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Better Days...

Hot, sweaty night with stagnant air
The smell of stale beer
crowding up against the cracked walls
and peeling paint

A black and white Marlon Brando
screaming; Stella.... Stella!
from the little T.V. sitting
next to the window

I see the black and rusty fire escape
through tatted lace yellowed with nicotine
His head lying upon forearm
mother's face behind his bleary eyelids

The smell of fried dough and hot chocolate
on a "his and her" only morning
Snow outside the frosted panes
Siblings still asleep...

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
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Comments

in this poem, was to show not only the poverty of some, but the dreams of a man who in his drunken stupor, dreams of better days in the past, when he shared a winter morning with his mother. I don't believe that most rich people, wish to keep the poor poor, but just to keep themselves rich. ~ Gee

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I echo Ian's remarks. It is a terrible shame the way things work out.

love, cat

When you fling poo, some of the stink sticks to you!

"The Book of Styx" can be ordered and purchased on line at:
http://eddystyx.mythramuse.com/

Yes, a terrible shame that some people feel so bad about themselves that they maintain a constant state of drunkeness or intoxication on drugs and alcohol that they never escape their environment, and just dream of better days. Love ya, ~ Gee

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I think you got it in one! As for the smell, sorry about that. As always, thanks for the read and comments. Love ya, ~ Gee

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We all look to better days even if these better days are distinctly individual as we all are. Might we enjoy more of them for there is enough strife and trouble to each day and their offspring.

__________________________________________________
'Break, break break on thy cold grey stones, O Sea.'

to that! I think you came up with the same feelings that Shirley did, and that was my intent. Thank you, ~ Gee

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I didn't know what it was called, but I felt it so strongly that it just flowed right out from beneath my fingers. Sorry for the lump in your throat, but that means that I did what I intended do; evoke images in your mind. Glad it was something you could relate to. ~ Gee

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To make one think! I am glad to make people think. The reality of poverty, is that many become discouraged, and turn to drugs and alcohol, which then makes them even poorer. I see it all the time. Children left to fend for themselves, wandering the streets at night in gangs. Fathers and mothers, passed out in front of the T.V. or out in the clubs, with grandma babysitting, snoring on the couch.
Thank you for the comments that mean so much to me. I hope that I have come a ways. I have all the poets here to thank for that, especially some, who have encouraged me to write what I feel, and feel what I write. There is lots of grit to be written yet! Love and higgest bugs, ~ Gee

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very visual - sad and melancholic in its way
brings memories of my own....

one thing -
'from the little T.V. setting- ('set' or 'sitting'??)
and
'on a his and her only morning' - do you think 'his and her' need quotation marks ?? or to be joined by hyphens -

love judy

'Each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
shall draw the Thing as he sees It, for the God of Things as They are.'
(Rudyard Kipling)

for catching the spelling error. I am looking at the suggestion of quotation marks or joining by hypens now.
Glad to see you here again. ~ Gee

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