A Publication of the Coalition on Homelessness
As I look out the window sill here,
I see birds circling high above the ground.
Free, floating as high as he wants,
To be ever so gently,
Free, free, free.
Now if I could trade places with that bird that soars,
Never to be trapped inside these doors,
I’d fly high and free to unknown places,
Above treetops and snow-capped places,
by Lawrence Hollins
When you and I, are far apart.
Can sorrow break, my lonely heart.
I really love you, yes I do!
Sleep is sweet, when I’m dreaming of you.
All you are, is a blooming rose.
Night is here, so I must close.
With the first words, in each line.
You will find, a question of mine.
Again I say, I love you.
? … READ MORE
Do You Remember?
Do you remember when I first held you?
Do you remember me crying too?
Do you remember you taking your first step?
Do you remember the scrapbook I kept?
Do you remember your first blankie?
Do you remember your first birthday party?
Do you remember me taking you to Disneyland?
Do you remember the beach and the sand?
what will they say about me when i’m gone?
will i be a peaceful innocent? wrong place wrong time? victim of circumstance?
or a casualty in the culture war who tempted death with his extreme views and political
agitation?
will i have gotten what i deserved, at a stranger’s hands? at the end of the pole on the hood of a car at knifepoint with a bullet in my back
consider this a will.
THE WAY IT IS
J.W. told me tonight
that Mitch the Chipewa
died two nights ago.
“Over-exposure and drink.
39 years old.” “And he had
a bad ticker,” said Gyzmo’s
friend, coming into the Bar
mainly to whisper some stash
of a deal into J.W.’s ear.
The Tenderloin Times says
108 or 109 died homeless
this year, but we know many
more simply could no longer
bear the excellent San Francisco
food fare.
TO THE FINISH LINE
WORDS BY EASY COOL
I’M GONNA LOVE YOU,
TO THE FINISH LINE,
AND THAT WAY,
I’LL KNOW THAT YOU’RE REALLY MINE,
ALL THE TIME,
THAT I MAKE LOVE TO YOU,
TO THE FINISH LINE.
I’LL BE ON MY MARK,
READY TO GO,
I’LL BE ON MY MARK,
READY TO GO
I’LL BE ALL SET,
WHAT MAKES YOU FEEL SAFE?
WHAT OR WHO
PROTECTS YOU?
IF YOU WERE TO TRULY MAKE THIS
CITY A SANCTUARY, WHAT WOULD IT LOOK LIKE?
START A POEM WITH THE LINE:
I FIND SANCTUARY IN…
I MAKE MY SHIELD FROM…
WHEN I CAST A PROTECTION SPELL, I CONJURE…
—
This writing prompt is brought to you by Ghostlines. Ghostlines
is a Bay Area collective of poets,
Ghetto Queen, fried chicken nappy meal eaten, big booty, angry Black Women.
Ignorant, lazy, baby mama, welfare Queen —
Where da little niglet?
Looking like a buffoon —
Which spear chucker da daddy?
A public enemy that needs to be controlled. A criminal prone to violence, unemployable. disrespectful, nappy head, hood RAT fo sure.
Co-founded in 2013 by poets Natasha Huey and Gabriel Cortez, Write Home is a project that facilitates writing workshops and open mics for homeless youth in shelters and service organizations in Berkeley, CA. Through spoken word poetry, youth are able to foster community, express themselves creatively, and develop positive human connections.
Tell me a bit more about Write Home. What is a typical night like holding a writing workshop?
You couldn’t wait
To clear the tents
And what you
Deemed junk off that
Stretch of sidewalk
Known as 17th st.
The pictures of
Our fallen were
Taken down and,
If not for those among
Us who refuse to take
Shit and to have folks
Take our shit,
