Writing Through Hard Times – November 2018
Each month, the Denver VOICE publishes a selection of writing from workshops sponsored by Lighthouse Writers Workshop. The Hard Times Writing Workshop is a collaboration between Denver Public Library and Lighthouse Writers Workshop. This workshop is open to all members of the public—especially those experiencing homelessness. Hard Times meets every Tuesday from 3-5 p.m. on the fourth floor of DPL’s Central branch. The Lighthouse sponsored workshop at The Gathering Place is specifically for that organization’s clients.
To check out more writing by the poets featured in this column, go to writedenver.org.
Trish Veal
Arvada Autumn
Yellow, rust, and brown begin to burst forth upon parched trees.
Gentile Indian summer breeze
Glides through strip-malled mountains majesty
Near fruited box-store covered plains
Once
Rich harvested farmland.
As air breaks of a regional transit bus
Prepares to make a left turn
The Metro light-rail horn blares
Barren
Upon tracks.
Discourteous drivers
In a hurry to wait,
Reaching the signal only ten.
Cars and trucks
Earlier than the rest,
To park
With engines running.
The discord
Of India Arie, Brad Paisley, Snoop Dogg, Mariachi, and Segar,
Vibrate the ground.
This corner teems with activity.
Travelers on a shopping spree, business trips,
Late luncheons or early suppers; maybe
Catch a matinee.
Men and women
With their lives upon their backs, in carts, or bicycle baskets
Spying out for an evening respite
Until the day shelter opens ‘gain.
The haggard,
Stop by the white mermaid
Surrounded in dark green
For an evening pick-me-up.
For the sun is slowly setting
In a cloud-spotted sky.
Marianne Reid
Words
Words, spoken by people, have power.
Ranting at length:
He did not want another child,
Tried to get me to abort.
I kept it, though.
Poor baby. Started dying
The moment she was born.
Severely broken heart.
What if
He had held her
And told her
He changed his mind,
That he wanted her?
We buried her after that.
Frank Coons
Hunger
I have not been hungry
enough to speak
of that all too common want,
and what
it drives a person to.
So when
I saw the old
gentleman, reduced,
and balancing
on death, reach
unsteady into the dumpster’s
depth,
only to bring
an unrecognizable
edible (old onion
ring, bagel piece, a wing
bone stripped),
and close-eyed
put it in his mouth,
I didn’t understand
and don’t yet,
the edge
that the starving
teeter on.
But there must be
a moment
of terrible decision:
which crime
to commit
before becoming too weak
to commit it.
