The Beggar — Edvard Munch (1863–1944) — public domain
roaming the streets of Paris
like some latter-day
Hemingway
homeless
and down on his luck
his writing thriving
on an empty stomach
and an empty purse
selling
his poems by the sheet
selling
words of salvation
at the doors of Our Lady
and on the heaven-bound steps
that lead to a Sacred Heart
selling
hell and damnation in the metropolitan’s belly of filthy underground stations and urine-soaked halls seeking charity for his verse from both the devil and god though he never told me who truly won
… One of the reasons I still write today, was a chance encounter on the steps of Montmartre, some thirty-five years ago, with the young man described above, selling his poetry by the sheet. Though I’m neither god nor devil, and certainly not a saint, I did buy some of his poems despite being rather strapped for cash myself, because his plight was real, all too real, but so was his joy and zest for life. Some of you may have already read Rupert's story in one of my previous post. If not, you can find it here on my blog by clicking "all posts" and scrolling down.
Enjoy, all you poets, young and old!