The Poetry Issue

Since the very first issue of The Contributor in 2007, we’ve featured poetry by people experiencing homelessness. Most of the time, the poets also sold the paper. We went back through a decade of poetry and chose 10 of our favorite poems to illustrate the importance of poetry to our paper.

Illustrations by local artist, Paul Collins.

MUSIC CITY SOUNDS

BY KEN J.

The train whistle blows

Police sirens and ambulances wail

The jackhammers and pounders

The truck and the cars

Horns sound out

Helicopters whirl, jets fly by

The boots that stop

The crowds cheer on

Singers cry out swaller and holler

The puck that drops

The lights go out

Guitars that scream

Drummers beat on

The birds that sing

Tug boat sounds

The river runs on

The crack of the bat

Nashville sounds.

PLAIN PLEASE

BY ANITA S.

Plain potato chips

Not even with dip

I’ll take mine plain

Otherwise the choices

Would drive me insane…

I won’t just bake the cake

Eat the horrible cake I’ll go back for seconds and thirds

After all, these are my mistakes

A LATE DINNER WITH MY SON

BY JENNIFER ALEXANDER

Remember that night at dinner—

it was about a year ago—

we went to Sammy’s restaurant on Caroline Street.

You ordered a shot and the Mediterranean Plate.

I had water and the avocado, sprouts, and Swiss on whole wheat.

You paid because I didn’t have any money,

Remember?

We exchanged polite chit chat for a while—

you obsessively fingered your tortoise-shell frames

feeling superior and suspicious the whole time—

me just trying to get to the meat.

Without meaning to, I cut too close to the bone.

Your face, that face I know so well, flushed crimson. Thunderbolts of ridicule stormed from your mouth,

Remember?

You started calling names—mocking my bright spirit.

Then you slammed fifty bucks on the table

and headed for the exit,

me following a little behind.

Out on the street, you leaped into the driver’s seat,

gunned the engine, and peeled off into the night

leaving me standing in a Niagara rain on Caroline,

Remember?

Well, my umbrella was in your car.

I’d like to have it back.

DEALING WITH THE GOVERNMENT

BY LYDIA MACKLIN

Up at the crack of dawn

At the government office at 6:30 a.m.

Line at the door

Crawling mass of humanity

Herding us through the line like cattle

Velvet-roped chutes to guide the way

You’re just a number here my friend

Another piece of paper

That has to be dealt with

Forgotten at the end of the day

Go to sit down in the waiting room

This section is closed

Empty seats galore

You gotta sit over there

Where the people are crowded together

Like a rat-infested tenement slum

So many different hurting faces

All these people in desperate need

Coming here to these offices in humiliation

Begging scrapes from the master’s table

Further degradation do I suffer

Not enough that I am a number

278 as a matter of fact

I am treated less than human

Made to wait hours and hours

With nary a soft chair in sight

Screaming children galore

Can’t even fake that this is pleasant

If you’ve been there you know what I mean

However, this is the price you must pay

If you want the help they offer

To be able to feed yourself

I wish it didn’t cost so much

To my already battered self-esteem

I will endure this

For I have to you see

Since I have no other options

One fine day in the near and bright future

I will beg no more

This I do promise myself

As I sit here for another hour

Then maybe I can have my humanity back

FALLBACK SPRING FORWARD

BY MICHAEL “THE SCRIBE” G.

If only one could spring ahead

while fallin’ back; there in lies a neat trick,

with stress junkies buzzn’ on wheat juice double shots,

followin’ movie stars shootin’ double expressive

interludes of espresso, as Nashville tourists fall back on spring

dressed energy drinks, country stars find girly girl textin’

boots kickin’ high-energy mics staging eyes

wide-bright; true-blue as they

Jolt down before cold-moons fully grey, froze gigs,

Suddenly 1 hour twilightly zoned out,

Early on a stupid clock that seems to

control the human race.

Fallback spring ahead leave us alone,

I’m going to bed.

ROLLING, ROLLING

BY RAY PONCE DE LEON

Up against the wall

Hanging, untangling

Peaceful lying smooth

My substance dangling

Giant fingers start to pull

Tearing, mangling

Like children testing Santa’s beard

I’m spinning, whirling

Fingers pull again

Like a flag unfurling

Keep getting thinner and thinner

That squeaking sound,

I can’t escape her

Till all that’s left is my spool skeleton

And I spend eternity in the sea

That’s me, rolling rolling

A roll of toilet paper

THE BADGE BY GLEN N. Homeless Poet, Vendor

Does a badge give you

a right to discriminate?

Does the badge give you the

right to racially profile?

Does a badge give you an

open season license to

kill us like an animal? We

are human beings. We are

Black Americans. We were

stolen from Africa and brought

to America! Bob Marley sings,

There has to be a change

nothing changes if nothing

changes. We must all stand

together no matter what

color—no matter what the

cost. We all bleed red. I am an

Air Force brat. Father did 28 years.

One year he went to Thailand.

We couldn’t go so we relocated

to his relatives in L.A.! I witnessed

color water fountains—sat in the

back of the bus. Go to the movies

and we went in the back door and sat upstairs. 1968-2015. What has

changed? I served USAF! Help the change.

Thank God for video phones

ODE TO ODD

BY JEN A.

“You’re good enough, you’re smart enough, and, gosh darn it, people like you!”

Studies show

that starting each day

in front of a mirror

delivering a positive affirmation

of your worth to the world,

doesn’t work,

And may, in fact,

have the opposite effect.

BECAUSE, LET’S FACE IT, YOU’RE ODD!

You’re not like the other children.

You were absent from school

the day the other boys and girls

learned to be properly socialized;

because of an asthma attack,

or the dog ate your orthopedic inserts,

or to catch up on events in Pine Valley.

No make-ups.

You were raised in a beer joint

where the Coca Cola was so cold

it exploded in your mouth

sending a lava stream of foamy bubbles

up and out your nose

as all the assembled drunks

mocked you—

including your dad.

You took your First Communion,

sans veil,

in a blue dress

because your mother,

(a Christian Scientist

before the conversion)

didn’t realize the significance

of the white dress and veil.

No one ever offered you

a hand,

a leg up,

a pat on the back,

the benefit of any doubt,

comfort from night terrors,

help with your homework,

an ounce of encouragement.

You applied your own bandages,

read the classics,

grew your hair long,

learned to order take-out,

to lie convincingly without talking,

to keep your head down.

You know the comfort of headphones

and the sting of icy stares.

Your fish has left the water,

You’re chimera with a nose ring

and a pronounced limp.

You answer to, “hey, you”.

They think you’re irregular, unconventional,

and strange—

an anomaly wrapped in

a deviation from the norm.

So prove them right,

Embrace the exceptional, extraordinary you.

An original outshines a copy every time.

Pull those pants on over your pajamas,

put some fresh Hello Kitty tape

on that break in your glasses,

turn the mirror to the wall and shout,

“I AM WHAT I AM!”

God knows

You’re plenty good enough.

AT LAST

BY CANDY L.

There’s a blade of grass

Trying to make it through the city sidewalk.

It’s finally spring at last

If this blade of grass could talk.

I will fight every last rain drop

Conquer the cold of a snowflake

Dance in the wind, like

I can’t stop

Feet trample on me too much to take.

But at last my best shines through

I yawn and stretch trying to touch the sky

One smile that came from you

Makes me wanna try and try.

FAST SIDE

BY ED GALING

when I lived

on the lower east

side at ten

I would sit on

the fire escape

and write poems

they weren’t very

good

I used a small pad

and a pen

and after I wrote them

I would throw them

down the fire escape

I made an airplane

out of them

and watched as

the thing floated

heads over heels

to the street

where people

could trample

on them

and later the

garbage truck c

ame along

and swept it

away

with all the other

trash

I don’t think the poems

were any good anyway

and was happy to see

them get washed away

little did I know

I was washing away

parts of my life