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Open Poetry #43
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A Man—a Survivor
| Open Poetry #43 |
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A Man—a Survivor |
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WindWalker Senior Member
since 2001-10-12
Posts 1218 |
A strange old man, a very ancient figure, that’s who he was, who he is. A man of many titles in as many times: poor Bill, mendicant, beggar and tramp. At times, panhandler, good-for-nothing loafer, deadbeat, vagrant, hobo, gypsy and in more recent times, a welfare bum. Sometimes this strange man comes back from the sea, sometimes from the wars or prison: no one comes to the quays to meet him and to hug him. Alone carrying a damp and dirty canvas bag he limps down some dark alley to find a familiar den, a smoke-filled tavern, an inn. For a few coins, a room under a stairway a garret with drafty shutters become his home ‘til the angels come or the demons, but who can ever tell? Sometimes he just gets tired of jostling for position and wealth—leaves one night never to come back. What for? His wife re-marries, but does he care? Who’s to know? Not even he wandering the drafty city streets with his new title and essential wealth. He’s a successful miner now, mining garbage for treasures carefully arranged in a rusty shopping cart (of missing front and bent wheel from an accidental encounter with a taxi) until deposited for safekeeping. They call him “homeless” now—the politically correct term for this strange old man who never did fit, who in his youth had a strong back to break up the coal, carry gear and pack a rifle walk through flooded paddies and burn babies in their mothers’ arms inside grass huts in a land so far away. He knew well enough then why he did this: for God and country and freedom they’d told him and he believed. He came back from the killing fields to log the dark green hills until the trees were gone. He cleaned out curbs and culverts for a pittance in part time jobs to bolster free enterprise and capitalism. “It’s all good” they said with a leer and what could he do but believe? He doesn’t remember much of that and really, what does it matter now? the rich got richer and died, the dead remain dead and he’s got his place behind four loosened cement bricks under a bank where he keeps his valuables, drinks, sleeps and feeds his nightmares of bullets and blood, of flames that roast flesh, of screams of pain and terror: endless screams—the voices of the dead. Until it’s time to work the streets again, push the rusty cart with the one bent wheel until the angels return again or the demons, and who’s to know? He’ll be there again tomorrow and the day after that and the day after the Great Day there he will be in his dirty tattered rags his long stringy hair blowing wildly in the cold, cold winds that haunt the endless noisy, dirty, drafty city streets and who knows what his title will be next time I pass him trying not to notice? I think I already know this, in my heart as I look around and ponder this place: he’ll be a survivor. |
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| © Copyright 2008 Sharran WindWalker - All Rights Reserved | |||
Midnitesun
since 2001-05-18
Posts 28647Gaia |
Poignant tale, WW. I've met a few such as this character. Their stories all have a familiar ring, which you've pinpointed...survivor skills that kept them going long after the pampered would have perished. |
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Earth Angel Member Empyrean
since 2002-08-27
Posts 40215Realms of Light |
...SAVED!!!!!!!!!  I applaud and commend you on your insight, compassion and for looking beyond what may appear as the obvious to others. You see with your heart. I could feel what you were feeling. I could 'see' what you were 'seeing'. Might I also add that you are one helluvva fine writer!!!!  EA |
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Mark Bohannan Member Rara Avis
since 2000-06-21
Posts 7269In the winds of Cherokee song |
You tell it vividly and are able to capture the readers attention readily. Well done and nicely worded to showcase the inner torment but strength of character to withstand. |
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ThisDiamond Member Rara Avis
since 2002-02-22
Posts 9353Michigan, USA |
An excellent snapshot of the inner workings of many a comrade in arms. |
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Marchmadness Member Rara Avis
since 2007-09-16
Posts 9271So. El Monte, California |
I agree with Linda, WW that this is fine writing and I, too, will be saving this one. Compassion is a gift that seems to be in short supply these days. Ida |
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HopeS Member Elite
since 2000-12-22
Posts 4596Perth Western Australia |
touching and heartfelt Hope |
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Artic Wind Member Rara Avis
since 2007-09-16
Posts 8080Realm of Supernatural |
this one is soooo good! I loved it  ARCTIC WIND |
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JamesMichael Member Empyrean
since 1999-11-16
Posts 33336Kapolei, Hawaii, USA |
Fine, fine writing...James |
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LindsayP Member Elite
since 2007-07-28
Posts 3410Australia, Victoria |
That is a real heart touching, poignant story you have told here WindWalker and it makes me wonder just how many of these poor unfortunate people roam our streets today. They certainly deserve our compassion and understanding. Very well written. Lindsay |
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