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Star BG Jun 12
i am a word hobo
inside a journey
filled with inspirational scenes.
gathers that I scoop up
and place in backpack
of mind.

My walking stick pen balances me,
as focused inside steps ground.

IF it rains emotions flow
IF it's sunny birds GRACE ears
making phases into songs.

When I arrive a-top of mountain
and plant flag
it means poem is done.

I am a word hobo
and I wouldn't have it
Viseract Sep 2017
Hell, I'd run out on the street and hug a hobo
Just because it feels so good to not be flying solo
Low-key hopeless caught in action movie slow-mo
Heart racing, escalating my chest about to blow though

Tick tick kaboom, you made me more room
Rather than remove my mind roughly you made it real smooth
Laying awake til four only thinking of you
And all the things between us that i wanna pursue

Or kick-start or keep going,
These words wantonly flowing
I'm just saying what I'm thinking blindfolded i know it's glowing
The light around the edges telling me what i see
And what i see is my Queen amidst all of her beauty
I know you'll read this eventually. Love ya **
M Norris Jun 2017
As the snowflakes start falling
I am left cold, and wanting.
Carols, like thick smoke, fill the air
Serenading people who didn't see me there.
Boney hands outstretched like a leafless tree
There are some things people don’t wish to see

Alms, alms, just for one hot meal,
Alms for Christmas, don’t make me steal.
Alms, for cocoa with peppermint and cream
Alms for kindness, for a childhood dream.

But my hands remained empty, catching only snow
The wool clad shoppers bustling past, rush rush, two days to go.
They pay me no heed for I am ragged, unsightly
They don’t want to ***** their conscience, for it shines so brightly.

The streets, eerily quiet on this cold winter morning.
Empty, not a soul in sight, not a caroler performing.
Frost laden windows reveal a world now beyond my grasp,
In tired eyes tears well as I'm visited by Christmas’ past.

A snowcapped landscape fills my thoughts
A small cabin by the woods is where I'm brought.
The sun is just starting to peek above the mountain,
Its rays springing forth like a golden fountain.

Wake up early! Before Mom and Dad,
We had to see what new toys we had.
“Look *****, look! Santa was here!
He left a print in the hearth and fed his reindeer!”
Mom made coffee as dad rubbed his eyes,
Once presents were done, we had one last surprise,
Once presents were done, we had one last dream.
hot cocoa, with peppermint and cream!

And then it was gone, like the crack of a whip,
It was gone before I got even a single sip.
Back to the seeping cold, the piercing chill
As I sit alone on Christmas under a windowsill.
I was alone,
the chill, more piercing now
Reaching my bones.
In houses all around me families sharing love and cheer.
It hurt me so much more to be so near.

Alms, alms just for one warm embrace,
Alms to banish these tears from my face.
Alms, alms to stay strong and endure
Alms, alms, the end is near.
Yes, This is a Christmas poem in June, its also very dark. Do people ever see just how rough the world can be?
Eric L Warner Aug 2016
A veritable caricature of Jeremiah Johnson, I strung out on "truth"
     years ago.
Sitting amongst August sidewalks which sweat like a ***** in heat,
     I verbally assault passersby.
With a slurred battle cry of, "I can out merlot you any day!" I fall to
     my knees, unsure of which direction is up.
I try not to think of words like vertigo, or.....vertigo.
A honking car sounds life back into me, but the windows are tinted so
    I can't tell if I have it coming or not.
I flip em' the bird, just to be sure.
Eric L Warner Aug 2016
Where God's colors renew the horizon's edge, Salvation Soldiers
     aren't to be found.
And while prairie dogs find themselves squatters on their own land,
     upper crust artists show us where the day old bread is.
This is a good place to clear your head if ever there was one.
Where dusty markets lead down dusty roads, which lead right into
      the middle of where I want to be.
Free and Alone on the side of a mountain, where the sun don't
     apologize to me, and I don't have to explain myself to anyone else.

Some go ahead and call this God's Country.
But I call this place New Mexico.
Eric L Warner Aug 2016
Bus stop dreads stop me in my tracks because I'm too white to be coming
   around here.
My clothes are too ***** and my smile too honest.
I live a life of privilege that has nothing to do with the color of my skin or
   the "insufficient funds" in my bank account.
Idle time is the devil's plaything they say,
But the devil has always sent his own to take care of me.
So we just keep on walking, not to be judged by the race based politics of those who have no recognized power over us.
Eric L Warner Aug 2016
My friend and I saw Val Kilmer make a **** deal last night, and her
    nose started to itch.
We both used to ride the rails, but on completely different lines.

Mine took me to new states.
Hers took her to a different state of mind.

I Asked her to come with me once, in so many words.
Before I could ask her, "why not?" she asked the same of me.

I told her I was scared.
She said, "Me Too".
Eric L Warner Aug 2016
I count the divider lines as they disappear under the truck.
The hood of our big rig eating them up like some,
insatiable beast.
"You and me" he says, "We're the last real cowboys."
He's right.
We're the last real vestige of the American West.
The thousand dead bugs and cracked windshield tell the stories of
      our cannon ball runs.
Littered floors and bloodshot eyes have replaced our calendars.
Local bartenders have replaced our therapists.
And the 8-track gives us hope with a steady beat.

"**** John Wayne!" he screams as he snorts a line and blows past the
     weigh station.
This has been going on for three hours now, and I'm strangely comfortable.
Eric L Warner Aug 2016
Gypsy smiles with aching minds put forty ounce bottles to pursed lips,    and we're still not drunk enough to have excuses in the morning.
Our lives have become the lyrics to a Tom Waits anthem.

Dusty Carhartts and broken knuckles beg the question: "What kind of collective living exists when nobodies home?"
My mind is racing like the CSX flyby out of Baldwin, and I'm tempted to jump in front of that ******* tonight cause I'm too scared to change the world.
She walks up and hugs me and I pray that it's more than the beer hugging me.
"Another World is Possible" is painted behind us in strokes of motivation the others just don't have.
There was no dust kicking up behind me as I walked away. There wasn't even a break in the conversation.
Written in 2006, in Gainesville, Florida.    I was a hobo from May 2005-Through November 2009. My newer stuff will be up soon, along with more from the Hobo Collection.
I march to a different drummer
My life it is my own
I'm an explorer of experience
That is how I'm known

I've seen snow in South Dakota
I've been on the Vegas strip
Had barbeque in Kansas
My life has been a trip

I'm a gypsy of the railways
I'm a legend in my time
I move on in a boxcar
Brother... spare a dime?

I've been through all the landlocked states
Five provinces as well
I've seen Niagara Falls all frozen
I've seen it flowing fast as well

I've had margaritas in Key West
And Bourbon in Kentucky
Craft beers out in Oregon
In my life I have been lucky

I travel on my stories
Feed myself with all my tales
I'm an explorer of experience
I'm a gypsy of the rails

I never stick around too long
I don't wear my welcome out
I come and see just what I want
That's what life is all about

I've railroad friends in Texas
Some up in BC too
We've shared drinks in San Diego
And had a great Alaskan brew

I'm not one to live by your rules
I find my rules suit me fine
I'm an explorer of experience
And I'm riding on the lines

You can find me down in Georgia
Or eating spuds in Idaho
I never know just where I'll be
Until my ride begins to go

I'm a gypsy of the railways
I'm a legend in my time
I move on in a boxcar
Brother...spare a dime?
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