Central Manhattan late afternoon, two weeks out from Christmas, was no place for a frail old lady, one whose entire possessions barely half-filled the rusted shopping trolley she trundled before her on the sidewalk. Not immediately obvious to the occasional on-looker, but her wheeled companion served its purpose as much for support these days, as for its meager storage capacity. Cataracts had eroded Lucy’s vision to the p...

I walked up from the Ventura River bottom where I spent the night. Nighttime in a homeless camp is very different, a strange mixture of camaraderie and distrust. Not unpleasant, but not great either. I was only interested in sleep without spending money. Short on funds, I decided that sleeping in the dry river bottom was better than an alleyway waiting to be rousted by the police. The homeless had a great quality of not a...

When I came across this picture, I felt I had to write a story around it. Empathy What do you see when you're looking at meif we happen to pass on the street?Will you show some concern, our your head simply turnin a moment of social retreat? Will you greet with a smile or just put me on trialand then judge me by how I appear -convinced I've been served with the life I deserve,in a setting so bleak and austere? Will the fa...

I stand in the dark, cold, still night, watching, waiting, listening hidden from view. A soft breeze blows, carrying the voices and laughter of people walking by my hidden refuge. Little do they know I am here every night protected and warm. The vent of steam from the laundry floods my area. I create a fresh hovel every night. The cardboard and packing material make a protective place that is comfortable, warm and quiet....

That person on the street is someone's relative.[Dedicated to both the caring and the homeless.]In his place on a quiet block – There lived a very simple man. His walk like steps to music, He always had a Master plan.*He thought of others constantly, And how each lived their life. His kindness never overlooked, As he helped a hundred souls in strife.*So many tired and all alone – On corners and in alleys. He never asked t...

Every night, I lay in my cardboard box and listen to the train whistle in the distance. It was a train that I used to ride all the time, but now I am all by myself in a little square area that I call my own. I guess I should not say alone. There are several more around me. Just like me. Homeless. These are my friends now. Francine, she's to my left. Hector, that old hole-ridden wool hat on his head, is on my right. Past t...

(1/24/13) there are more homeless dogs than there are homeless people on the streets. but a bond is created when the two of them meet they look out for each other and feel each others pains and with this unique bond there is so much to gain. a bond of friendship , a bond of trust between man and man s best friend- it becomes something that never ends. many live in hallways, alleyways , cardboard boxes too because in a she...

"Smile, make a pot of chamomile tea, pretend there's an orange hanging above your head, point at it and laugh". That was what an old man who lived under a bridge near my school once told me. He was wise and had white hair covering his face, it hanged like necklaces from his neck. It was a work of art. There was more artistic integrity on that old man's face than most modern art bullshit that exists nowadays, don't even ge...

To be homeless is to be afraid.To be homeless is to be hungry.To be homeless is to be mocked.To be homeless is to feel insecure.To be homeless is to be dirty.To be homeless is to not care what's in style.To be homeless is to not smile.To be homeless is to find a dime on the street and feel elated.To be homeless is to not belong.To be homeless is to wonder how it happened.To be homeless is to realize no one cares.To be hom...

  With a face begrimed, an old man climbed from a tattered cardboard box to a sight he knew - was an alley’s view, beneath the loading docks. The morning light would end the fight he always had to face, though just a dream, it always seemed so real it left a taste. But soon that taste would be replaced with a little shot of rye, some needed aid he took in trade at a little bar close by. On his flask was an image cast of o...