Previous Page poetry collections Anonymous Fine Crystal Music like fine crystal On gritty streets: Men dozing in doorways, Shopping carts crammed with ragged treasures. A blonde woman, Collar bones like razor blades, White arms gleaming with bracelets, Bows her violin with sweeping strokes, Gaunt body waltzing, Pale eyes luminous In the glistening morning. She finishes, and I applaud, Ask where she learned to play. "I've been playing since I was six." I've had some great teachers." Her voice breathless, A happy child's. Her name is Sonya. She asks for $20 For a new violin string. I smile, hand her $2. "God bless you." She tucks the money inside her yellow dress, Then begins a Chopin piece, Closing her eyes, Whirling about. Later I find out Sonya is dying of AIDS. In Cold Blood Sarah Swift Hawk Descendent of the proud Lakota Lords of the plains Froze to death in her daughter's house On the Rosebud Sioux Reservation Sunday morning Unable to afford both light and heat She chose light and froze to death One of her neighbors Burned all their furniture to survive Another burned some of their clothes Sarah Swift Hawk Mother, grandmother, respected elder Froze to death Sunday morning In this rich land supernatural sanctity by Judy Jones an old beggar on the street did i see pushing all he owned in his ol' grocery cart home weary swollen feet hadn't a bite to eat on the beggar's grave will read he led a life of supernatural sanctity LA streets Time to take stock of my situation: sleeping on a black-hearted alcoholic's natty, cigarette-burned couch watching him swill vodka all week, day and night, hour after hour. It's a neck and neck race whether he will lose his liver or his VA job first. His whole carpet-rotting, black mold-walled apartment is a hepatitis petri dish and I'm stealing his cigarettes, leaving the butts in a pile on the floor near his passed-out hand so he'll drunkenly think HE smoked them. My only alternative at the moment is to move onto the North Hollywood bean bag of an unemployed actor who talks about seeing and talking to Jesus and Marilyn Monroe (at an increasingly alarming rate) while staring blankly at the ceiling and snipping some rather large, ominous scissors in my direction and saying stuff like: "Jesus told me today that I should get rid of the evil people..." My main source of income--- a hooker I drive in the car that I live in to her john appointments- -- just got busted for impersonating a dead woman who came to life yesterday and called the police. The DMV villain who sold my hooker the dead identity cut a few corners and the dead woman was surprised to find out that she had just bought a new Jeep. And still I'm homeless; the result of choices I made, and people I hang out around. But before you question my judgment, my friend, remember this: I chose you, too. She left her home in her early teens, In torn shirt and faded jeans. Looking for the love she was never given, Away from her family she was finally driven. She sits by the fountain every day, Her lovely young face looking cold and grey. Her sad blue eyes slowly searching around, Looking for coins dropped on the ground. With pleading eyes she holds out a hand, In pouring rain for hours she will stand. All she wants is a lttle respite, And something warm for her teeth to bite. Uncaring people pass her by, They see her plight and wonder why, So young a person has no home, And around the streets aimlessly roam. Addicts and prostitutes, she knows them all, They tell her the dangers, if her pride should fall. Often tempted, her back to the wall, When deep inside she hears a call. Her bed is a box propped in a door, Often her body is tender and sore. But when she sees those ever so younger, She forgers the pain caused by hunger. Up to the skies she will often look, Remembering words she read in a book. The meaning now she can clearly see, "Suffer little children to come unto me". John McKay Withey A homeless man Scavenges In trash barrels And envies People who look down on him With scorn As they hurry home To their evening meals. He crouches In a rat infested corner, Content to be with creatures That don't cringe At the sight of him. Homeless Creed by Benjamin T. Fisher II Homeless that’s what they call us They say we have no home Because we live out on the streets And choose to drift and roam But, homeless is that what we truly are Who knows maybe it is But what about the heroes The women and the kids They say we chose this life of freedom To live out on our own To sleep beneath the stars at night To live our lives alone Webster says a home’s is just a domicile A place to live, a house If that’s all it really is Then I know I can live without Some say its where your heart is And we pray that this is true Cause some of us have spilt our blood And it was red and white and blue Some say that we are crazy That we sold our souls to cheap Because we’ll sell our bodies Just so our kids can eat But If you think we choose this life Then its you who’s lost your mind To suggest we woke up one morning And said I’ll leave it all behind To live the life of a prostitute, An addict, or a drunk To wear the same clothes every day That we carry in a trunk To Sell our bodies like a piece of meat Because we cannot cope To beg all day every day Just to buy the dope To watch the people laugh at us That look right into our face Who forget that we are there Unless we’re in their space Like when we beg for food Or break into their house To still a million dollars More like a sandwich or a blouse Well there now we have it The materialistic chain That wraps around your human heart Depriving oxygen to your brain Making you think that we are homeless Because your blind and cannot see That a home is where your family is And we are all your family We might be sick and tired We may be down and out But were still the long lost relatives This world tries to forget about Benjamin T. Fisher II Henry Burt Stevens 3/15/2003 Years, years of road thought I’d found it many times still walking, looking Lost most my strength but got my tent got my freedom no bosses dissing me no family pissing me Sure, They say I’ve made bad choices They didn’t want to help me then, still don’t I’m cold I ache but still I’m walking God, I could use a shower and some one to talk to . Homeless by Tony Channing Thursday, December 19, 2002 A December eve chilly and dark She sits alone in a mall Her dog asleep too weak to bark Strumming her guitar to all Shoppers laden with gifts walk past She has no money to live She’s treated as a lower caste No one wants to give A tear flows down her grubby cheek A sigh, a shudder, a whimper She holds her hand out feeble and weak Smiles at each passer by’s simper Church bells ring, a distant peal Singers sing in refrain Slowly she begins to kneel And prays in the freezing rain -------------------------------------------- How does it feel to be homeless person? No places to come home to, No place to have a good night sleep, No place to call your home, your own sweet home. How would you survive? Pushing lifelong belongings in a cart, Sleeping in cold nights bundled in a jacket in the park, Wishing everyday for a nice meal and a hot bath. A quarter and a buck donation by a few everyday, Does not bring my self esteem to a cheerful high, Once I was a happy hard working person, Now with the lack of work and money, I am hopelessly depressed. People think we all homeless people are drunk and mentally insane, Try being homeless for a night, you will probably understand, Trying to cope with this misery makes us insane, Still we have hope and someday we will come out of it with the community help. ---------------------------------------- Who Am I? Your sister or brother, your Mother or father, your daughter or your son. I am homeless. Black or white, red or brown, I walk the streets all day looking just to make it. Through the day people look at me and stand back to their friends and talk about me, about how I look and how I smell, never knowing the real person that is inside of me. As you watch your TV and play your tapes, I try to stay warm on very cold days. When you are warm in your home, I am homeless. As you sleep at night in your nice warm bed I am trying to sleep anywhere I can' rooftops and doorways, park benches and so on. ------------------------------------------------ The homeless Ten men clamber out of the creaking van, Their sweaty bodies meeting a kiss Of cool night air. They drift, silently, sullenly Toward the darkened church. Mattresses lie, two or three to a room, Along walls decorated with children’s Drawings and almost casual crucifixions. Carl, Eddie, Jake and the others Throw their worn packs and bags Onto the makeshift beds, and John, It’s always John, is first to ask If he can have his sack lunch now, Not in the morning as we had planned. “Sure,” I say, almost as anxious as he To assuage this remediable hunger. Several echo John, and soon all Are feasting on pb and j; apples, celery, And other healthy fare remains on the table, But they’re happier now, even communicative. One thanks me for setting a new pair of white socks On each mattress. Another offers a juice cup To a friend. “Lights out!” Rick calls at ten, And no one argues, no one hesitates. Sleep Knits once more the raveled sleeve of care, Obliterates the hurt, soothes the jangled nerves. Tomorrow will be another day, Another cheerless day embroidered With small triumphs, fragile dreams. Don Foran One check away twinkling stars cant keep you warm when your sleeping in the park till he break of dawn newspaper pillow and a plastic tarp watching for he pigs that come out after dark lost your job got jacked and robbed your landlord said thats not my prob doctor bills kill you cant afford the pills now youre shaking heart breaking drink as much as you spill waiting on the first to quench your thirst alleviate the discomfort of an asphalt earth trying to find a shelter to get some rest but nowhere seems safe without a knife proof vest if you could just get back to square one start to heal the disease thats got you on the run feeling invisible going insane scowls and nightsticks fall like rain James Chionsini Busy-busy, but here I am again. I've been (among 97 other things) preparing the text of a new collection, scheduled for August from WordTech's Cherry Grove imprint. This turns out to be a relatively brief gathering of 50-some poems, with lots left out for the sake of unified effect. Which leaves quite a few pieces shivering, feeling rejected by the very hand that made them. So I thought I'd put one or more out on the Blog now or then, to make amends. How come the following choice failed to be chosen? Well, it's hard out here for a poem. LEARNING TO SKY The teacher who would show us how to sky assumes we've known intricacies of pain, have tumbled through the razor-vats of woe respectfully, and slow. At first this skying master has us slay rage-monsters, cut the snake-vines of desire, lead ignorance a way toward skillful means as tamer of the hunger and the fire. Such fasting done, the higher arts begin: to practice laughter at the rage of thought and sense how borrowed is this shroud our skin, rapt tourists of the Emptiness we're in where only loss of lust releases love. Gone groundless through the bliss we're students of we leave the formal coffins of the eye, at last at one with sky, and sky, and sky! -------------------------------------- Homeless Night © By Rodney E. Penilton In the darkness, I saw four people, huddled beneath a gazebo in a park downtown; as I sat feeling depressed about my life, I watched and saw the broad shoulders of a man reaching for the gentle form of a woman, as she pulled thin covers over the small frames of two children, as they lifted theirs heads for a good night kiss. In that moment, I saw love amidst struggle, hope come from despair and Loyalty bred of trust. As the children lay in the arms of the night and the wind, Mother and Father held one another and watched as shadows passed, and dust and leaves did their dance. ' Imagine the anguish, anguish of our babies sleeping in the park beneath the stars, with no home other than those found each night.' Tears unseen and questions unanswered, the children know that this is not the way it should be as they watch other kids in new, clean clothes and cool shoes, thinking to themselves, ' The stares don't matter, because mommy said they don't and daddy promised things will get better.' 'Maybe my sister ? No. ' 'My aunt ? How would we get them there ' 'My mother ? She is too old.' 'Baby, I just don't know.' 'Something has to happen, has to change, they deserve better than this. Baby , I know, we'll figure something out tomorrow.' ------------------------------------------------------- Tell Me There are many people who spend their nights on the subway trains. Often one encounters them on the morning commute, settled in corners, coats over their heads, ragged possessions heaped around themselves, trying to remain in their own night. This man was already up, bracing himself against the motion of the train as he folded his blanket the way my mother taught me, and donned his antique blazer, his elderly, sleep-soft eyes checking for the total effect. Whoever you are-tell me what unforgiving series of moments has added up to this one: a man making himself presentable to the world in front of the world, as if life has revealed to him the secret that all our secrets from one another are imaginary. --------------------------------------------------- My First And Last Poem For Christ The Christians arrived today, just as they always do every Saturday night to feed the homeless. I’d truly forgotten what it’s like to eat a holiday meal. It was a Memorial Day weekend inside cook-out. Hot dogs with baked beans, collared greens, and mashed potatoes with plenty of beef gravy. The Christians are like clock-work. They make certain everyone’s dish is piled high and that every man gets seconds and sometimes thirds. The Christians never ask for anything in return except for a thank you and a hearty handshake as hearty as - the dinner. I know they secretly wish they could save some of us along the way, as any practicing Christian might be inclined to do. They’re all hoping we’ll eventually see the light, and come - to Jesus. And although none of the men, including me, may ever accept Jesus Christ as a personal Lord and Savior, what with all the beans they fed us, a good amount of us may very well see plenty of lights flashing on and off late tonight while shouting Christ’s name - out loud. The Kickback The charitable people from the church come into the shelter once a month to spread The Word of The Lord, treat us to some decent food, and catch a few ounces of gratitude - for themselves. Once in awhile, it serves a Christian right to give a little to the needy, and see how the other half dies just a little more each day. ------------------------------------------------------- i'm homeless you ask me why i'm homeless a fact i can't deny you wonder why i sit relaxed in thought, and simply sigh when i was born, my mother a poor but wise young child decided i'd be better raised among the meek and mild so off i went without her a bouncing place to place was ten long years and many homes before i saw her face and still she left me out there disjointed from her life and as i grew i always knew i'd always have this strife --------------------------------------------- A homeless dude pushes his shopping cart A homeless dude pushes his shopping cart. He scrapes along, panhandling for a buck. His doglike face displays his rotten luck. By looks and taunts he'll 'vance his filthy art. My eyes ahead i'm trying to pretend i cannot see; i haven't what he wants. And walking on, and feigning nonchalance, From out his grasp my path i hope to wend. We're more alike, the dirty thief and i, Than either me or he are like to say. For while his street's a toilet, mine's an ashtray And neither will lift a finger to get him by. Except the Lord commands to each a task, A simple one: to give to all who ask. ----------------------------------- Beggars Union Around a burning barrel, underneath the interstate, dwell the broken outcasts, in a coven of disgrace. From within the shattered buildings, or inside abandoned cars, hear the chorus' of suffering, unaccompanied by guitars. ------------------------------------------- PITY! I don't want your damn pity! life is hard enough in this cold, dark city Sure, I may be homeless and you may not like the way I look but that doesn't make me a crack head or a crook What I really want is for you to accept that I'm a fellow human being who deserves some respect I'm here for reasons you may never understand but please don't think me subhuman as I walk this barren land You who sit in your nice, warm house and drive around in fancy cars should know about the cold, hard truth that made us what we are Women who were beaten and couldn't take it anymore men having a hard time 'cause they fought in a war Some who have fallen right between the cracks who could use a little help but the services, they lack Take a good look in the mirror and the next time that you do think about what it would be like if I were to become you! copyright 3/00 - J. Michigaus ------------------------------------------ Cries Of The Homeless Our pleas have gone unnoticed. Our voices are unknown. We roam the alley's and your streets, While searching for a home. Our mouths do not know the taste Of food that's off a plate. We depend on scraps from others, After they have ate. While money's spent to fight our wars And build military might, We, the homeless, struggle on ~ With rags to warm the night. Our brothers and our sisters Walk by and only stare, No kindness offered from their hearts. The compassion is not there. Saddened and discouraged, From disgusted looks we receive, We see the children laugh and point At what they do perceive. They are made believe that we are dirt And have brought about our woes. How very wrong for you to think. How little that you know. We are part of society, too. But, we pay the ultimate price Of having lonely roads to walk, While governments roll their dice. Politicians will not face us Or look us in the eye. They seem to think we don't exist And the problem soon will die. Know the country is turning it's back And ignoring human rights While we, the homeless, try to survive; So weak we cannot fight. Priorities appear to get mixed up When juggled by a few. Politicians who long for nothing, They're so shiny and brand new. The art museum must be given a grant To continue its marvelous work. The elite would not know what to do, To satisfy their quirk. Let's not forget the pilot study. Should we build a road through there? Spend that money foolishly. Governments simply don't care. And, don't forget to toss more money To renovate some old house; The importance of who lived there, once, And the interest it would arouse. These are a few of our misspent dollars, Being laid and put to rest. Sadly enough, these politicians All think it's for the best. The words that I am trying to say Are meant to open some eyes. When governments say they're doing their best, That's nothing but a lie! So take a look around you, At where these grants should go. Take the homeless off cold streets. Let's warm their hearts and soul. ---------------------------------------- Thinking Homelessly I am hungry and dirty I wonder if I'll ever get a home I hear crickets chirping I see me living on the streets forever I want a loving family I am hungry and dirty I pretend to have a friend I feel sad and lonely I touch a full and tasty meal I worry I'm not going to be here tomorrow I cry about being lonely I am hungry and dirty I understand I don't have any money I say I will make it some day I dream of living in a house with a family I try to make friends I hope my life change one day I am hungry and dirty By Chauntreal ----------------------------------------------------- Homeless I am lonely and scared I wonder will I be safe until the next day I hear complete silence I see total darkness I want a family to take care of me I am lonely and scared I pretend to be very rich I feel very satisfied I touch but can not feel I worry that someone would attack me I cry when I see other kids with their family I am lonely and scared I understand that God will make a way for me I say thank you Jesus I dream I would get out of the streets I try to keep strong and survive I hope I find a family I am lonely and scared Poem By: Charles ------------------------------------------------- Homeless Poem I am homeless and dirty I wonder if I will ever have a home I hear loud sound I see a home in front of me I want a home I am homeless and dirty I pretend I got food I feel a soft bed to lay in I touch but I can't feel I worry about someone coming to kill me I cry about an home I am homeless and dirty I understand that I need money and a home I say I will get a home I dream that I have a home I try to imagine some money and a home I hope I get a car I am homeless and dirty By: Clyde ----------------------------------- I Long Alone The street, an endless pit. The trash, a fearsome guard over odors of garbage. The old woman has watched her nights grow in bitterness. Her head is scarcely shielded from the close, sterile glances. She has long been alone with her hand's time-worn gesture. The nights cut with the keenness of serrated metal and she clutches her dreams tied tightly into a little bundle to defy the surliness of their jagged edges. Morning falls like a burial slab. II Disinherited They absorbed you in the distant cities, and threw you... --------------------------------------------- As I looked down the street, in an area quite bleak. I wondered why this had to be, Cardboard boxes along the street. Blankets keeping bodies warm, from the elements of the storm. I'm sure you know what I mean, the homeless, why does this have to be? Where did they give up there hope, of ever rising to the top. Many had jobs at one time, lived in a home with plenty of pride. All of a sudden life took a turn, and down they went with no return. The soldier who came back from the war, His mind torn from all he had saw. Finds himself in this place, because, he could no longer find peace. Woman and children surviving there, Has anyone asked how they got there. Probably not, because we often don't care. Drugs and abuse are often the cause, their minds not thinking about anything at all. They find ways to survive, But often lose there lives in the try. The mind torn with mental disease how did this happen, can they be set free. Medicine they take and up they climb, but down they go because they haven't a dime. Is there an answer, I just don't know, I wish somehow, they could all have a home. ------------------------------------------------- Homeless Man Homeless man crouched on the sidewalk, A penny all he pleases Passers buy Homeless man crouched so lonely. Shirts are rags with various holes, It's a white shirt now looking as gray as a raccoon's fur. Homeless man crouched so lonely His beard twisted, turned, and twined His face is filthy, covered in dirt like a soldier camouflaged in the bush The man's arms and legs are dry as dust Homeless man crouched so lonely. The homeless man such a simple man With no worldly possessions, Except the heart of a man The homeless man crouched so lonely. By Shaheed Mohamed --------------------------------------------------- NEW YEARS May you get a clean bill of health from your dentist, your cardiologist, your urologist, your psychiatrist, your plumber and the taxman May your hair, your teeth, your abs, your stocks not fall And may your blood pressure, your triglycerides, your white blood count and your mortgage interest not rise Mau New Year’s eve find you seated around the table with people who care about you May you find the food better, the environment quieter, the cost much cheaper, and the pleasure more fulfilling than anything else you might ordinarily do that night May you see in the mirror delight you, and what others see in you delight them May someone love you enough to forgive your faults, be blind to your blemishes and tell the world about your virtues May the telemarketers wait to make their sales calls until you finish dinner May the commercials on TV not be louder that the program you have been watching and may your check book and your budget balance and include generous amounts for charity May you remember to say “I love you” at least once a day to your closest friend, your children, your spouse And may we live in a world at peace and with awareness of Gods love in every sunset, every flowers unfolding petals, every baby’s smile and every wonderful, astonishing, miraculous beat of your heart Prophets in rags their property in plastic bags wine bottles in their hands walking in our streets sitting at corners written messages open hands Prophets in rags searching our dustbins for food not looking for anybody not caring for anything Prophets in rags sleeping in our car parks cooking on open fires sharing their food Prophets in rags dying in cold winter nights alone, somewhere very near Prophets in rags many more of them not far away You are the God of the poor, The human and simple God, The God who sweats in the street, The God with the weather-beaten face, That’s why I can talk to you The way I talk with my people, Because you are the God of the worker And Christ is a worker, too. You go hand in hand with my people, You struggle in countryside and town, You line up in the work camp To get your daily wage. You eat snowcones there in the park With Eusebio, Pancho, and Juan Jose. You even complain about the syrup When they don’t give you much honey. I’ve seen you in the grocery store, Eating in a snack-bar, I’ve seen you selling lottery tickets Without being embarrassed about that job. I’ve seen you in the gas stations checking the tires of a truck, and even filling holes along the highway in old leather gloves and overalls. Lord, When Did We See You? I was hungry and starving and you were full; Thirsty and you were watering your garden; With no road to follow, and without hope, and you called the police and were happy they took me prisoner; Barefoot with ragged clothing, and you were saying: ‘I have nothing to wear, tomorrow I will buy something new.’ Sick and you asked, ‘Is it infectious?’ Prisoner, And you said: ‘That is where all those of your class should be.’ Lord, have mercy!