A Migrant Worker’s day Ends
By Claire J. Baker on After picking 50 boxesof grapes, hands stung &bleeding, she restsagainst a haystack,inhales in unison with cows. sheep, a curled dog.Nestled in
Poetry
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A Thin Line to Homelessness
By Perry Terrell on Avoiding homelessness Is a jobNo one should haveBecause it is serious and inhumane hard workHowever, I amFacing living on the streetsAnd
Coffee Truce
By Claire J. Baker on Imagine a truce calledover made-to-order coffee—mean words surrenderingto flags of coffee fragrance,dreamy humidity of steam.Envision conflicts re-placed by slurping sounds,the
Writers
By Perry Terrell on Sooner or later Writer’s need a real audience Writers need someoneTo listen To what they have written Unless it is a diary or a
Lemon Wedge
By Claire J. Baker on She sips gingerlyfrom the cup of“try again,”acknowledgeslife’s lemon wedgebitter-brighton teacup’s rim.She tells us the wedgeis a yellow sailon her spunky
Sonoma County
By Elias Gutierrez on I’ve seen your pretty postcards,Your fancy cheeses,That world-renowned wine.I’ve seen your pretty town squares,Expensive resorts and your small-town livingBig house
Poetry of the Streets
How can we be housed and sleep at night/ when our brothers have no homes?/ How can we be housed and sleep at night/ when our sisters sleep on stones?/ What happened to the home we shared inside God’s heart?/ Whatever drove that home to vacancy drove us apart.
The Poetry of the People
Mother Mary Ann Wright/ Saint of the Poor/ slept sitting up all night/ so she could feel/ the suffering/ of the homeless/ all over earth’s shores/ hearing God’s call/ to take blankets/ food and clothes/ to the homeless/ on the streets/ in the darkest nights/ Mary Ann Wright did go
The Young Poets of Youth Spirit Artworks
"I remember living on earth. I hated it. People didn't care about each other. It was hard living there. To tell the truth it wasn't really living — it was surviving. People only thought about greed and what they did not have. I'm glad I moved to Mars. I just wish I wasn't all alone."
Art Saved My Life
A sun worth of passion sparked in me my new life. It had meaning with the loss of my mom. I gained a new self. I started drawing a year later. I wanted to escape from my grief in high school. I was taught how to paint — colors became my best friend.
ODE TO JANIS JOPLIN
Janis honey chile/ you are ashes turned to dust/ laughin’ at us/ We are left on this planet/ with all the wars plagues famines/ starin’ us in our stupid materialistic faces/ all the crap we created/ finally comin’ home/ mirrors of our own sick souls/ love? what’s that?
Poetry and Reflections of Young Writers
Love people for who, and what, they are/ because people grow up differently/ and have different beliefs — so don’t judge./ We are all human, and we all / bleed the same./ Sadly, the world will never be perfect, / because of displacement, of racism, of sexism, of creed, and of money.