Did you not see me as you passed by my door?
I think you did, but your eyes said, “Ignore”.
My hand was extended, hoping you'd care.
'That Look' in your eyes said. “You’re simply not there!”
I know 'That Look' when you stare straight ahead,
it says “I really don’t care if tomorrow you’re dead”.
I know all your thoughts, 'That Look' says it for you.
“Find a job.” “Get a life.” “Don’t do drugs or sniff glue.”
“Don’t beg on street corners. You’ll starve if you do.”
“Authority should lock up all vagrants like you.”
If only you knew all I’ve done and have been.
If you understood all the horrors I’ve seen
when I fought as a soldier, honoured the Queen.
I’ve been a good scholar, achieved BSc,
excelled as an athlete, been fishing at sea.
I’ve raced on a horse and driven fast cars,
flown a light aircraft, studied Pluto and Mars.
Shakespear and Homer, Vivaldi and Bach
were once my companions but now are long past.
You know nothing of this, there’s no way you could.
And, I’m not even suggesting you should
try to find out why I’m homeless and here.
But to simply dismiss me with withering sneer
and pass ill judged comments, involve the Old Bill
says more about you and your attitude ‘til
you judge what you know and not what you feel.
As for me, accept it! I’m here and I’ll stay
until you or the Council send me away.
AGAIN.
Excellent. There is a great song by a country band called Emerson Drive that you would love to hear called, "Moments." It inspired the childrens novel I wrote which is about homelessness. People do judge, it's true, and so sad, because what most people don't realize is that they are one small tragedy away from being there themselves. So good to read a well-written, intelligent poem like this.
Nicely done, Mr. Rogers. This calls attention to an ongoing situation. Some are needy and worthy of our charitable efforts, however far too many of them are just lazy and take advantage of them. The latter make it difficult to be charitable to the former. I will say, however that at the very least when you give it directly to them you know that they are getting it. When you funnel it through a charity very often only a small percentage of it makes it through the bureaucracy. Nicely penned, thanks Dick
I met Jerome on a busy city street in Baltimore, Maryland, when he was forty-five years old. On that particular day, I was out and about, enjoying a much-needed day off from work.
I wanted to purchase a sukiyaki sub. I parked my car in an area of
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