The Poet
©Mark Maysey (1991)
Down on the corner of Highland and Odin
Not far from the Hollywood Bowl
I Met a man with a sign that poetically rhymed
And he wasn’t but forty years old
He said you may not know it, but I am a poet
And for a token I’ll write you a rhyme
He said my pockets are bare
So please show you care
And soon he wrote me these lines
Down on Odin street
Everyone’s lonely I meet
Though we’re birds of poor feathers
We all flock together, down on Odin street
There’s outcast preachers and out of work teachers
And building with old weathered doors
Someone’s Grandmother
Some guy that calls me brother
And Veterans of foreign wars
He said he once had a good life
Had himself a good wife
Limos and first class he’d fly
Now it’s cardboard condos
Old cars with bondo
And strangers that quickly walk by
Well I thanked him for his rhymes
With nickels and dimes
He was grateful and he bowed his head
And with nothing more to say
He slowly turned away
And he walked to another and said…
Mr. You may not know it
But I am a poet
And for a token I’ll write you a rhyme
He said my pockets are bare
So please show you care
And soon he wrote him these lines
Down on Odin street
Everyone’s lonely I meet
Though we’re birds of poor feathers
We all flock together, down on Odin street
There’s outcast preachers and out of work teachers
And building with old weathered doors
Someone’s Grandmother
Some guy that calls me brother
And Veterans of foreign wars.