all around.
She and he both began to smile at the joyful sound.
A crowd gathered, and people began to toss in a coin or two.
He had a breakfast that day in 1932.
He always wanted to thank the girl with eyes of blue.
She came along to show him he was not yet through.
avalanche
of misfortunes
come fast
and furious
burying him deep.
as if he
doesn't...
have enough
problems;
he's in debt
at wit's end,
facing eviction
an impending divorce,
that's...
just the half of it!
(yalto)
"Yalto" is a form invented by yours truly
Lines 1-15: 3,4,2,4,5,3,2,3,2,3,3,5,6,1,5 syllables
Date written: 01/01/2022
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
A Far Cry
A far cry from home
A man sat drinking
Up a storm
2o drinks too sober
Down on his luck
Living by his wits
Down and out
On the street
Of fabled Bangkok
Just another loser
Flotsam white boy
Lost in inner space
Out of his mind
Dreaming dark dreams
As he continued to drink
A far cry from home
A far cry contest entry
May 3, 2021
The vac cleaner's union
had an annual meet
Electrolux and Oreck,
and a Bissell and such
And invited one old Kirby
for a rare vacuum treat:
To talk, (tho' they really
didn't like him much) ...
That rusty old Kirby
had a lesson to teach
To all the new vacuum
cleaners on the line
But he wasn't sure he
had the air to reach
The shiny-nice Dysons,
that looked so fine ...
He sputtered and choked
and spun his tires
And his worn HEPA filter
had started to sag ...
They mocked his pace
and his twisted wires
And laughed at his grip
and his wrinkled bag ...
Yet he stood up tall like
a good Kirby should
And cleaning his way
up that ramp to speak
Worried his message
might not be very good
For his worn, limp hose
had a sad, sorry leak ...
Still ...
The old vacuum cleaner
then addressed his own
Battered and beaten,
and down on his luck
“I'm headed to that rug
in the great unknown ...
So please carry on -
'cuz you really do suck!"
Route 66ish No 16
In Phoenix a guy called 'Old Buck'
Was feeling quite down on his luck,
So to fill in some time
He wrote a new rhyme
Called 'Old age? Well now don't that just suck'!
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