Home that Passes through the River
By Boudia Crow Lafleur on A poem on queerness and finding home.
poetry of the streets
Hoovertown
By Loyd Skiles on Dogs all bark’n from the yardhometown donut’s tweak’n hardthey sure don’t need him aroundit’s hella mean in Hoovertown.Poverty and miseryrepublicans
Apology to Jada’Marie
By Tiara Swearington on Mommy’s sorry I can’t be perfect I’m trying.Whenever I’m weak, I think Jada’Marie is worth it. It may not seem
A Revolutionary Mind
By Kaleeo Acatar on So I’m hearing you won.
Slowly dancing to Blackstones
Beat
Thus selling our streets
to the point where
your even
Three Haikus by Needa Bee
By Anita de Asis Miralle aka Needa Bee on Politricksters Babylon leadersRule with lies, harm those with lessGet paid for their crimes Homefull Houseless on the streets.But with love
Selected poems by Julia Vinograd
By Julia Vinograd on On the Street I’m not here, don’t look at me.Don’t scream when your children look at me,do you think bad
Poets on Poverty and Persecution
“I walked by Jesus last night./ He was wearing/ a grimy T-shirt/ grease-stained chinos/ and a worn-out/ pair of sneakers/ with a broken lace/ He stood alone/ On Fourth Street/ where it crosses Mission/ And looked at me/ with longing eyes./ His dirty arms/ extended toward me/ in a silent plea.”
Unwanted and Under Attack in Their Own Country
Re-fancying our neighborhoods,/ we liquidate the poor./ They are not an asset to refinance for./ We cannot see the living assets/ beyond our “perfect garbage cans”/ collecting waste of the lifeless lives we lead,/ full of all the things we think we need.
The Comfortable and the Cold
We still have the highest/ percentage of homeless/ people per population/of any city in the nation/ It's 2013 and still / the drained and pained/ unhoused battalions/ of brokenhearted shopping cart/ soldiers come and go
The Shelter of Love
What about street dogs,/ the soft undersides of paws/ laid at night/ upon face or arm/ warding off cold & harm./ Dogs with hungry sorrowful/ eyes will gaze into our own./ If we have zero food/ to offer, not even a bone,/ a dog still claims us,/ downtrodden as we are,/ as his home.
The Flower Girl
Dostoyevsky’s Prince Myshkin believed/ “Beauty will save the world.”/ By taking beauty to the shelter,/your flowers saved one part of it./ You smile in the spirit of Don Quixote:/ Free flowers for the poor/ could subvert the whole economy,/ beauty could ruin the banking system,/ kindness could wreck capitalism.