Writing Through Hard Times – June 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

Giuliana Brunner

Moonlit Bathing




Shut it down . . . judgments/thoughts/the brain

Open up, open wide & know the dark carries light

DO     IT 

Do what?

One day – well actually one night on a full moon clear night sky, you will have the opportunity (most likely at least once before this ride on earth is over).

Step out of yourself (even in the city you can do it) into a yard, or any patch of earth (concrete & asphalt simply won’t do as they block the connection). 

When you see a moonbeam laying a path across the earth 

you will know it is for you

YOU alone

naked is best -  you want to absorb as much of the moon as possible (other than the fairies, gnomes, elves, & other creatures out & about, but they will leave you be, as they know & respect moon bathing as a solo private time

Know you ARE

Simply BE

bathe in the light – bask in the quiet – breathe deep as you welcome the glow softly entering – let your soul be lit with the aura – see with your heart/soul’s eye

DO       IT,   (then you’ll understand) the

 What,   Crazy,   Why

Fran Ford

Things That Move

I sit down, shut up.


The digital clock shapes, reshapes

its red semaphore lines into numbers.

Three becomes four, with always, barely visible,

a potential eight, unavoidable,

on its way.


Along the east wall, northern light

speed brakes and skids into a crawl,

stops all together for a corner loll,

a slow-mo stretch

across the sofa.


Outside, out of sight, a trash truck

beats up a helpless dumpster,

or maybe it’s a car stereo

booming like a dinosaur.

Glass quivers in the window.


A bit of dust, loosened from the ceiling,

drifts down through light and shadow,

on a journey so like mine that

I rejoice when the little speck

finds a resting place.


If not for things that move,

even when I don’t,

I’d stop believing

in time

and things I have to do.

Freddy Bosco

Simple Just Us

If I were  you

who would you be?

Would you be the me

I was, before I was you,

or would  you be the  me

(you see?) I need to be

just to be me? Why not

be who you need to be

and I will go on

just being plain old me

until one of these days

when we float out to sea?