The old man scratches his beard. His beard
is wisps of silver thread, woven into a smattering of grease.
The wind rebels in invisible screams across
the gloomy skies. Rain falls upon the sidewalk, pooling into a gentle river.
The old man sits in the river. He wears a
shiny yellow raincoat, which repels the beaded rain droplets. His legs are
covered in rain pants; yellow, to match the jacket. On his feet he wears shiny
boots made of gummy rubber. If only...
The old man sits in the river. He wears a
torn old t-shirt. The writing is so faded the words are lost in age. His legs
are exposed in his jeans, the denim is shredded. His feet are soaked; they are
only shielded but old rotting meshed runners. The man shivers, as water penetrates
him like cold icy needles.
People cruise the mirrored streets in cars
and crusty old trucks. None, ever look in his direction. Except to taunt and
tease.
He’s alone, sitting in the rain. He licks
away the raindrops but they have a salty taste.
I have a soft spot for the homeless. I saw one and it just broke my heart so I had to write about it. I cannot image, living on the streets and nothing to show for. Please review.
My Review
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Wow. That was deep. Short but very emotional. Your use of description and the fluency in your writing is astonishing. There were only a few minor grammatical errors, but nothing serious. I loved the ending: "He's alone, sitting in the rain. He licks away the raindrops but they have a salty taste. He's eating his own tears. I have nothing, is his final thought. He dies on the street."
The world can be a cruel, brutal place at times. People forget about the poor and needy; they are happy to get on with their own lives, not caring about the people who are unfortunate or inferior to them. There are just so many people who are homeless and sick, that nobody cares anymore. But it is a very difficult problem to fix. It shows a really good perspective on how people perceive one another and the dark isolated cruelty that streets provide for their inhabitants. Very touching and intense
Wow. That was deep. Short but very emotional. Your use of description and the fluency in your writing is astonishing. There were only a few minor grammatical errors, but nothing serious. I loved the ending: "He's alone, sitting in the rain. He licks away the raindrops but they have a salty taste. He's eating his own tears. I have nothing, is his final thought. He dies on the street."
The world can be a cruel, brutal place at times. People forget about the poor and needy; they are happy to get on with their own lives, not caring about the people who are unfortunate or inferior to them. There are just so many people who are homeless and sick, that nobody cares anymore. But it is a very difficult problem to fix. It shows a really good perspective on how people perceive one another and the dark isolated cruelty that streets provide for their inhabitants. Very touching and intense
the imagery is as wonderful as always, and the subject is a very deep one. but i dont care for the ending. the statement "he dies on the street" in my opinion doesnt do the rest of the story justice.
i agree with you on this issue, all too often we look past the problems of the world when they're right there in front of us!
this story is brilliant. i really liked the way you set out what he should be wearing and then described the reality of his sitaution, well done! :)
The forgotten war of the world. Hunger and homeless. I served in the Clinton army for all 8 years. I was sent on food and water mission throughout the world. President Clinton knew kindness and help could open many doors. I feel the same about the homeless as you. Here in the USA. So many homeless and hungry people. I pray for better days. Easy fix is cheap housing and create real jobs. Your story is a norm in every city in this world. That is the sad part. A excellent poem.
Coyote
Loads of homeless looking people in the UK pretend to be homeless. They get hundreds of pounds a week, no joke. Some earn average wages, by scamming people, so police stop people from begging. Some foreigners are trafficked, and forced to beg for a gang leader. Most of these people are fakes, and most people selling a magazine for homeless people to sell called The Big Issue are fakes, and they've got more foreign too.
People walk by the homeless daily, they won't even look at them, they pretend they don't exist. If you do not have an address in this country you are nothing. It is difficult to get out of that situation and truly no one really cares. Many of the homeless came when they closed down mental institutions at least in the city where I am from, now they roam the streets off their medicines, and they are truly the lost souls of our streets. It is sad because it doesn't have to be this way and when I say that people call me a bleeding heart. I call them hearts of stone.
This is a good one, Chelsea. You've captured the desolation and desperation well and your descriptions are strong, as usual. The Ha! kinda broke up the feel of your write though. i couldn't figure out why it was there or the point you wanted to make with it.
The description is fantastic. I love, "The wind rebels in invisible screams across the gloomy skies." That's awesome.
Moving on, as I talk about description too much, it's really fantastic how much emotion you fit into such a short piece. It makes me sad, too, to think about those on the streets. We take our life for granted.
Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.
- Carl Sandburg
Hello! Thank you for checkin’ out my page on the café!
My name is Chelsea or Chels. I’m fifteen years old, your .. more..
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