Its difficult to write
With paper and pad
Frozen fingers
In a blanket clad
In a shop doorway
Rain in your face
Cardboard protection
Dirty quilt laid.
A street corner poet
Devoid of a home
A voice of an angel
Words taking a stroll
Along lifes highway
Battered and worn
Mocked and cheered
By passersby call.
Deep in thought
In Winters chill
Paper falls to ground
Words to the wind
Two died that night
In the bitter cold
A street corner poet
Who will not grow old.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: November 10th, 2025 03:52
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 28
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments3
This one has a vivid image and one all too real. I have wondered how a poet can function now days without the internet to post. When first coming to this site there was a poet that I read that said they were basically that and that they were loosing access to the internet they would be posting no more. Always wondered what happened to them. Good write a fave
most kind, thanking you and much appreciated
most kind, thanking you and much appreciated
You are most welcome
Vivid imagery with a telling story! Beautifully done!
very kind. thanking you and much appreciated
A touching poem sending a message of despair.
thanking you and much appreciated comments
most welcome..have a good day
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