I glanced over at my awards and trophies
previously brightly varnished now tarnished from lack of polishing
as I munched asparagus while watching Spartacus on DVD
Faded glory and splendour
slaves to the slaughter
no home but Rome
DEATH IS FREEDOM TO A SLAVE
Painful memories are an affliction
reliving them over and over again, an addiction
We all need to be liberated from our past
like removing a cast
The hope of joy
playing with a new toy
lighten up and jump!
Tony Steele looked impressive on the outside
dressed to the nines all polished and professional
He dealt with the money market
and had many trappings of wealth
But something was missing
despite his best attempts at immediate worldly success–
intimacy from a nurturing relationship, and love.
He was not shown much of it
when he was growing up
so it was an alien concept
They call them the walking wounded
because their souls are sick;
shallow husks with broken hearts
wandering around aimlessly.
They do not last long, and grow old gracefully
They have been dying for some time
and are merely waiting
for the final punch clock.
Everyone wears black
I hate sickness, dying, death and going to funerals
it’s a social gesture, a nod to friends
the Irish are grand masters
send them off in style
In my distraction, I turn and look up
I love to daydream
a bright new vista becomes apparent, between the white puffy clouds
Behind the glorious splendor of the brilliant sky
the burning blue cuts into my gaze
I love the idea of falling in love
it beats all this misery
putting my friend into the ground
and throwing dirt on top of our memories.
In the downtown there is a large park
for people and animals
in the heart of the core
I was there recently to see the poor, the impoverished,
the down-on-their-luck camping out
I walked among the marginalized and forgotten,
the seemingly helpless and apparently hopeless
Without a light at the end of the tunnel, there are few options
Desperation drives these occupiers
politicians conspire with police to wipe the slate clean
but then again there’s tomorrow for those who dream
Light a candle
pass a secret with a whisper
wink to a passing friend
nod to a comrade
salute a revolutionary.
Some time ago
a flickering flame of faith was snuffed out
on an ugly dark day when vulgar men ruled
A delicate flower of beauty, filled with promise and hope
was cut down before it could fully blossom
Sublime straightforward truth when perverted by military brute force dies,
so its seed can germinate, and grow underground
Bloodwine is not just for vampires,
but also for pious pilgrims, practising rites and rituals
Those who believe in belief trust someone else
and can live out private creeds for all to see
on full public display
Hearts laid bare throbbing
bright bold and full of vitality
I’m tired, lost and broken in two
My heart steadily aches for you.
I wanted you to have everything I lost
Now I’m so scared, at what cost?
I need you beside me, I want to watch you grow
I love you so much, I don’t think you’ll ever know
How much it killed me to not be by your side,
To this time not be able to care and provide.
I’ve always wanted what’s best for you
I wish you could understand just what I’ve gone through
To keep you safe and always protect
It wasn’t my intention to neglect.
I love the look of innocence on your face,
Childhood years you can never replace.
I wanted you to live young and free,
To laugh and play and not have to worry.
I wanted you to have what I can never find
That naive, innocent stage of mine.
Breaks my heart that I hurt you this way,
Trying so hard to find the right words to say
How sorry I am that I let you down,
To hear you laugh, I miss that sound.
Forgive me baby, please don’t cry
This isn’t the end, I’ll never say goodbye.
I won’t give up, for you I’ll always fight
Till I hold you again and make it right.
The Grit Uplifted Creative Writing Group, in partnership with the London InterCommunity Health Centre and the London Homelessness Outreach Network and with the generous contributions of the London & Area Food Bank, is publishing the third issue of the Grit Uplifted Creative Writing & Arts Magazine featuring the work of people who are homeless, at risk of homelessness, or have experienced homelessness.
Once again, we are looking for creative writing and visual art submissions to include in the 20-page publication due out this summer, and they must meet the following criteria:
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All submissions must include: 1. Title 2. Writer/artist’s name 3. Name under which he/she wants the submission to be published 4. Brief biographical statement about him/herself (optional) 5. Photograph of him/herself to be published with his/her work in the magazine (optional) 6. Contact information, if applicable, for use by the organizers of the publication only. 7. Completed consent form (available on http://grituplifted.com by selecting “Submit Writing” or “Submit Picture” from the menu at the top, or by contacting Kelly Bradley at 519-660-0874 ext. 268) |
Please note, submissions will be accepted and published at the discretion of the Grit Uplifted program facilitators. We maintain the right to refuse submissions that we judge to be inappropriate in any way.
Deadline for submissions: Friday June 15, 2012
When Mother Teresa died, her personal effects consisted of a prayer book, a pair of worn-out sandals and a couple of saris with the trademark blue and white linen habit of her order. She lived like the poor she served.
By the time of her death in 1997, the religious order she had founded – the Missionaries of Charity – were more than 4,000 nuns serving the poor in 123 countries, along with another 400 or so religious brothers and thousands of lay volunteers. She ministered to the poor, sick, orphaned and dying. In 1979 she won the Nobel Peace Prize for her humanitarian work. She is quoted in many books and journals including TIME magazine that the greatest hunger in the world is not physical poverty or deprivation. It is the hunger for love. And the greatest poverty, the most terrible of anguish, is not being wanted, of being forgotten or rejected, of having no one.
You cannot say that being homeless and impoverished in North America keeps you from achieving. You can go on to achieve great things with vision and determination. Even though some may call soup kitchens in North America demeaning or say that standing in a long line, often in the cold, is a great hardship which the poor have to endure, the truth of the matter is that there is joy in this camaraderie. At the soup kitchen you mingle, share conversations and heartaches as you are breaking bread together. That is the one spot in your day that gives you purpose to go on to the next day: to once again see your friends.
Most of us are unloved and very lonely. If I may boldly say, there can be meaning in suffering, and to reach out to your dinner mate and see if you can help them – even just to listen intently – could change that person’s outlook on life, especially if they see you again tomorrow night.
We have to get rid of the ego. We are all in this life together.
GOD BLESS YOU
Anna B.
(Grit Uplifted Creative Writing Group participant)
Environmental activism, creative resistance, making a statement 70,000 km in length and immeasurable in depth… Take a peak at this brilliant project:
“The Enpipe Line goes dream vs. dream with Enbridge’s proposed Northern Gateway Pipelines. If built, these 1,170 kilometre pipelines will carry tar sands oil and its poisonous by-products across more than 700 streams and rivers between Alberta and the B.C. port of Kitimat. In Kitimat, crude oil would be pumped into supertankers for export, threatening the fragile coastal ecosystem with a major spill.
Originally conceived as a 1,170 kilometre-long collaborative line of poetry to match the length of the proposed pipelines, The Enpipe Line has grown to over 70,000 kilometres. Its community of poets comes from all ages and walks of life: woodworkers, painters, environmental campaigners, single parents, professors, children. This book, like the pipeline it opposes, outlines a dream. But, unlike Enbridge’s proposal, The Enpipe Line represents the shared desire of living community: that the proposed Enbridge pipelines project never sees the light of day.”
For more information or to view the book, visit http://enpipeline.org/.
(** I am feeling inspired by this project and would love to consider the possibility of developing our own interpretation of it, perhaps something smaller-scale in our community that will instead represent Grit Uplifted, the issues faced by its participants and those experiencing poverty and homelessness in London and across Ontario, and, above all, the need for progressive action and significant positive change.
I welcome your thoughts and suggestions on what such a project may look like!)
Hi! My name is Victoria Big Penny. I came into existence in the Province of Canada in 1858. In July 1867, my country name was changed to Dominion of Canada. Must have been the first of July based on the yearly celebrations I have seen from on high over the years.
I have a brother, Edward VII Big Penny, who took over in 1902, and another brother, George V Big Penny, who came into existence in 1911. We were made out of copper, tin and zinc, with content amounts always being changed. (I thought copper was a person in the constabulary, and a zinc was where you washed up.)
In 1920, somebody decided that copper needed to be conserved, and our younger sibling was called “Small Penny”. George V Big Penny was the first to be affected by this change. He became George V Small Penny. Of our smaller sized family, George VI Small Penny and Elizabeth II Small Penny, Elizabeth has experienced the most changes. She started out in 1953 facing right and was called a “Laureate Bust”, whatever that might mean. I consulted Mr. Webster, and found out that this meant “crowned with laurel leaves as a mark of honour”. In 1965, somebody gave her a tiara to wear instead of the laurel leaves. For the year 1967, on the tails side was a Rock Dove in flight. This was to honour 100 years of Confederation–not to be confused with bringing home the constitution.
In 1982, the shape of Elizabeth II Small Penny was changed from round to a 12-sided coin to assist the blind in determining what coin was being held. Cousin Dime is the same size as Small Penny. I guess this will no longer be an issue. If one looks close enough, Cousin Nickel and Cousin Quarter are very close in size also.
In 1990, Elizabeth II Small Penny’s tiara was exchanged for a crown, necklace and earrings. This made her look more like the Queen. When Canada celebrated its 125th birthday in 1992, the date-stamp showed “1867-1992″ on the head side.
Guess what?! In 1997 Elizabeth became a round Small Penny again. In 2002, Elizabeth II Small Penny celebrated her Golden Jubilee for having been around for 50 years, with “1952-2002″ stamped below her head for that year. Not much has changed since.
Enough history! How about some fun and trivia? I have heard it said, “Find a penny, pick it up, the rest of the day you will have good luck”. This is apparently about to go the way of the dodo bird. There is also the expression, “Penny wise, pound foolish”. Origin unknown, meaning unclear. Another adage is “A penny for your thoughts”. Will this become “A nickel for your thoughts”?
As a whole, we pennies have been abused and mistreated. Just toss me away into the mud or snow because you no longer want to carry me around. That hurts landing on a hard surface like a roadway or the sidewalk. Embed me in the roadway for every vehicle to run me over. Why would someone do that? Toss one of us into a “wishing pond”, make a wish, and forget that our swimming ability sucks. We just sink to the bottom and drown. We have been encased in plastic to become a ‘key ring’. Some people have even drilled a hole through one of us to make a necklace. Why not have latched onto a Chinese coin for the same purpose? The hole is already in the coin.
We have collected dust in dishes, old cigar boxes, piggy banks, large vases. We used to be the respected treasure of little children. I remember being “hidden” at family picnics for the kids to find. These little people felt so proud walking into a store to buy a penny candy with the penny they had found. Wait a minute! Penny candy? What happened to them? The poor child of today has no concept of what a penny candy looks like.
Let us use some common cents (no pun intended). Can you begin to imagine the headaches for the shopkeepers? A tax somewhere (HST/PST) will need to be adjusted either up or down. It will have to go up to fifteen cents or down to ten cents. I opt for ten cents, All pricing will have to end in a five or zero so the illustrious one cent change no longer happens.
I would ramble on some more, but my brain is fading out again. Signing off, I am still Victoria Big Penny.
