Long Homeless Poems
Long Homeless Poems. Below are the most popular long Homeless by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Homeless poems by poem length and keyword.
WiseElder Circles,
planning family social,
and political,
and economic,
and environmental services,
rant on and on,
back and forth,
about feeding homeless people fast food fishy dinners
when we could, instead,
teach how to plan, then harvest and prepare,
a healthy sustainable diet
through all four wealthy nutrition integrity seasons.
These same WiseElder Circles speak more peacefully,
and effectively,
remembering best Win/Win affective practices
for teaching/learning anything
with anyone
primarily commit to trusted co-mentoring relationships,
walking our interdependent meal planning talk
while sharing our healthiest snacks immediately available,
tidbits of walking/talking integrity,
through all four childhood,
adolescent,
adulthood,
WiseElder seasons
of growing nutritionally nurturing co-opportunity.
Multiculturally interdependent WiseMentors
recall all past ego mentors
were born of cooperative bilateral ecosystems,
warm wombed transparent nature
and intimately wet nutritional nurture
of and for mutually positive passions
entrusting future interdependent healthy nature/nurture planners
outside/inside communal.
Who, indeed, might womblessly appreciate
the occasional spontaneous multigenerational fish banquet, communion
delivered to our unlocked hopeful doors?
Permeable boundaries to mutual health planning trust
cooperative mentoring experience
compassionate behavior
communal beliefs in positive
nature/nurture co-management
focused on growing WiseElder future wealth,
social
and political
and economic
and environmentally interdependent co-opportunities
past through future non-fishy resilient
ego/eco
nature/nurture
inside/outside
long-term nutritional organic social meal planning
fit for even the most prestigious multi-enculturing WiseElder Circle.
Voices In A Crowded Valley
As I walk through such a crowded world
Valleys of steel and glass where human drones work
I look around and see millions of people
They make their daily trips
To work so they can make the money they need
To lunch to nourish their bodies
To their home where they having food and family
They live with blinders to shield their narrow lives
They have their ears closed so the cannot hear the world's pain
Their voices are silent about what is going on around them
They cannot see the homeless living on stem grates
They do not hear the cries of women and children beaten nearly to death
They will not speak against a government who does not care
All it takes is one glance
To listen to one person in pain
To speak one word speaking out for those who cannot speak for themselves
The maybe one starving person can eat
One person in pain can be healed
One somebody will listen
And one life will be saved
We're so caught up
In everyday matters
That we often fail to see
All that this beautiful world offers
We're blind to many fascinating sights
In the world around us, out in nature
Even in the concrete jungle
How often do we pause and listen
To the arresting sounds of nature? To birds singing?
How often do we notice...
When homeless people smile at us?
We hardly see beyond the pain and sadness in their eyes
How many times have we missed a shooting star
While out in the dead of night?
Ever see an orchid in full bloom, burrowing...
Through a cracked concrete?
A spider web covered in dew
Glistening in the sun?
An embarrassment of riches, the beautiful things
In life, and in the world around us
STANDARD CONTEST 180,ANY FORM,ANY THEME,UPTO A MAX OF 20 LINES
Sponsored by Brian Strand (Winner: 1st Place)
Date written and posted: 07/26/2018
So sweet
The lonesomeness of the city light street
has me hearing the sound of my heart beat,
I quickly fall to sleep, I wake up and stand
looking outside from my widow balcony.
I see two homeless men standing in line
whom I randomly see in this street,
scuffling in their packets from a handouts,
for good bite to eat as they gladly retrieve their treat
which is a pleasant cite for flooded eyes to see
moreover on the opposite side of the street,
I see people set down enjoying
a late morning sunny breeze in front of a restaurant
chattering, bonding, eating and drinking as
I share with them lessoning to the smooth sound
of the music, children laughing and playing
on the playground and on hard concrete street however
not wanting to hear the havoc of the noise,
and the rush of a saturated street.
That is a part of life... which can be sound and can be so sweet.
So Sweet Poetry 10/28/10 by Keith K. Relf
A Villanelle by Jelsr
Junebug couldn't stop thinking about the hood the house
It was just so slumming and urban
Never had he known anything so robust
That morning, Junebug was shocked by loss
He had to calm himself with a cross
Andy couldn't stop thinking about the house
Later, Taten was spooked by a townhouse
He tried to focus on a herein
Never had he known anything so in-house
Junebug tried to distract him with a penthouse
Said his mind had become too interurban
Taten couldn't stop thinking about the pit-bull eating rotten souse
Hood rats playN dominos
Wild cats in the trash cans crunching Doritos
Come to find out they were both under the influence
Homeless living in a crack-house
2/10/2023
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
I spoke to a Cambodian,
Proud of his country he said
"I left the country because of poverty
half the country are wealthy
but the other half, live in poverty
we don't have benefits
but people know how to make money
sometimes they work
for just two dollars per day
yet in a country like Australia
veterans sit on the streets
the homeless out in the cold
your people he said
have all the money and yet you waste it
you waste it on drugs
you waste it on alcohol
you waste it on gambling"
I came away from the conversation
feeling guilty for my country
he's right, with poverty they struggle
but they can stand proud
if they don't do the drugs
if they don't do the alcohol
how much violence comes from drinking
I thought, how is it, that a man
can work, for just two dollars a day
our people fought for better wages,
the world has a lot to learn
My shoes are dirty, but yet I walk on;
My mouth is full, so I shallow;
My hands are cold so I rub them;
later I put them in my pocket..
My clothes are dirty, yet I still wear them;
Got no washer or dryer or extra money;
So I just spray on extra deodorant;
Guess I'm not that pleasant to be around then
So this is my reality
Homeless, improvised, yet I'm free;
Go to the shelters, all I have is my tattered bible
Jesus and God and Me
This is the homeless testimony
You might be at the kitchen
You throw me some food and I don't know what I'm eating;
But I am forever glad and grateful;
Yes, this is my reality
Still I got Jesus and God and Me
This is my homeless testimony
So when you see me panhandling
Don't roll your eyes and windows and scream at me;
I might or might not be that angel God's talkin bout;
Don't judge me
For you ain't got no heaven nor hell to put me;
My clothes are dirty, yet I still wear them;
Got no washer or dryer or extra money;
So I just spray on extra deodorant;
Guess I'm not that pleasant to be around then
So this is my reality
Homeless, improvised, yet I'm free;
Go to the shelters, all I have is my tattered bible
Jesus and God and Me
This is the homeless testimony
At the least pray for, pray for me as I will ....
Pray for you...Jesus and God and Me
This is the homeless testimony
4/3/18
Written by James Edward Lee Sr.©2018
from anthology "Spring Sonata"
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I tapped my keyboard, my eyes bleary
As I tried to write a novel that was no bore
I looked for inspiration, how to avoid clichés temptation
I’d write about rejuvenation—hope for the lonely lass Lenore—
An epic tale of a maiden born anew named Lenore—
A blockbuster for evermore.
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
“I have writer’s block, Mr. Raven, perhaps thou might be a maven.
Though you be ghastly grim and ancient wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me can a modern writer craft prose that’s not a bore?”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“My idea that just can't lose, a crippled, homeless guy who likes booze
He’ll rise to fame and glory but I worry on some phrases in this story.
This and more I plan I’d write but the DEI staff might fight
On the plot’s blood and gore that tells life’s authentic core
Where from zero to hero, he’ll wins the fair Lenore
Wins her love forevermore!
The Raven looked pained and croaked "Nevermore!"
Then, the air got denser, this bird was a woke censor
A ghastly leftist bird who drifted over my parquet floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “who appointed thee—to impoverish my vocabulary
Give me respite – let me write my way the story of Lenore;
Don’t dilute my novel to be a crashing bore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
Is it possible nowadays to write a novel at all?
Can I earn more than zero, if I include a macho hero
A macho hero to clasp a demented maiden who won't be sore--
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore?”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the underworld’s dark shore!
“Don’t use ‘dark” said the Raven, “use BIPOC instead” as he continued sitting
On the pallid bust of Obama just above my chamber door;
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out my body that lies contorted on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!
I travelled North
Where I began my nest.
I travelled South
On a ministry quest.
Not a great success,
But I did my best.
Then I travelled East
For a brief visit,
but could not abide New York City.
So I travelled West,
An abode of trials and tests.
I fell in love with The City by the Bay.
Some leave their hearts in San Francisco,
But I found my heart there with a homeless
man at our dinner table in '84 on Christmas Day.
I fell in love with The Delta Breeze in Sacramento.
It's so much better than the Mid-West freeze.
Now, I am preparing to leave this pleasant place,
this city of trees. And saying goodbye is one of the
things I most decry. So, I think not that I will say,
goodbye, for goodbyes only make me cry. I love
hellos and think that they are good for the soul.
Helos draw us together with loving smiles.
Helos do not separate us for miles and miles.
So here I am, looking back over the years,
reminiscing the dearest of friends we've made.
I must confess that the experiences and the
memories are not easy to digest, as I
become overwhelmed with tears.
121521PS
Dear God, I know you are real busy up above,
But could I have a moment to talk to you;
Things are not so good here, we could use some love,
You sent your son for us, then to heaven he flew.
You tried God, but is seems that your plan failed,
There is so much happening- things are out of control;
The list is very long and oh so sadly detailed,
So much war and bombings, the killing of souls.
Children in poor countries are eating garbage,
There are hurricanes, earthquakes, horrible storms;
Airplanes falling, trains derailing, oh there is carnage,
Hundreds are hurt, losing their legs and arms.
What can I do God, I am only a girl in a Canadian city,
But I was thinking, I can help my cities homeless;
I know I cannot change the world and that's a pity,
So, I've joined a group to help the lost and hopeless.
We bring street people coffee, food and blankets,
I like to talk to them and find out their story;
Many have pets, dogs and cats, giving love, that's it,
Well God, that's what I am doing and I seek no glory.
Oh, I forgot to tell you that I bring pet food, oh yes,
I think it is beautiful the pets giving love unconditional;
Well, as you can see God, earth is in quite a mess,
I cannot change the world but I can help one individual.
For a moment . . .
_________________________________
April 10, 2016
Poetry/Rhyme/Dear God, Can I Have a Moment
Copyright Protected, 16-776-562-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.