I keep well abreast of the news.
It's hard not to. Can't quite turn it off.
I'm not sure I would.
It's everywhere.
So many sources bring it to me.
I bear up.
I write about it... constantly.
It's painfully intriguing.
I rubber neck like a bobble head
At all our goings on.
And I'm selfish.
I want things to work out
Without my money.
I'll give away all my prayers.
I've been offered money for my vote.
Keep your cash.
I don't trust the YMCA. or the Credit Union.
Too many pick-pockets.
They'd sell children at half price for a gallon.
The homeless already have the prime real estate
When the money runs out.
But it's not about money.
And by then, it won't matter.
hannah Mar 15
Would you notice
The people dying from hunger if they were on your doorstep
Would you notice
The broken and abused kids if the were sleeping in your bed
Would you notice
The neglected and hopeless pets if they were in your backyard
Would you notice
The hurt and unclean young girls if they were in your living room
Would you notice the people in need of help if they were right in front you face
Aa Harvey Apr 11
Miguel The Poet


I saw a poet die tonight, I see this every day.
Another man on another film, why must it be this way?
Any man can be something, it's impossible to be nothing,
The homeless drunk sleeps in his cardboard box,
His life is now in ruins.


But he was something once and he's still something now,
But his worth to this world, floats away into the clouds;
That cannot be touched, only seen from a distance,
When you stand in a cloud, you no longer exist.


He's gone from this world but his memory lives on,
In the mind of the coroner, but not for too long.
Tomorrow he becomes, just another deceased no-one,
But this time last decade, he really was the man.


He had a family and I'm sure he had friends,
But his funeral was empty and nobody cared.
But the preacher read the service and they buried his body.
Dead men tell no tales, but once upon a time he was a somebody.


Miguel the poet was a Portorican someone;
The story of his fight will forever live on.
His poetry is written down, for future generations to study,
Miguel the homeless drunk, will forever be somebody.


Injecting drugs into his body, to open his mind,
Drinking liqour from the bottle, ignoring all time.
For time stands still, when your life's in a daze,
But the Portorican poet, no longer surfs the waves.
His crest has fallen, back into the sea,
But Miguel the drunken poet, has inspired me.


Maybe I'll inspire you, to write down what you feel,
To notice your surroundings, to open your eyes and see.
The world is unbelievable, inspiration is all around,
Miguel’s inspiration will be remembered, now I've written it down.


(C)2005 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
"I walk these cold empty streets at
night,
Without knowing how to make it 
right,

As you sleep in your warm
bed,
I can't fathom how to make it
ahead.

Will you know I wandered
past,
Pondered as you break your
fast?"
Casey Rodger Mar 30
On my walk home after night shift,
I stumbled on something horrific,
I saw him through the dark mist,
So surreal yet unrealistic.

Against time i began the race,
Went to see if he still drew breath,
But it was clear by the colour of his face,
That he lay there cold in death.

I know i shouldn't have, but some how i did,
Pulled a note from his right breast pocket,
I dont know why, but i opened it,
It was neatly titled "To be forgotten"...

Confused i started to read,
I soon realized it was a letter,
Started to feel i couldn't breathe,
As it couldn't have been written better!

If i am to be found by one,
One as unlucky as you,
If you find me and my life is done,
Please take just a second or two.

My name is not important,
As it was not important in life,
I've been called names of assortment
Even "Savage" once or twice.

I tried my best and it all fell apart,
See i did not have a home,
I lead my life by following my heart,
And i ended up alone.

If ever i could, i always did,
Give to someone in need,
A teen, a dog, an elder or kid,
In hope i might just plant a seed.

Each day I'd watch my brothers and sisters,
Run to or from their life demands,
I'd sit and rub my blisters,
On my feet and on my hands.

Nothing truely important is real or being looked after,
Where are the trees? Where is the love? The music of genuine laughter.
Nothing made me angry as i understood it all,
Reasons behind reasoning, I lay down and you stand tall.
Life was life. It is what it is. I'm not anything but at peace.
Just want someone to know its not a problem if i am to decease.
Nobody cared for me, especially not as i did for others,
I do not have any caring sisters, friends nor brothers.
Use of me what you can, then dispose of me the cheapest,
Because even though I was not loved, for my people i feel the deepest.

Poor soul who find me laying here,
May i ask you one small request?
For me please shed a single tear,
Feel a small pain in your chest.

Let your soul grieve a loss,
As mine will fly on through,
This request is free of cost,
Rather asking of what's inside you.

For me you do not need to pray,
Nor need to think of me often,
Just kindly see my soul away,
For i know i lived to be forgotten.
Tom Mar 28
quiet are the masses
as they lay peacefully in their bed
ignorant are the classes
as their people go unfed
no change as time passes
another rough sleeper dead
Brent Kincaid Mar 26
I want to know some things, but
Nobody seems to talk about them,
These things that bother me.
Like what could the matter be
With people that drive by and see
They don’t speak to them and ask.
Why they are lying on the sidewalks.
If there were some, we'd lie on the grass.

Did your family die off and leave
Or will you weave a story of theft
Or madness, or just poverty?
Something has made you bereft.
Is it that you don’t have a home
So you must sleep here outdoors,
In slowly graying pants and coats,
Someone for richer folks to ignore?

Oh, I know. I am the same as you
Nothing much to lay claim to;
No car, no house, no cell phone.
Not even a magazine to thumb through.
I’m beginning to stink a little bit
And, my clothes are getting worse
Every week I live beneath a bridge.
And I know when my life got perverse.

So, maybe you can understand
When I blurt out my deep self-pity.
Is it me that has gotten so bad
Or is it that we survive in a city?
I remember when prices got high
And I could no longer keep up
And now I find myself begging for
A bit of warm coffee in a cup.

Once I was the stranger walking
That passed by here and saw you.
I wanted to help, but I did not.
Then, I didn’t know what to do.
Today it is more or less the same,
I don’t know how to live this way;
Mooching coins from strangers,
Scavenging for food every night
And sleeping like this during day.

Oh, please forgive me, I apologize.
I understand why you are scowling.
When I had a chance to help you
I averted my eyes and kept walking.
But now it is me here on the street
And suddenly I’m asking for sympathy,
To take pity, when I never really did,
When I never really qualified for any.
SangAndTranen Mar 21
Every night he’d count his lucky stars,
But he could never get past zero.

He curled against the city streets,
Nothing to drink, nothing to eat.

He had no one.
No one to make him feel like the sky was only being held up
because they existed.
Every single day he searched
For a reason to be alive.

Painting a smile on his face
As he stared at the flowers.
“Aren’t they beautiful?”
Telling himself he loved the sky and its stars,
Pleading with himself to find enjoyment in something. Anything.
Because he was scared if he didn’t find something,
He wouldn’t be living anymore.

He was the withering flower on the sidewalk,
He sat in people’s shadows
And never felt the sunlight on his skin.

Goosebumps spiked on his bare arms,
The light in the windows looked so warm.
Soft gold…
The radiant glow of guaranteed survival.

Every night he’d count his lucky stars,
But he could never get past zero.
Eh, this poem isn't my favourite.
Chris Neilson Mar 21
The old fella drinking his life away
from a foul filthy bottle
he was a much loved doctor
he had a mental breakdown
don't judge while the jury's out

The dead eyed teenager
derailed, destitute and desperate
she was born pure and innocent
habitually abused in her short life
don't judge while the jury's out

The raging man with a missing limb
in a different country from his birth
he's a refugee from a hellish war zone
the only survivor of a murdered family
don't judge while the jury's out

For millions of people a daily trauma
never sure to see another sunrise
a back story hiding behind the cover
what you see is not a definition
who are we to play judge and jury
the homeless, hapless and helpless all inspired this piece.
sunprincess Mar 20
One of the world's wealthiest
persons on the planet
And if wealth is translated
into power
then certainly one of the
most powerful
Mark Zuckerberg
creator of a huge popular website
known as Facebook
spun a simple idea
from a class Yearbook
or so in my imagination
Yet, this priceless idea
is an elastic rubberband
stretching around the world
uniting everyone
into a Huge Happy Family
with no privacy
This once in a lifetime idea
is pouring gazillions of cha-ching
upon Zuckerberg's head
and leaves many wondering,
will he begin considering
using his cha-ching
to become the next Superhero
and save the world
doing everything in his power
to stop diseases, monsters
and slow this ever growing
homeless population
in America,
Will he?
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