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Don’t hide me in a shoe box
only in shoes fit for a king
I’m just a poor man walking
in rich men’s things
like the checkered jacket I’m wearing
the plastic bag and rings
I’m just a poor man walking
in a rich man’s things
yet, there ain’t no way of knowing
how rich I am, that be true
unless you look down on me
smudge the shine right off me shoe
yeah, there ain’t no way of hiding
me pride or anything
when I pull out to dangle
a rusty gold watch, and silver tin
where I keep fine stained paper
and my tobacco rolled in
Like I say, me brother
I’m just a poor man walking
in a rich man’s things
among the high class dining
treating myself to their bin
I’m just a poor man walking
in rich men’s things
yes, I’m living the life
and nothing stopping
living every man’s dream
till I’m another poor man
in a coffin, with a chauffeur
in a black limousine
Brett 3d
Are we just sitting around counting down the clock to doomsday?
Casual watchers of the apocalypse
Like another piece of news to gossip with
“On the tube today, all the free worlds have up and gone the way
   Of every other empire too resigned to say….”
Maybe today,
Is the day we change

Beggar, sir, please, come and play
Your empty tin can tunes
                    Politician, sir, please, preach me your wants
                    And masquerade them as my needs
Hurt me, so you can wipe my dying tears away
Enslave me, so you can break the chains and whisper I’m free
Be all you have ever been. Seemingly, all that you can be.
Why can we never seem to get it right. What does it even mean to be human anymore. Is there any purpose in the world outside our own selfish desires?
Brett Jun 2
The world is words so seldom heard
Cries for help ignored, misspelled
Silent screams from those in need
Dying pleas can not be gleaned from mute TVs
Opulence by any means
Poverty penned as the new disease
Truth, the circus freak
Meager, meek, sad is weak
Rinse, Repeat
All that history speaks
Unheard echo
Beneath the flesh and bone
An unread poem
Feelings I know all too well.
Francie Lynch Apr 17
Just picked up my thirtieth pair of glasses
(perhaps you call them eye glasses).
Progressive, photo-chromatic, temples with wrap around cables.
Same round frames since I was sixteen (first saw them in How I Won the War).
I don’t mess with what works. We fit. No need to look further.
Had my eye on the prize.
They give me perfect sight. And I waited years to get perfect sight.
Always needed glasses. Finally got them when I was eleven.
Big family. Immigrants. No health coverage. So, no glasses.
Couldn’t see the forest or the trees. A genetic thing too.
Several sisters and brothers are as myopic as moles.
Mammy and Daddy never wore glasses (which is not to say they didn’t need them).
All granny glasses are wire rims with a golden finish.
All of mine were. These ones are round black wire rims. I’m being so adventurous.
I remove them (singular is a monocle) to shower and go to bed. I never ask to try on someone’s frames, and I never loan mine for a second (Period)
I also have a face that has grown so accustomed to glasses, that my eyes have surely deepened into my skull. I don’t recognize myself on my driver’s license, health card or passport (Why do they insist on that? I’m never asked to remove my glasses upon surrender of any document for visual verification).

I’ve yet to regret the wealth I’ve spent.
Their cost could pay the rent
For a third world family for years.
It would feed and clothe a village, I’m sure.
I'm not blinded by how good I've got it here.
The title comes from Jer. 5:21
"How I Won the War" starring John Lennon. He first wore wire rims in this movie, and removed the stigma of being called "Pop bottles" in the school yard.
can't sleep,
early to rise
and search the
classifieds.

one more movie
should do the trick.
or maybe finish
that next game level?

i'll shower after
i get back from
the station,
long walk since
the tire popped.

first things first,
smoke break.
meet us around back
in buddy's tinted van,
you know
where nobody goes.

8 or 9 months is
plenty of time
to shape up.
gotta get it all in
before there's no more room
for my needs.
--
the ones that teach you,
who lift you up over
their heads
in good faith,
these are their stories.
Mark Wanless Mar 21
went to see a wise
man on the mountain saw a
poor man on the street
Emma Mar 14
Beware!
Beware!
The great Beast of the World
Beware!
Beware!
They’ve come
They’ve come
They’ve come

Beware!
Beware!
The mighty, ferocious roar
Their anger have no limits
Their hunger have no bounds

Beware!
Beware!
They’re lurking everywhere
They lives in those we scorn
And within those ***** throngs

Beware!
Beware!
They’ve come to get us all!
What have we done to deserve this fate?
Such innocence yet we fall

Beware!
Beware!
Gather your gold
Gather your letters
Gather your shoes
Your bread and your butter

Such savagery
Such monsters
Flaming tongues
Knife blade garbles
Seeping into every nook and cranny

What have we done?
But give you a place to sleep?
What have we done?
But give you a way to live?
We are like you
Working in the fields
We only reap a different harvest
Of course not just coal and fuels

What have we done?
But give you recognition?
What have we done?
But put you where you belong?
Your tears are woven into our blankets
We wear your blood in stone
Don’t tell us we stand on the same rock and soil
We live a different birth

What have we done?
But give you food to put on your table?
Of grey water
And rock hard rye
That we found in a rotting corner of our pantry
Out of the goodness of our hearts

Oh why have you come
To lock us in your cages
We don’t belong where you live
Don’t come don’t run
And tear us into shreds
We only did what was right

Don’t come knocking at our front doors
With your jagged claws and yellow teeth
And those swollen eyes and lips
Don’t come and trample
All over our front lawn
And take what is rightfully ours

Heel!
Heel! I say!
What has gotten into your head?
We have worked together so well
You and I
What has become
Of dog
And his Master?
Amanda Hawk Mar 11
I live in a shoe
And before you ask me any questions
Or if this a metaphor
Or try to sell me a spot in the latest **** development
Let me assure you, I most definitely live in a shoe
It is the left shoe to be exact
Worn down and some spots extra layers of duct tape
To keep out the winter cold
And when it gets icy, I have to be careful
For if I jostle it just right, the shoe can slide a couple feet
You may ask me why, when, what and how
And this is what I will say
I used to work at a school, a crossing guard in the morning
Lunch lady in the afternoon, and chaperone seeing the children off in the afternoon
And with budget cuts, my job was the first to hit the floor
And so was my pension
My retirement was limited and with no health care
It was impossible to see a doctor for my growing aches and pain
And I was left with nothing, until I came across this shoe
Abandoned and tattered, I took to fancying it up
Scrubbing it out, making it into a home
It took me a winter or two to get the insulation right
And the city has all but forgotten this area
So for now, I am safe
Before the corporate giants clamor over the countryside
Pulling up homes like weeds so they can plant their boxed in communities
I am okay in my little spot
Not long the runaways found me
In school the children always ran to me for safety, and now
Their children have found me, these lost children
We are a little family of misfits, foraging off the land
Keeping each other safe
In a world that doesn’t even care if we are alive
Scrapping by without a lending hand
The rent raised, they’d never understand

Streets to wander with hearts heavy laden
A carefree spirit, hopes to have made it

While piles stack up with unpaid bills
They wish for freedom, to run to a hill

Without the trivialities and endless payments
To be well-off enough, not even famous

Toiling work and nights unslept
A bucket of savings slowly kept

And the climb and perseverance away from being poor
Gained them the freedom out of the door

Of sleepless nights and unfed stomachs
Their pitiful despair gave way to a plummet
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