This is a poem sent in by Kelsey. Take the time to read it and notice the mind pictures she paints. Have you ever passed someone like this in the streets?
Worn and hungry,
Tired and abused,
Cold and hurting,
Lost and confused.
Oh, but the others!
They walk on by,
Never a glance,
Never meeting her eye.
They all get caught up
In their own little lives,
Never thinking of what
It's really like.
She wonders if they
Know what it means
To live in a box
Out on the streets.
She wonders if they
Have ever known,
The lost feeling
Of being alone.
She wonders if they
know what it's like to skip a meal
If they have any idea
How it really feels.
She wonders if they
Know what its like to hold a sign
Hoping that someone
Will give tonight.
She wonders if they
Know what it's like
To sleep in frigid weather
For the entire night
She doesn't understand why
Their comfort takes first-place
And why they don't seem to notice
Her hungry pleading face.
They say she is dirty
Yet they never gave her soap,
They say she looks too hopeless
Yet they never gave her hope.
They don't stop to imagine what she's feeling
They don't stop to imagine what it's like
They just go about their day,
Never caring about her life.
She's out there on the streets,
Watching them walk by,
Wishing they would stop and help her,
She just wants to cry.
Worn and hungry,
Tired and abused,
Cold and hurting,
Lost and confused.
Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
The Ball
It's a waltz for the elegant
and refined.
The ballroom is alive tonight
with colorful hoop skirts swishing in every direction and
glasses clinking.
White-gloved hands extend gracefully for a
polite kiss.
Feet are moving everywhere, from the
practiced steps of the dancers
to the elderly gentleman tapping his
toes to the music
to the
slippers of the child hiding
under the table.
Music sets the evening's tempo
and mood: happy and exciting. The
orchestra in the corner sways as the musicians
play,
violin, viola, cello and a big double bass
blending into a symphony.
Old maids beside the punch table
gossip of engagements and scandals.
Some painted young ladies are falling
in love with dashing young men
or rolling their eyes at their friends as a
klutz steps on their toes, or
fanning themselves by the wall and wishing they would be
asked to dance.
In the far, dark corner,
the negro girl in
a maid's outfit
stands still, holding a tray of glasses.
Her feet ache,
but she is
twirling inside.
~Cherie, 17
[Critique welcome.]
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Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
and refined.
The ballroom is alive tonight
with colorful hoop skirts swishing in every direction and
glasses clinking.
White-gloved hands extend gracefully for a
polite kiss.
Feet are moving everywhere, from the
practiced steps of the dancers
to the elderly gentleman tapping his
toes to the music
to the
slippers of the child hiding
under the table.
Music sets the evening's tempo
and mood: happy and exciting. The
orchestra in the corner sways as the musicians
play,
violin, viola, cello and a big double bass
blending into a symphony.
Old maids beside the punch table
gossip of engagements and scandals.
Some painted young ladies are falling
in love with dashing young men
or rolling their eyes at their friends as a
klutz steps on their toes, or
fanning themselves by the wall and wishing they would be
asked to dance.
In the far, dark corner,
the negro girl in
a maid's outfit
stands still, holding a tray of glasses.
Her feet ache,
but she is
twirling inside.
~Cherie, 17
[Critique welcome.]
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
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