The Beggar’s Tale



Lines in the spaces

mark parking places,

defaced by the traces of debris.


Oil hits the air

and gas fumes all flare

in the smell of combustion everywhere.


A man with a pot

rings a bell as you walk

past the people toting things they have bought.


Late in November,

it’s pushing December,

the bell compels conscience of charity.


A beggar meanders

seeking surrenders,

the remainders of money, for free.


A constant reminder

that fortune portenders

make of supplicants a mendicant by degree.




Copyright © 2011 Marvin Loyd Welborn. All Rights Reserved.


  1. i agree with bri on the haunting rhythm… tried to decode the form…using all my fingers to count syllables…smiles…love the structure.. really perfect for the topic marvin

  2. ah yes, it’s that time of year…bells jingle outside all the grocery store near my house; all hoping for a little fortune and a run in with a few giving folks.


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