Homelessness, Domestic Violence, AIDS, Racism

The Street
A robinwillanoma blew a cool wind through my soul,
As a billichrysanthemum bloomed sweetly in the haze,
And as a whoopigoldfinch fluttered past my glossy eyes,
The world suddenly focused on a horrifying gaze.
The woman looked upon me, on my boxes and my clothes,
And she seemed upset with odors as she turned away her face,
Then seemingly, she shuddered as she sloped to sit beside,
I heard her say ,"I'm frightened but I have no other place."
I turned to greet her sorrow as I offerred her a hug
She held me oh so tightly as her fear began to drain.
I said, "You cannot always be afraid, you need to rest"
And on that stretch of sidewalk, the sky opened up to rain.
Carefully I lifted her until she finally stood.
I led her to the shelter where the others could be found
"A newcomer", the word passed round, and others came to see
And there we were, the street people, just sitting on the ground.
My children are in foster care, a place I'm glad exists,
Though how I miss each one of them, this just is not a life
And rummaging through garbage cans is not a trait to learn,
Nor is the fear of being killed by some street leaders knife.
"Street people are victimless, they have themselves to blame"
Each time I hear this rubbish, my own voice is quickly spread.
"My good people, is it you who think I am a fool?
Please give me work and I will prove I strive to get ahead."
Judge me not for clothing for I'm surely not in vogue
And worry not about me for I know how to endure
My only wish is for the others out here on the streets
Never succumb to the lie that this is life's measure.
(c) 1991 David Brager
Assault and Pepper
Hair as soft as moonbeams run across her weary face
As tears begin to flow through battered eyes
How can there be a peaceful means to save the human race
When the man who beats her up,
Who kills their love, defeats her,
Finally dies?
Yet this is a story
Whose end has found no glory
As many people share their shattered lives
The answer is in breaking up,
And never ever making up
For it is the winner that survives.
(C) 1989 David Brager
Ode to the poet whose dear baby is dying
Her saddened eyes wilt solemnly behind a hidden phone
Though all I see are shadows as Ma Bell keeps us connected.
She whimpers in slight images as truth is brought through shadows,
"My son has AIDS and yet I cannot get myself to write."
She's working hard for causes that she wished she could believe
Would save her son from horrors he has yet to comprehend
Yet with her love, she works to get the word out to the world
Who know so very little and have never had the test.
I look to her in memory and see the time we met
And there I see a smile that could beam through foggy nights.
But as she said, for her good son, she couldn't write a verse,
I hope that she can lean on me, and if she needs, use mine.
(c) 1990 David Brager
Black and Blue
Had I not been born black I may have not landed here.
I sympathize my brothers who have followed in my fate.
And through the years, I cannot help but wonder what's my goal.
How can I survive, alive, within this world of hate?
If dope is of the mindless, what is hate upon the soul?
How can I prove existance when I barely even live?
What choices are so vital that I need to be the one
To whom should I, in love or life, take time to love or give?
Pressing fingers to my face, I cup my eyes to cry
For though I know no reason, I can not survive frustation.
I wish that I could find myself outside these hidden walls
And prove to life that I have worth and I am worth salvation.
(c) 1990 David I. Brager

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