This past weekend I saw the movie about Woody Guthrie and his struggle to help the common folk, in the day, to just survive. His mission was to write and play music. His stories helped raise awareness and bring some respect for those communal workers and their families. The only way he could really fulfill his passion was to be right along side them, feeling their pain, often considered a bum himself or what used to be called a Hobo.
I’m no Woody Guthrie but I do feel his pain today and yesterday and even last week.
Wrote this poem about it.
Better World A- Comin’
By Scott Newport
Hopping de cars like vagabonds
Where tracks we
Choose to flow
“Somewhere” The freight
Is stamped,
We need a place
To go
Hoping we find a lean
To shoulder on
Another’s dream
Tipped hats allowed
Dripping colors
Penniless, just the same
Tin cans roll
Swaying thoughts of long ago
Smoking coal- fires-
Burn ‘way the miles
Confirm
Figuring the
The distance may unleash
If in serenity
Surrendering discovering
Your destination
I keep
Where those who
Love you, will
Be waiting
Bindle stick in hand
Stamped
“Not a bum”
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