Archive for the 'Creative Works' Category

1st Place Winner

Published in October, 2011 in Creative Works.

The 2011 Poetry Contest Winners:

THE INVISIBLE MAN
By Jeff Britto

Pain is all I’ve ever known!
It’s been said “You reap what you sow”.
But I’ve never harmed anyone. Not a living soul.

So, I reap the whirlwind,
living the life I was given
with no expectation that somewhere there’s a heaven.

Turning down the avenue with cold rain on my face,
my mind searches back to a better place
as I pray that God will give me his grace.

I’m just a faceless apparition,
taking up space and time,
with its shoes soaking wet
and soles thin as a dime.

I wish it were different
but this is my lot;
facing the reality that
the streets are all I’ve got.

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Published in October, 2011 in Creative Works.

THE HOMELESS
By Jeff Britto

We see them every day.
Look at them with disgust and dismay
and call our children in from play.
They are of every ethnicity and background,
found in every city and every town.
The numbers of them surely do astound.

Their faces are gaunt and stressed.
They’re always disheveled and unkempt.
Their situations are desperate and stark as they make
their homes in our parks and doorways,
or in a huddled mass
in alleyways amongst rats and trash.

Others hide away under highway ramps.
Those we’ve labeled bums, derelicts, and tramps.

When will come the day when we take stock of ourselves and say,
Homelessness won’t be solved unless we all get involved?

Perhaps we should concentrate less on self and personal vanity
by questioning our common decency and our humanity.

Let’s all look a little deeper, because we really and truly are
our brother’s keeper.

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2nd Place Winner

Published in October, 2011 in Creative Works.

Homeless
(A home without love)
By David Frankina

No matter the home
Where I may reside
The emptiness will be
Both around and inside
No feelings, nor love
Will ever be found
For there’ll never be
Any loving family around

It’s a place where
All my yesterday’s die
Where dreams and hopes
Bring tears and cries
Where all that’s past
Can overwhelm me
Where what could’ve been
Will always torment me

No longer a father,
Only an empty shell
Abandoned in a place
That’s a living hell
They call it living
But it’s ongoing pain
A place that forever
Where I will remain

For me yesterday’s certainties
Have become today’s doubts
Causing feelings of despair
That settles all about
I fear and dread
What tomorrow might bring
More of that which
Will never be changing

So much is unknown
About who I am
My life has flowed
Like water over a dam
All of its goodness
Now quietly streams away
Nobody has diverted it
To flow their way

Forgotten in their mind
Bled from their heart
Only in their memory
Am I still part
Why can’t the family
Who’s from my seed
Give love and forgiveness
That I desperately need

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Published in October, 2011 in Creative Works.

A Poet
By David Frankina

A poet is born with heart and soul,
To express his feelings is his lifetime goal.
Life is his subject, his reason to be,
He puts into words what others can’t see.

The poems he writes are from his heart,
True poetry is words that your emotions start.
Your emotions will feel, your mind will dwell,
On what he’s written, what his poems tell.

He feels the world, while others only sense,
Everything he writes is profound and intense.
The world is alive, everything has a life,
He describes life’s beauty and also its strife.

But inside his heart each written word pains,
Tearing apart his essence till ‘til no life remains. ^^^
His words are emotions, each line he’ll feel
Every poem is alive, to him it’s real.

A poet is nothing ‘til till he doesn’t exist ^^^
Then what he’s written, his readers can’t resist.
His words come alive only when he’s dead,
Death is an emphasizer assuring he’ll be read.

If someone’s a poet then he must die,
To prove his words were not a lie.
Words are his lifeblood, thus his final cost,
His word’s gain immortality, his life is lost.

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3rd Place Winner

Published in October, 2011 in Creative Works.

The Pains of Darkness
By Regina Watkins

AMBER LIGHT, FADING, DYING
DARKNESS, ENCOMPASSING, CONSUMING
VOICES, UNTRUTHFUL, LYING
FEAR, UNCERTAINTY LOOMING.

SLEEPLESS NIGHT, TOO WELL KNOWN
NIGHTMARISH HORRORS ON NIGHTS OF FITFUL SLEEP
PEACEFUL DREAMS FAR AWAY HAVE FLOWN
ONLY DESPAIR FOLLOWS, FOREVER DEEP.

PACING, FRIGHTENED, CRAVING DAWN
WISHING AWAY THE AWFUL VOICES.
KNOWING NOT WHERE HOPE HAS GONE
AND HAVING NO MORE CHOICES.

BLACK GIVES WAY TO GRAY
THE VOICES DRIFT AFAR
THE SUN GIVES PROMISE OF A NEW DAY
AND ERASES EACH AND EVERY SCAR.

BUT SOON THE LIGHT BEGINS TO FADE
GIVING WAY TO DARKNESS ONCE MORE.
AGAIN SHE MUST LIE UPON THE BED SHE MADE
AND CRY HER PAIN AS BEFORE.

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Published in October, 2011 in Creative Works.

On The Edge of Mt. Pleasant
By Dean Martineau

Waiting for the Mexican cook
Antonio
In front of the foreclosed house
On the edge of Mt. Pleasant
The white-winged thrushes
Chasing each other
through wire chain link fences
Junk trees
a “birds and the bees” reality show
The jumbled street back-dropped with thumping SUV’s
The kids even here in this neighborhood ride skateboards;
Dogs bark incessantly…
The Whippoorwill Whippoorwills
And Robins and Grackles grackle
A Wisteria some dead Italian immigrant planted in 1952
Wafts its heady Purple musk
The satellite TV truck
is parked sideways
Across the busted driveway
In front of the vinyl sided tenement that has
5 satellite dishes along its edge

Empty cases of
Corona and long neck Budweiser
The rims of each
Japanese vehicle glisten
In the afterglow
of late afternoon sunlight
The twisted metal Venetian blinds
On the third floor attic windows
Seem sad like half a smile
on Saturday night
Someone is blowing a horn
Someone else is sitting
on a peeling porch
Everyone is telling me
all they want is a job
“This country no good no more…
No jobs no more…”
I am the sore thumb
in this neighborhood
I am waiting for the Mexican
Antonio

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Published in October, 2011 in Creative Works.

Sovereign Spirit
By Deborah Shepard

In the lost wilderness animals are encountered deep in slumber
Sacred beautiful gifts are shared still, with promised hearts
They returned to dream, to escape solace as silence lay
The lovely lady awakens to rainbow skies, and prays
Elohi~~~~
Mystic spirit in a wolf’s tradition stands proud , straight spine
Each seasonal dress is commemorated with brightness in totems lines
Mesmerizing feathered ornaments in realism days
Stationary for visionary touch
Elohi~~~~~
Intricately woven with care from the blended history
Power of dreams, hand sculptured replicas to be
Guiding spirits reflective states, she sees
Tribal legends wisdom of ages, winter scenic life
Elohi~~~~~~~~
All is quite in night’s glow
Gleaming trails with moonstruck haze
Marbleized stands the lifted spiritual ancestors gulf streams
Blossoms fully in winters totem pole mystic dreams
She will awaken all beauty once again

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Published in October, 2011 in Creative Works.

Shore Walk
By: Felix L. Perry

Fog weighs anchor in the harbour,
shroud covering it’s imperfections,
hauntingly distant a bell buoy tolls,
to and fro on ocean’s gentle swell
outbound, a fog horn belches
stirring offended sea birds to flight,
flotsam and jetsam tell a story
only Neptune knows the ending
soul feeling the smell of salt brine,
lost heart yearns, he knows not why,
song lines adrift in a sailor’s minds
facing again, into the Southwest breeze,
resigned, he leaves yesterday behind…

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Published in October, 2011 in Creative Works.

Little Girl Lost…
By Felix Perry

Hoar frost coats a Sunday morn scene
day old donuts free but taste good
porridge ladled from a cast iron pot
life stories scratched in table wood
Supermarket cart home on wheels
bottles, rags…little treasures found
long cigarette butts quickly stashed away
need to keep your eyes to the ground
Big cardboard box behind Jo Mac’s Furniture
new shelter from cold North wind blowin
five buck wine from loose change bummed
dull the ache of things best not known
Cheap trick turned in darkened back ally
illegal thrills as he looks down his nose
staunch Sunday morning Christian moans
justification found only Lord he knows
Somewhere mother cries a baby’s name
she’s always listening for the phone
father prays forgiveness on bended knee
thirteen year old runaway dies alone…

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Published in October, 2011 in Creative Works.

IN THE BEGINNING
By James Conroy

Adam never asked
And we’ve wondered ever since.
As the First
He had the privilege of naming things.
Beasts, Stars, Honeysuckle,
Were called as they moved him.
Adam gave three names
To himself and five more
To Woman. Eve added
One more for herself and never
Told him.
Adam called himself
Hunter, Gatherer, and Woodcutter.
He called Eve
Lover, Mother, Peace, Gazer, and Home.
Adam called the Snake “Deceit” for he
Often mistook it for a branch on the ground
Or a vine in the trees.
Woman called it “Power” because it was not afraid
Of anything larger than itself.
“Say your name,” the Snake tempted Eve.
“Which one?” she asked.
“The one only you know and Man doesn’t.”
“Why should I tell you?” Woman asked.
“With it I can give you Power,” claimed the Snake.
“Go see if Man wants Power,” said Eve,
“It is enough I have to carry his Sins.”

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Published in October, 2011 in Creative Works.

THE FIRST LIVING THING
By James Conroy

The first living thing
to place stone upon stone
was probably not human.

The first living thing
to coax sound from inanimate objects
was a musician we wouldn’t recognize.

The first living thing
to see omens in the sky
never filled a sandbag or mounded a levee.

The first living thing
to differentiate sharp from dull
crawled on belly a long way to the edge.

The first living thing
aware lightning causes fire
began moving with the seasons.

The first living thing
afflicted by the burden, canticles,
deluge, and scorch of love
wished it hadn’t, and
knocked the stone, smashed the reed,
drowned in the river, stabbed its heart
and was consumed in joy.

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Published in October, 2011 in Creative Works.

Who Am I
By Joey Pennine

The mind that holds
The thoughts
And sends them
To the hand
Which casually
Holds the fluttering
Motion of the pen
Which writes all my hopes
And dreams onto the paper
Which holds the thoughts
And feelings of the words
That together,
In a unique pattern
That creates the poem
Which reveals the inner
Feelings and secrets
Of this person
Known as me…
The Poet
That’s who I am

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Published in October, 2011 in Creative Works.

LEFT TOO SOON
By Joey Pennine

ALTHOUGH YOU DIDN’T KNOW
IT WAS YOUR TIME
REMEMBERING YOU
MAKES ME FEEL FINE
LIFE WAS TOO SHORT
YOU WERE TOO YOUNG
TO TAKE A TRIP TO HEAVEN
YOU’LL ALWAYS BE IN OUR HEARTS AND SOULS
IN YOUR LIFETIME
YOU COULDN’T COMPLETE YOUR GOALS
EVEN THOUGH YOU’RE NOT
IN OUR HOUSE
I STILL REMEMBER THE GOOD TIMES
WE SHARED
LOOK DOWN ON US
AND CRY US A TEAR
WE’LL BE DOWN HERE
HOPING TO SEE YOU STARE
WHEN IT RAINS AND POURS
IT CAN ONLY MEAN
THAT YOU’RE STILL OURS

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Published in October, 2011 in Creative Works.

Why are the Homeless-Homeless?
By Louis Rams

People become homeless because of circumstance
and the cards may be stacked against them
and they don’t have a chance.

A child growing up doesn’t say,
“I want to be homeless when I grow up”
or “I want to be an alcoholic or a junkie.”

There are more reasons than I wish to count
of how a person’s life can turn about.
A lost job, or lost family;
something that they did not foresee.

They say 3% of the homeless are American vets,
and it gets better yet…
They have come back from a war that has
never been declared…many wounded,
shell shocked, and living in fear.

They gave their all so that we could be free,
and did not ask to live in poverty.
No job, no money, no food to eat…
And a conversation with them can be a treat.

If you weren’t born with a gold or silver spoon
in your mouth, then maybe you’ll know
what I’m talking about.

The homeless are part of the world’s society.
They’ve lost everything, including their dignity.
Do you think that you could survive?
Maybe you’ll find out with some time.

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Published in October, 2011 in Creative Works.

Homeless
By Louis Rams

A warm meal is all I ask, if it’s not much of a task.
All my life I was a provider, and now I’m an outsider.
An outsider who finally sees, what poverty has done to me.

I’ve worked every job that I could find,
to be the provider that I used to be.
But life turned its back on me.
They say that humanity always asks the LORD,
‘Why me?’ but poverty is the student,
and hardship is the teacher.
That is the way the LORD can reach us.

For when we see all that we had, and did not want to share;
Turned our backs on everyone, and did not really care.
This is the time that our lessons in life unfold.
For in GOD’S teachings, to help our fellow man…
Sacrifices we all must make, it is part of GOD’S plan.
And now that I am homeless and living in the woods;
I have to ask myself,
‘What would have happened if in my life I was good?’

I gave this man five dollars, for that was all I had.
He looked up at me and smiled,
and blessed me for the generosity.
Then he turned his back, and departed from me.
And as he walked away, a mist covered him from view.
There was no one there…that was when I knew.
The LORD came to me that day,
Just to show me the homeless way.

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Published in October, 2011 in Creative Works.

Impressions
By Melanie Rae

Love of honesty,
caresses a truth.
Infinite path,
reveals his proof.
I never left him,
He cried for me.
Until he held me
I was not free.

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Published in October, 2011 in Creative Works.

Face In the Crowd
By Michael Sheldon

Westminster shuffle, clipped scuff of shoes
The Greek temple looms large and forgotten
Voices coursing to their destination
Blue from above soaks down the warmth
Sun low, time to walk
Past the tall stone pedestal
Staring at the courthouse clock tower
By the purple fluffs and art deco
Through the cathedral doors
For glow of body and soul

The next day he is above the streets
As if a virus wiped out all
Sitting on the outdoor cafeteria seat
Nobody comes
Then he opens his eyes
The night does not banish, but draws
An eerie rhythmic music
Soft orbs
And crowds of people
He flits from crowd to crowd
Watching the river
Waiting, looking
Part of the whole but unseen
The chains whirl with fire
Water and fire meet
Gasping air fans the aura
Me within the crowd
As much a part of it as anything

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Published in October, 2011 in Creative Works.

Don’t Mosh My Melon
By Michael Sheldon

Like a body roughly shoved along a mosh pit
My melon bounces up against 3 a.m. heavy metal
Gets flattened by a mathematical equation
Bruised by robotic droning
Pummeled by myopic rigidity
Almost making a chowda head
Until I escape to my own deflector shield
The quiet written word
More fun to watch the celestial bodies explode into each other
And let me chillax
To feel the super deluxe day

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Published in October, 2011 in Creative Works.

Little Girl Lost
By Mike Nason

Little girl walking round
Little girl don’t know this town.

Wandering not sure where
Looking for, someone to care.

Little girl feeling rain
Walking fast, hiding pain.

Little Girl you’re all alone
Night air chilling to the bone.

Little girl tears falling free
As you walk no one to see

Little girl what will you do?
Will this world be missing you?

Little girl what is the reason
No time of change within the season

Just times so hard no place to run
Little girl lost without the Sun.

Little girl you ran away
Try to find a place to stay.

Troubles follow everywhere
See the men the way they stare.

Little girl the night draws near
Down your cheek a little tear

In your throat a little cry
In your pain you ask why.

Little girl one calls to you
Knowing what he wants to do

Can there be someone here
To hold you close and calm your fear

Little girl before your face
Looking down at his disgrace

He smiles as he looks at you
Whispers words that are not true

Little girl he holds you tight,
Feigning love throughout the night.

Innocents have paid the cost
In a world of Little girl lost.

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Published in October, 2011 in Creative Works.

Sanctify Your Reason
By Samantha Noelle Golt

Have you seen the mess we are in
the illusions and the sins?
Have you seen the different faces
and the lights in their eyes?

Do you think that life’s a game?
There is no time, no space.
Yet one moment is too much too late.
Will you stand up and be brave?

I have the solution to this ordinary confusion.
Say no to the devil and Sanctify truth.

Come through to life,
Come with the fool,
Come into salvation.
Come through to love,
Come with your peace,
Come even through temptation.

Salvation, salvation, invasion from within.
Salivation, salivation, liberation from sin.

Do you know what’s bad, are you
the emotions and the thoughts?
Have you heard their different voices
the vibrations in your form?

Have you been searching for the truth or your youth?
Is your lifetime an endless journey? Where’s your permit?
Did you ever think to stop or to Rock?
And to follow somebody’s Mission? Get the Vision?

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Our Mission

Street Sights serves as a forum for advocates, homeless and formerly homeless people, students, state officials, and the general public to share accurate and honest information about issues relating to homelessness. Our goal is to shed light on a subject not often addressed and, to some degree, ignored. We aim to provoke discussion and give a voice to voiceless people in our community. We provide a space free of judgment in which we recognize the dignity and worth of each person and in doing so empower the group as a whole.

Archive for the 'Creative Works' Category

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