by Judy Joy Jones

“Only the chosen ones have eyes that really see and ears that hear.”
It’s alright baby Mama has you now
cuddled close to her breast where
you can finally, finally rest
hadn’t a moment’s peace on earth
did ya hon
Oh Mitch Snyder
chosen driven haunted one
You shed your blood so others could live
taking in by the thousands to your
shelters’ warm arms
the poor unwanted neglected on earth
they flocked to your door knowing
a night’s peace could be had
with no questions asked
In the coldest darkest nights
thru blizzards rain sleet and snow
as we slept warmly in our
secure little beds
with dollar signs dancin thru
our empty little heads
you darlin were collectin the
remains of the no names
at the city morgue’s door and
holdin em tight to your breast
for you were the orphans’
god on earth Mitch
the daddy mother brother all in one
for the millions without anyone
on this earth you walked
alone and abused
but your mission my friend
bears fruit
The homeless of this land have
one less tear one more meal
and a night’s freedom
from the violent who
eat the weak on the streets
unconditional love you gave
24 hours a day
you took in what society throws away
the strays
yea child you walked in dem shoes of
prisoner tramp and thief
so you knew didn’t ya hon how it felt
on dem cold filthy concrete streets
humbled yourself before mankind
and now your chosen soul child
has gone home to god for its final rest

A Reaganville protest organized by Mitch Snyder, the leader of the Community for Creative Nonviolence in Washington, D.C.
A Reaganville protest organized by Mitch Snyder, the leader of the Community for Creative Nonviolence in Washington, D.C.

Oh yeah sweetie pie
your time for wailing done done
and for the price you paid Mitch Snyder
the whole world’s gonna honor and
pay homage to you thru eternity
don’t need to shed your tears
no more child
it’s time for the trumpets
and peace bells to ring out your
name to everyone on earth and
all the saints gather round
and place upon your precious head
the crown of the brave valiant
and those that persevered
in thy hands feet and brow
the stigmata do i see there
we crucified thee mitch
with ignorance pride and
tightly closed eyes
and in your side with
your own hand
you placed the final wound
cause child you had given
all you came to earth to give
and winged your way back home
to god as angels do
as soon as their chosen works are thru
a saint’s halo shall grace thee
of this i am certain
and now mr. snyder may i
this unknown poet wash
your holy feet with my teardrops
dotted here and there
and dry them with my hair
you died for love mitch snyder
and i / we love you
Note: I wrote this ode to Mitch Snyder, founder of the Community for Creative Nonviolence, because he created a homeless shelter that provides refuge and meals for two thousand people who otherwise would suffer on the cold streets of Washington, D.C. They have named a street near the shelter after Mitch Snyder. Six months after I met and interviewed him, he died by hanging himself. I am forever grateful that Mitch gave his life for the poorest of the poor. — Judy Jones