Panhandling Poems | Examples

Super-sized meal undersized heart

I see him on the main streets 
aggressively panhandling
ranting at things only he could see.
He once surprised me in the Mcdonalds drive through
banging on my car window with a fist filled with steam
barking incoherently
motioning to roll down the window.
I quickly jerked away from his fifty caliber eyes. 
Didn't spare him one dirty dime.

While eating my supersized meal off to the side
I silently justified that he looked to clean 
wore better sneakers than me. 
Some say angels crisscross our paths
in full disguise to measure the beat of our wings.

Panhandling the Panhandler

Met an eager charming panhandler today
His smile was unusually bright and gay
Hi he said with friendly eyes and big smile
I was on a jog, had gone about a mile

Hi yourself I sang out in a voice that rivaled his
He looked pleased, not understanding my tone or biz
Do you have some extra change? He asked me
I laughed and giggled and slapped one knee

Extra change. What does that mean? I asked
His face was not as Pollyanna-smiling-masked
Money you don’t need, dollars will do too
His expression was innocent, his eyes bright blue

A buck or five, twenty would be welcome and plenty
I laughed, amused tears at this begging bold ninny
These tears ran down my face and fell off my blouse
I could use your spare twenties, I told this blatant louse.

You are asking me for money? He said.
His eyes nearly leapt out of his head
If you don’t have a twenty, a hundred would do I replied.
The panhandler walked off, ignoring my gloat of pride.

Hebrews Three Seven Eight

A whisper of wonder entered my heart
I tried to not show repulsion, it was a start
We are all God’s children, the homeless and lepers too
I am not better than him, her, your mom or those two.

The man was panhandling, which usually irritates me
But God spoke to my heart, so I pulled one glove free
I offered him a bit of money to buy a meal or two
He was grateful and said this to me “May God bless you!”

With a joyful heart I left that place, feeling better now.
It was a small gesture, but it made a difference somehow.
I decided to listen for Jesus’ voice a bit harder the next time I see...
A person who needs a helping hand or a smile from little old me.

Without

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

Cancelled

Today there is a performance
of happiness about to happen.
Players mime, display
painted smiles over painted eyes.

I am late
an expectant crowd had already formed,
even the town beggars
had stopped panhandling for gold coins
and are waiting curiously for the
show to begin.

An announcer announces:
The script had been lost
in a crisis of doubtful origin.
Joy has been indefinitely delayed.

Someone jeered loudly
another cheered softly.

The performers knelt down
and prayed for more red wine.

Eventually milk and honey was delivered
on the backs of sweating mules,
but they were both stale.

Year of the Street Urchin

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

What We Want To See

See the tears spilling from a mother's eyes;
cradling her child in her arms as he dies.
And feel the anguish that she feels inside:
her baby was shot in his school and died.

Watch a black man drop to his knees in pain;
after the police beat him, yet again.
And feel the shame he is forced to endure,
acquiesce, or be beaten even more.

Think of a beggar, homeless on the street;
labeled a parasite and a deadbeat.
And for a brief time, step into his shoes,
accused of panhandling just to buy booze.

All hopes for a meaningful life are gone:
he's routinely ridiculed and spat on.
And love is something that’s reserved for dreams,
amidst the nightmares and the silent screams.

There is much we choose not to see or feel,
telling ourselves these things can't be real.
In our alternative reality,
our eyes only see what we want to see.

Forlorn Hope

He's a scared, shivering, sad, and lonely soul:
today's version of a disposable man.
Panhandling on the city streets takes its toll:
mocked and beaten, he eats food from a trash can.
Ostracized, he's stripped of any chance he had
of finding love, or of becoming a dad.
And yet, his heart still harbors the forlorn hope:
that maybe someday, he can do more than cope.

Easy Street

Quitting my job today, and going to live in a tent.
Hey, man, it isn't so bad, I get State Aid and pay 
no rent!
I get free medical care, free food and free meds,too.
In the USA, walk into any hospital ER and take full 
advantage, they take care of all, it's true!


Those fools that go to work each day, I do smirk 
as they walk by.
Such dummies feel sorry for me when my life is pie 
in the sky.
Not work for me~ I hustle drugs, on a bike I stole, 
I really make a fat bundle.
But I always play hopeless victim when panhandling, 
I am master of the hustle and boy, can I play humble!

Forgot to mention the money I make as a paid protestor, 
boy do I cash in!
We intend to crash businesses, ruin lives, because to us 
America is a sin.

One day, we will all be equally poor with a Marxist leader.
I just  cannot wait for that day to come.
After all, my tent needs an expensive, shiny free heater.
And no work for anyone, I say.
Just a land with freeloaders and cheaters.


August 26, 2020
8:30am

Broken People

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.

Loco Wildlife 3

look at that
doe so close
to the road
panhandling
just for a
buck

Understanding Fear

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.

Just Another Junky

Back in the nineteen nineties
I'd get righteously opinioned
When I'd hear about junkies on TV

Or see them out on State Street
Panhandling for money
Don't you have somewhere better to be

In the two thousands it hit closer
When my cousin got addicted
And pretty much destroyed her family 

First she lost her daughter
Then she went to prison
Now she's a prostitute at forty-three

All the time I'm thinking
Without a trace of irony
At least I'd never sink so low as that

It's a subtle kind of judgement 
When the truth begins to close in 
It can be about enough to hold it back 

While I was busy judging 
I nurtured my own compulsion
I lived at work and soaked in alcohol

Rather than do the facing
I upped my medication
Guess I'm just another junky after all 

June 3, 2018

Angels Amongst Us

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?

Panhandler Fasle

I once saw this man 
Who was panhandling
His apparent was gay 
Though when you look closer upon him
His clothing was better than yours
He held a sign crying out ...
out of work, homeless and hungry
Yet he wasn't dirty, had lips covered in gravy
He wore Air Jordan shoes shines 
Head is clean and shaven
And his 2018 Lexis is behind the hedge
But it's okay his panhandling money to get his auto license
Reach in his pocket and four hundred dollars fell out
Poor panhandler

03/6/18
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.©2018

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