Footsteps in the Rain

We’ve hurried pastthe huddled homeless heaped like potato sacks along city sidewalks.  We never envisioned a saintor savior might sleep under plastic over

No Stars in the Sky

We can lay down on our backsin the grassand look for starsto wish uponwe can wish for world peaceto abolishhatredprejudicepovertyhomelessnesschild

Coffee Truce

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

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

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

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