A Publication of the Coalition on Homelessness
by John Hirschman
1.
Shema here,
shema hear me,
a child born
and raised originally
in Superman’s
capitol of Death,
whose rule is trumpery.
This stack of
matzohs I fling
one after another
across your Rosh
Hashanah clear
to your Yom
Kippour
like a paroxysm
of memory,
by Alice E. Rogoff
Ronnie
Is running
To run to get
His art
From being
Run-over,
Carted away
In trucks rumbling.
Ronnie was running
To sketch, to
Print, to paint,
Black lines,
Lives.
Running over
Sidewalk cracks,
Feet moving, stepping,
Sitting for a moment.
Ronnie is bicycling,
The pedals drawing
Circles on
Sixteenth Street.
by Vivian Imperiale
The tired homeless man
worked his way across traffic lanes
to stand on the divider strip,
hoping that drivers
would open their windows
and hand him change.
Not terribly likely
but he had no other plan
than to stand in the cold,
breathing in fumes,
seeing stern faces
turning away.
I’M GRATEFUL (2018)
By Sharon Randle
I knew the day would come soon.
At last I have keys to a clean quiet room.
Thank you for all the gifts you’ve given.
I’m grateful to have a safe place to live in.
Enjoying my comfort, grateful for space,
Looking ahead to a much larger place.
Grateful for the money,
by Tony Robles
The winding roads
lead to a small
A-framed Baptist
church
a simple structure
where complex
questions reside
a stain of quandary’s
residue on the pages
of a holy book
the winding roads
unfurl wisps of gauze
colored mist exposing
A blush of hurt
the minister
is a pleasant man
who brings to mind
a ripe pear as i sit and
take in his sermon
feelings don’t
replace facts,
by Tony Robles
I keep going to Peep’s Coffee
The coffee isn’t great
But the place has been
A has-been place where
It still happens and once I killed
A roach there by accident
And the coffee is constant in
Its consistency ranging from
Watery to a semi-syrupy serum
that takes care of what ails you
A tight budget keeps
Me coming and I don’t
Got a plot to piss in but
The coffee is only 75 cents
A cup
On the wall is a
Calendar stained with a
Year that passed away many
A fuckin’ moon ago and the
Coffee keeps coming,
by Maxwell Rios-Klein
When I hop onto the 38 Geary headed downtown again,
For another century of living to work and working to live,
I stutter quietly while we all sit there in silence staring, longing for a friend,
I lie, and pretend, that I’m currently not depending on alcohol just to fend,
Off malicious content circulating through the tabs on my newly installed browser bend,
And I may be over 7 months sober,
by Cesar Love
They were the secret places
You’d go there with friends
Maybe a meadow, a tree,
A basement, a cabin
No one knew where they were
Only you
And your small band of friends
You called them hideouts
You called them forts
Now where are those friends?
by Arletha Leon
What they see: drugs, addicts garbage
And debris.
What I see: love happiness, dignity
& joy
What they see: confusion, needles,
mental disorders & disease
What I see: beautiful people, fruit
trees, passion for what they believe + many talents not yet perceived.
What they see is death, poverty,
homelessness &
by Blue Phoenix
Listen, this transmission is critical, please listen, you are in danger
this is not a joke, please assess your self, think again
Remember the things you wanted, Dreamt about
when you were 12, 24, 30, 17
Some of those Dreams still live inside you
But you only and always,
will ever have today
Stop worrying about the past,
