Poetry

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Poetry from the Streets

Poetry
The blood-soaked pillow/ of a homeless man who used/ concrete streets for his bed/ died in the night./ I didn’t know you my Precious Friend,/ but I’ll carry on the flame/ in honor of your life./ You did not live in vain./ May I carve the name/ of this unknown Poet/ in the Book of Life.

January Poetry of the Streets

Poetry
BEATITUDE/ Believing that love/ silently expressed/ will be heard/ and silently answered,/ we need not celebrate/ by trumpet blast,/ tambourines, a dance/ around the block,/ need not kneel to pray/ in the garden of moonlight./ Love/ in its own quiet way/ feels like enough.

Reflections on the New Year—Elegies, Praise, Poems

Poetry
I have been thinking again about the French notion of liberty, fraternity (though now we’d say solidarity) and equality. I think I understand in a new way that these can be taken not just as political values, but also as a partial guide to how to conduct our lives.

November Poetry of the Streets

Poetry
Anthropologists study/ street people, find them/ humane, kindly, humble —/ a dog in lap, parrot on a/ shoulder, a young man/ sleeping, curled like a baby./ A raggedy baseball cap/ silvered with small coins./ Passing poets wonder:/ Is it unlawful to be human?/ But lawful to be inhumane?

August Poetry of the Streets

Poetry
She closes the door/ of her studio/ by Dolores Park/ hands the landlady/ (who jacked up her rent/ damn near double)/ the key/ “If anyone should ask/ tell them I won't be back/ to Cable Car land"/ and begins her long/ wandering inside/ America's abandoned/ homes

Three Generations

Poetry
One day a child was laid in my arms/ My first born, a daughter who looked like me,/ Who showed me unconditional love,/ This was a beautiful new experience/ To have a daughter,/ I was changed to my core ... I was transformed/ I became somebody’s mama.

The Poet, the Police, and the Spirit of the Sixties

Poetry
“There was going to be a big demonstration the next day — people throwing things and stuff. Everybody was angry and I was just as angry as anybody else, but I was a pacifist and besides, if I threw anything, I’d probably hit my foot.” — Julia Vinograd

February Poetry of the Streets

Poetry
Filing in, one by one,/ as if into an ark/ of loneliness, out of the rain/ the shelter, its gray/ emptiness anchored/ the bottom by green cots/ arranged in rows, boots/ tucked under, men asleep,/ rocked on the surface/ of watery dreams by a/ great storm never to end.

January Poetry of the Streets

Poetry
Outside our window/ We spot on a rain-stripped/ eucalyptus trunk/ colors we've never seen,/ before: shades of yellow,/ gold, lime green, tan./ A homeless woman/ stripped of an easy life/ also reveals colors/ when we pause long, enough to sense and see.

December Poetry of the Spirit

Poetry
This poet connects/ the one word "gather"/ with the Quaker faith/ as in geese gather/ at lake's edge before/ the V-flight south,/ as in snowflakes gather,/ mounded on roof tops/ before the downward slide,/ as in two homeless men/ gather around a steam vent/ on a city sidewalk.

The Poetic, Prophetic Art of Michael Creedon

Arts and Culture   Poetry
Michael Creedon poetically chronicled the lives of those exiled onto the cruel streets, until he himself fell victim to that same fate. His poetry was full of love and mercy for the poor and dispossessed, and expressed his deeply held belief that each one of those lives was of sacred worth.