John Anderson Poems
- The Hobo Was Offended On a twisting road behind me Full of ...
- Hiding We give ourselves a place to hide With simple words ...
- Young Man's Death A grey haired man in his 70s; hiding the ...
- I Dropped My Cell Phone Too Ma... I dropped my cell ...
- If If I had it to do all over again To rebreath my life ...
- A Compliment To A Soul's Fruit... The true value of a gift is...
- Realization At A Bar I parked my old car fittingly next to a ...
A Purpose and a Place
How did I come to be a poet? How did I come to find the very light which shines in my soul, and teach it to speak? All people, we first need to understand, have poetry. Whether it shows in a political sermon to friends, negotiating with your woman, or helping an elderly neighbor with his groceries, those tiny lights find their way out one way or another, and I started writing them down.
I'm the middle child in a close-knit family of nine. We were raised in Detroit, in a loving, Catholic, Mom and Dad household that wasn't all that long ago in years, but many times seems like a different century. We were so close in age that when my oldest sister ... more »
Click here to add this poet to your My Favorite Poets.
Comments about John Anderson
The Hobo Was Offended
On a twisting road behind me
Full of stones and pits
I spot a lonesome hobo
Who looks pensive as he sits
He sits on a clean-shaved stump
And opens up his shoe
And empties it of dirt
While his toe is peeking through
I walk the path back toward him
Under a canopy of trees
That I've enjoyed so many days
When I didn't have miles to seize
His hands were folded in front
A dark wool cap pulled his head
It looked like he needed a bath
And to sleep in a real bed
I towered over this bum
Ready for his pleas
And felt a little like the ...