SUNRISE IN THE PARK

He sits alone on his park bench
on this frigid winter morn.
For hours he's not moved one inch.
His heavy coat is old and torn.

With gaze unflinching toward the west
where the sun set this past eve.
No breath stirs within his chest.
A pigeon lights on dirty sleeve

The eyes of blue, yesterday clear,
now dimmed by a skim of frost.
To any who once held him dear
the chance to reconcile is lost.

I guess his name is Everyman
who we've cast aside so carelessly.
A mere glitch in the machine's plan.
You know, it could be you or me.

About This Poem

Last Few Words: It being title workshop time I thought I'd point out that the title of this jars with the content by design. I wanted it to reflect how jarring it would be to come upon a scene such as depicted in poem...............stan

Style/Type: Structured: Western

Review Request Direction: What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?

Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back

Editing Stage: Editing - rough draft

About the Author

Region, Country: South Carolina, United States, USA

Favorite Poets: Frost

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Comments

Since when...

does the sun set in the east Stan?

1] by a skim of frost

2] reconcile

I really liked this one, it reminds me of when a friend and I found Sailor Bill, a homeless vet of WW II in an abandoned house one winter. He was a nice guy and didn't deserve to die alone. He did recieve a military burial via the kindness of the local V.F.W. and I'm sure that someone somewhere remembered him.

LOL

The sun sets in the east in hurried poet land lmao. Brain fart as the hanwritten original Does say west. Heck east doesn't even rhyme that well. Thank for read and spots.........stan

You scarecrow Stan.

Frozen in time,
the picture of ourselves
reflected in a tramp makes a telling tale.

"He sits alone on his park bench 
on this frigid winter morn..................................why don't I want ON? 
For hours he's not moved one inch....................for hours he's never moved an inch 
His heavy coat is old and torn."

The eyes of blue, yesterday clear, 
now dimmed by a light skim of frost.........now dimmed by skim of frost. 
To any who once held him dear...............to anyone who held him dear 
the chance to reconsile is lost..............all chance to ...

I guess his name is Everyman 
who we've cast aside so carelessly....do you need WHO? 
A mere glitch in the machine's plan.......I feel this line needs some work. 
You know, it could be you or me."

Yours Ann.

Hi Ann

I appreciate these ideas. I must have touched a nerve with this one as getting as many suggestions from 2 different people is rare for me. I'll let this gather a few more comments then do an edit............stan

I am so happy you arouse...

You speak of Everyman

But I am told, I can't comment on workshop poetry,
hence I read slyly

But your Everyman includes everyman and woman hopefully.
When I passed by a garden in Montreal,
I observed a beggar sleeping on a bench...Torn shabby dirty apparel
but the inner showed,
as if he had just purchased or picked up one
He was an Every –sort –of Man