This was the third and final poem written in the Balticon poetry workshop, 5/26/13. We were given a list of about fifty odd memorial days, and told to pick one. Then we had ten minutes to write a poem about it. I picked “Hobo Day”. This is exactly what I wrote in those ten minutes, as I wondered what real hobos would think of the recognition.
The fire popped and crackled,
in the chilly city air
A can of beans, hung from wire
steaming gently there...
Six men sat around the flames
Warming hands and feet
Soon it would be time to talk
And then, the time to eat...
“Backyard Bill, I do declare,
What is the news today?”
“They’ve done the craziest thing,” he said,
“They gave us our own day.”...
“Our what?” they cried, “A hobo’s day!”
“Why, that’s completely nuts!”
“Oh yeah,” said Bill, “and that’s not all.
They’re doing naught for us.”...
“So, we’re a thing of hist’ry, now,”
Ned, the Walker mused
“I guess that makes it all okay,
but somehow, I feel used.”...
“I hear ya, Ned,” the man replied,
“what came of Stinky Pete?
He dead, long time, and buried now,
Along with both his feet,...
“And Nick has gone, and Sally, too,
And Joe and Jim, and Mike
And I’ll die too, and go away
And never know respite...
“I’d rather see some charity,
Than hypocritic day
Give us some work, and things to do
Than your self righteous play.”I would have added some more verses about the hobos’ reactions and what came of it, but I ran out of time. Then I realized that it ended in just the right place.
If you have never tried speed-writing poetry on a subject not dear to your heart, I highly recommend it. Being forced to produce showed me what professional writers have always known: You can do it if you have to. When you know that, you can choose to produce at will. Knowing you can do that empowers your creative abilities like nothing else.
I don’t feel that any of these three are among my best poems, but I was amazed to see value come out of all three of them. I’m sure I could strengthen all three with some work, but I think they stand better as ten minute examples of what can be done.
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Poetry (poems)
PoesiaPoetry is passion, by form constrained To find in words what minds disdain, To seek the hearts raw depths restrained, And pierce, to flow again