eulogies…

eulogies

words
offered
before
burials
or
the hearts
have
stopped
beating
words
on
any
other occasions
might
have raised
the dead
like
the widow’s son
at
nain
but
these words
with
angelic tones
are
political sound bites 
that
echo
through polished
marble hallways
hallways
that are
the only
grave markers
and
eulogies
these homeless
will
ever have
such
concerned words
just
dry leaves
crushed
beneath
the feet of inhumanity
dust
without life
or
life giving
mere moments
of
fleeting guilt
insincere regrets
for
inaction
offered
before the graves
are
dug
or
the bodies
are
even cold

pittance…

pittance

along
the street
i saw
eyes
that
many
divert
theirs from
eyes
that hold
well worn dreams
and
tears of hope
that
what passes
as
normal
today
will soon become
a forgotten
nightmare
and
those looks
of
there but for the grace of god
will be
replaced
by a lover’s
embrace
and
looks
of
commitment
for
a life
together
those looks
of
love
really not
that
much to ask for
is
it

thank you for your service…

a phrase
appended
to
small discounts
and
the occasional free meal
but
everytime
i hear that phrase
i wonder
why
it’s always
the worker bees
folks
like you
and
me
expressing
their gratitude
for
something
the drones
those
fat cat politicians
and
business execs
gained from
those
insincere flag wavers
who
like
drones
in a queenless hive
are
permitted
to survive
living off
the lives
and
deaths
of others
so
it should be
no
surprise
that
they encourage
everyone else
to
repeat
what they should say
but
if the nation
was
really
all that appreciative
wouldn’t there be
fewer homeless
better medical care
or
something other than
words
for them
to have
maybe
some of that corporate honey
you know
the money
made
from
soldier’s
and
family’s sacrifices
for
the corporate
nation
something
more
than
thank you for your service

 

a modest hud proposal…

a program
on
homelessness
in america
aunt bea
said
i think
we should
let homeless folks
move into the white house
that would
probably
be a good use
of taxpayer money
but
aunt bea
i said
you do recall
the new guy’s there
she said
child
that’s a classic case
of
the lights being on
and
nobody at home

daily routine…

copyright 2012 cwmartin

she gathers up
plastic bottles
along the roadside
no place for her pride
to hide
talks to herself
conversations
presented aloud
a voice in the crowd
so proud
she ignores stares
social judgments
rendered by the blind
who refuse to find
words kind
she’s all alone
on crowded streets
carting around bags
full of life’s old rags
hope sags
she turns quickly
her alleyway
finds a place to sleep
then begins to weep
fear’s weep

a cultural icon and so much more …

a cultural icon and so much more

the brown bag prophet
looking quite
dapper
stopped me
and
said
i’ve decided
to make
a music video
encapsulating
urban sounds
as
my background
while i
read poetry
lines
of verse
that
bounce around
in
four
five time
something
different
for
shuffling feet
a city beat
full of cosmopolitan heat
a beat
of
gritty words
often heard
but
ignored
with artificial deafness
like
the virtual blindness
that causes
some folks
to
step around
the poor
when entering
park avenue style doors
to meet
some poor working whore
who pretends
not to be bored
with
pinstriped suits
worn
by those
clients
who babble
with pouts
about
first this
and
then
that
as if someone
should pass around
mercy’s hat
a high price
to pay
just to have food
for the day
i’m certain
it’s going
to be a hit
folks
love hearing
about those
headed
for
hell’s pit

cancellation of travel plans…

cancellation of travel plans

no angels
on high
proclaiming
what to star
to follow
nor
yellow brick road
leading to oz
just putrid city street
lined with vacant lots
vacant lots
planted with the cast-offs
of society
this is
the new way
found in every city
for mumbai
to chicago
ocean to ocean
waves of derelict souls
ignored
and brought
to the boiling point
when they
should’ve been kept
refrigerated
now
the rancid consequence
of ignorance
takes it toll
go ahead
call the police
they aren’t coming
these streets
are too
dangerous
for
armed men
best that
you
never arrive

greener pastures…

greener pastures2

taking a break
from
my employee-of-the-month
contestant game chamber
i headed outside
sitting in the park
i couldn’t help
but overhear
a street pastor
talking to
the brown bag prophet
about
the wages
of sin
how
as
an aging
homeless man
he
needed
to be
concerned
about
the approaching judgement
and
the finality and darkness
of death’s end
the brown bag prophet
smiled
and said
i’d rather think of it as
reaching escape velocity

people like us…

people like us

the brown bag prophet
was in the park
across
from a local
fast food vendor
one he frequented
for
their low prices
and
willingness
to comp him
a meal
from time to time
today
they were
interviewing for workers
and
the job line
was longer than
the lines for food
the prophet said
have you
ever watched
someone running
beside a moving auto
trying their damnedest
to get on board
that’s
those folks
ignored
and
condemned
by society
but
still holding onto
the american dream
you know
that piece
of the american pie
cuz’ they’ve got
pride
they’re not looking
for handouts
nor
special treatment
hell
if they wanted that
they’d
run for the senate
or
get appointed
to the supreme court