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POVERTY; A GRIM ART SKETCHED BY FACTS
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JOURNAL # 41 dusty old drinking cups
in the fore ground
spindly makeshift clothes lines
harboring a few pitiful rags
like hostages from some
ancient laundromat
a mere counter reaction to
the vacant empty eyes
staring unblinkingly back
from their edges
being wind flapped
reflecting the obvious hollow stomachs
and the hopeless carnage of just who
these children could be
if allowed the luxury of enough basic
food to eat
their half cracked shell parents
standing stoically behind them
resigned to the commonness
of the kind of death
that will soon befall their physically
bankrupt offspring
or perhaps even themselves
if God is handing out blessings soon
animal skeletons litter the near
and the far horizon
a nightmarish image
reminding one of a
schizophrenic Georgia O'keefe
painting
dabbling in the macabre
the perpetual stench of death
tells the eyes where not to look
nothing whispers death like
a lethargic eight year old's
bloated and disfigured body
from countless months
of scavenging for inedible food
which consists of
grass
roots
seeds
weeds
and dirt
thinly mixed with some water
to make a mush like substance
that tastes like little else
than a pasty mud
corruption, civil war
and gangs of militias
fighting for the few pathetic
scraps of goods there are
only pile on, to make
more mock of this
needless misery
and to think, 30 to 40 cents a day
selflessly donated by people
who have so much by comparison
instead of say one purchased Starbucks
coffee each week
could bring hope back alive again
in a place where before
it only came to die............
(July 12, 2014 638pm)
Loved this write. My soul
Loved this write. My soul identifies with your words very deeply. My world view has changed after living in the Philippines for many years. There was much conflict when our western culture collided with a much different culture. It was a constant battle between our hearts and the needs of the poor. So many questions would arise. Pretty much we just gave and sacrificed when we saw a need....which was incessantly in front of our eyes. We returned to the U.S. with virtually nothing. Just hope that at least a bit of blessing, hope, love, and joy were received. They same tug comes whenever I meet a homeless person. My rule is: If I see a homeless when I'm taking my lunch, THEY get the lunch, and I have the gift of fasting and praying. The beggars and the poor were a flowing stream by our gate. There was a time, just once, and it'll never happen again, when a family came to the gate and asked for clothes. I said no. They asked for food. I said no. They asked for water. I turned them away. <pathetic...me that is> My heart was immediately convicted about what I had just done! I couldn't believe it! I was humbled deeply and learned an eternal lesson. It won't happen again....EVER! sigh......
Thank you for your poem.
and let me thank you for the layers you added to this ...
poetic tale of the world I began yesterday. I hope other voices rise not necessarily to critique this poem but rather to write poems of their own and shine more light onto the problem and perhaps inspire other far more blessed individuals to do what they can to help after all we are our brothers' keeper. If everyone did one tiny thing that would begin a chain of wonderful events. Makes me think of a bumper sticker I raed not long ago asking others to commit random acts of kindness. Don't feel bad for that time you said no to those three things. The fact that it eats at you is a galvanizer for you now. Had you given those three times you may have forgotten the incident as one of many little things but this way, it works in you, the memory of what you wish you should have done and that fuels your giving spirit now.At least that is my belief. By the way, I've really enjoyed reading your poems. If you write anything more on the poor feel free to give me a heads up. Sincerest regards, Melissa