I didn't get to know her, not even her name.
She asked for money, and I only had a quarter.
She was a young lady with eyes of hunger
whose face was hidden behind what
seemed to be weeks of dirt.
Never have I felt more saddened and disappointed
That I could not give aid to one in need of assistance.
I never saw her again but will always remember her.
I decided to assign her the name, Angelica.
She became the inspiration to reach out to many
Others on the street and down on their luck.
There have been many more like Angelica, and
because of her, I was prepared to help them.
The sparkle of charity is alive and well
It’s the grounds for cohesion and solidarity
Making spiritual gardeners of us all
Goodwill marries kindness
Sharing bounty with open heart
And helping hand inspired by faith
Benevolence born of compassion
And hope aimed to appease
Brethren down on their luck
A heart that’s pure gives without asking
Who is sincere who is deserving
Or who is out there to deceive
Charity is best when unbound
Spontaneous and genuine
When it leaves us humbled
Wanting to contribute
To a world of philanthropy
After all who are we to judge
AP: 2nd place 2020
Submitted on October 13, 2019 for contest 1ST CORINTHIANS 13:13 INSPIRATION sponsored by REGINA RIDDLE - RANKED 2ND
Traffic circle sloshing;
pedestrians pressing up
against tensile city regulations,
flashing horns and sweat,
university student afternoon,
wiping off iced coffee condensation.
I am a dedicated historian of
lunchtime stories and
park bench vignettes—
a spectacled lesbian runs her pinky
through her lover’s curly purple hair,
as she looks on at the cyclist, filled with regret,
stumbling to avoid the picnicking workers—
together by convenience and ambition—
who pity the down-on-their-luck in their dehydration,
trying to find a pillow on the steps of the fountain.
The rims of my glasses eliminate the peripheral,
underlining the weight of disjointed conversations:
a chuckle, a skipped step to avoid a puddle
sweeping the storefront, eroding the road,
I remain, trying to separate scenes from the bustling.
The circle never exists the same again.
What does it mean if I dream about you?
What does it means when I see your face in nothing…
When I was younger I had
an answer for everyone
and everything
A word of wisdom
or encouragement
for every situation
But the longer I live
the less I have to give
Not sure whether
I ran out of words
along the way
simply spent my share
or whether, sometimes,
there are no words
left for anyone
to say
Yes, the longer I live
the less I seem to
have to give
Oh I have love-
and empathy...
Enough feelings to
drown the world
in a Biblical-size flood
of emotion
But nothing more
no other store
of things to say
Seems every time lately I
leave my house
I see someone
homeless, down-on-their-luck
desperate, quietly pleading
voices softly whispering
as not to disturb
their last dangling
delicate shred
of self-respect
and dignity
Which is hard
because there's not
much dignity in
begging for the basic things
like food, or shelter
from the cold
And while not yet homeless
I can't help, as I'm too
down-on-my-luck, too
And I wonder
what the difference is
between me and you
and them-
we're certainly no better
just people, jars of clay
what's to guarantee
that that won't be me...
someday?
my heart fills with compassion
when I can help someone in need
I shift my mojo into overdrive
and get creative juices flowing
everyone deserves a break
especially when down on their luck
making it my mission to boost them
propelled to launch their dreams
AP: 3rd place 2020
Smugness had finally reached its fruition
as unfairly she would jump to conclusions
folks down on their luck would leave her amused
saying this is the unfortunate path that they choose
till one day she got to walk a mile in their shoes
6-13-18
3/8/15
The thunder quaking
While there were structures shaking
And pieces of lumber breaking
During this undertaking
I would leave no others waiting
Down on their luck and stuck, in the gutter while its raining
Are we cursed?
As others in the sea surf
It could really be worse
But value the extreme worth
Of such teamwork
That could lead to a green earth
It's difficult to fathom
So imagine
What could happen
If everyone had more enthusiasm
And compassion
As if it spread like a chain reaction
Would there be satisfactions
In a place with the vastest canyons
So what if I'm seen as reclusive
One can inspire a movement
That pushes for improvement
No matter what, I will prove it
Even when it's hot and humid
And time for consuming extra fluids
You better take a good look at yourself and be honest about what you did
You've seen that look before,
so many times that you lost count
It's the look of hopelessness,
the look of despair
Vacant eyes that no longer care
Who let the emptiness in,
who stole their zest for life
Who squeezed the vitality out,
who removed their heart with a cold butcher's knife
Was this travesty done swift and surgically,
or perhaps it happened incrementally
Bit by bit,
drip by drip
Everything they every cared about
got clean ripped from their hands
Maybe they lost their kids
on a drunk driving holiday
Maybe lost the spouse,
when forgiving them was too hard a thing to pray
Maybe lost the house after losing the job
Whatever the reasons, former associates and friends shun them now,
because maybe they think that they're cursed with plain bad luck
Maybe having no family to speak of,
got them thinking life sucks
Down on their luck right now
would be a kind thing to say
But in their heart they know better,
for every sin committed, there's a pound of flesh to pay
So they wander around lifelessly
with that vacant look in their eye
Just wasting the time away until the day they die
where im from
the streets are paved with gold
everyone smiles when you walk by
there is a million choices
dreams are sold cheap
your pockets get fat, so does your belly
no one worries
no one fears
if you don't like whats going on
you can disappear
land of the clusterf*ck
lineage of the ancient right
the cancer blights
the antler fights
slave owner on a buck
kick him right when
they were down on their luck
f*ck it rough then
lay pounds of wishes crushed
people of the up and up
hoarders of the suckerpunch
pumpkin or a butternut
sequel where the hungry hunch
I help only the following two types of people.
Children & The Mentally Disabled.
All other down on their luck people can all go to hell
because most likely they caused their problems of their own free will.
I will Always however help every single other animal.
The distressed and the oppressed of human acts unfathonable.
You do something that's really dumb.
Every day you call homeless people bums.
Like me and you, they're human beings.
But that's something you have trouble seeing.
What you say about the homeless really does suck.
You have no right to look down on people just because they're down on their luck.
When you see what they go through, you show no concern.
They need our help, maybe one day you'll finally learn.
Certain people won't help the homeless because it's not politically correct.
You and those people better start learning that homeless people deserve respect.
The World of the One Percent
By Elton Camp
The super rich is who these folks are
More wealthy than old Croesus by far
They reside in the most fabulous estate
Privacy protected by a guarded gate
A mansion with elevators & indoor pool
Where as kings and queens they rule
Sparkling clean and always kept that way
By staff: butler, maids, cooks and the valet
“The master is quite indisposed,” they say
To any who may attempt to visit that day
Breakfast in bed they can anytime enjoy
Where they is nothing around to annoy
Even doctors willingly pay them a house call
As do stylists, masseurs, barbers—one and all
Personal shoppers go out to buy their clothes
Unless a tailor comes—it’s sure one of those
For it is only poor folks, down on their luck
Who have go and shop at Sears & Roebuck
Since only the little people pay income tax
In carrying their fair load they are found lax
Certainly, no self indulgences do they spare
For the uncouth masses they have little care
Unless James brings around the limousine
It’s in a mere $200,000 car they are seen
A world of incredible privilege is theirs
Where they relax without having any cares
everyone has an embarrassing story to tell
everyone has been down on their luck
everyone has been disgusted with life
everyone has wanted to jump
everyone has wanted more
everyone has needed less
everyone has an amazing talent
everyone has done their best
everyone can grow if they want
everyone can destroy themselves
everyone can set fire to the earth
everyone can take their life off the shelf
everyone has something to gain
everyone has something to sell
everyone knows they don’t have to
everyone has an embarrassing story to tell.
I saw a hungry and homeless family and that wasn't fair.
I let them come to my house to share.
There was more than enough food for everyone.
We talked and sang and we had a lot of fun.
When we finished eating, they offered to work to pay.
I said no because nobody should work on Christmas day.
Seeing people down on their luck makes me very sad.
But I managed to find the father a job in the want ads.
Now they have a house and they're as happy as can be.
I'm glad that the help they needed came from me.
Do You Think We Are Not Tough Enough?
Poets and contests are not a strange mix.
Though, winning or not, emotions play tricks.
We are competitors, really quite buff.
And “fighting” with words, can truly get tough.
We might not be rough or want our knees scuffed.
It might be true, with our hearts on sleeves fluffed
We enter some contests hoping to win.
Waiting with passion competing with friends.
We might not like loss for fear of no fame.
But all the same, it's a glorious game!
How does one vie without wanting to cry?
Fearing a loss when ones bests have been tried.
Emotions and contests played as a sport.
Tensely awaiting the judge's report.
And if one has lost, are emotions chucked?
Do poets think they are down on their luck?
Nay! I say nay! Poets are not all fluff!
We can take rejection; we're tough enough.
Contenders are strong and not powder puffs!
Sock it to us judges, our words your quaff.
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
November 24, 2009
Dedicated to Poetrysoup judges who "suffer the agony" of picking winners where there are
so many wonderful poet's entries.
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