Phone calls were made, meetings were held and the new group was set to get started

There was lots to be learned and so little time for the lessons to all be imparted

The plan was immense, it was larger this time and the time was going by fast

They would all act as one, getting everything done and their goal was to not finish last

It was done every year, in the schools through the town, it was something the kids all enjoyed

But this year was tough, with all the closings and stuff and the fact there was more unemployed

Each school was set up to blitz through the town and to collect all the food that they can

But with more on the list and those who would surely be missed were the ones who set last years plan

Team leaders were picked in each group at the school, and their job was to get this all done

And to beat last years tote by at least one more pound and to make sure that it was all fun

Pep rally's were held to get the students involved and help motivate those involved

But with more needing help and less firms out to help, they had problems they had to get solved

On December the first, the kids all set out ringing bells in the malls and the stores

From there they would go with buses and trucks and collect food by knocking on doors

The school who did best bringing in the most pounds would be win a cup and awards

But to all those concerned, they had to get out and blanket the town in great hoards

People backed out from tasks all assigned, It was cold and they had too much to do

There was homework as well, and jobs on the side and alot wouldn't see the task through

But they all persevered and the food all came in, cans and boxes and crates and in bags

There was food left at school from donators unknown, just good wishes all written on tags

The goal was to raise an amount more than last and to do it in twenty two days

The total to date was behind just a bit but there was still time to make this year pay

So with one last great push the students went out and they held one last drive at the mall

If they collect one more ton, then all would be done and they could all know they answered the call

On Christmas Eve morn the principals met and they said they had all reached their goals

They shook all their hands and they stuck out their chests for they knew that they'd fulfilled their roles

The students were told at assemblies too, and the food was dropped off through the town

They had beat last years numbers by about fifty pounds even though they all thought they'd be down

So for all those they helped for the one day that month, where they had Christmas dinner and laughter

Was brought  back to earth by one voice in one school, who asked "What would these families eat the day after?"
.

People don’t stop to think about the things they have.
The things they should be grateful for.
The things the homeless should have.

Speaking of the homeless, I was told ALL homeless people
No. Not just some.
ALL homeless people are drug addicts.
Are they?

I wouldn’t know.
I’m not homeless.
Neither were you. You have no right in saying that!
You don’t know that person’s life. You know NOTHING about them!

“We’re running out of food.” one said
“We’re running out of love!...” another said.
“We’re running out of time!...” another wished to say.

He wrote it to me. He wrote what he wanted to say.
He couldn’t speak because he was mute.
Did you know that? Did you know he was mute?
Would you feel pity if you did know?
Would you feel regret if you knew?

I was in a dream…
I was walking, talking
Talking to who?
Him.
The person mute.

He was talking!
I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t.
I felt no emotion.
I came across somebody else who was blind.
Another with a disorder.
One after another.
All aligned within the walkway.



They begged for me to help them.
They begged for forgiveness.
They begged and begged.
All wanting something they didn’t get.


I felt nothing.
No hurt.
No guilt.
No pity.
NOTHING.

I woke up and realized... it was you.
The one who was ungrateful for what they had.
You said they were addicts.
You said they didn’t deserve anything.
You said they couldn’t be happy.

Each of us has a bad mind.
Each of us has a bad side.

That person who was you;
That person who never thought;
Who never had feeling;
That is what we call the thing hidden within our shadows
The thing we must have to live…

Life.

John Doe died this morning,
a man of indeterminate age
They found him in an alleyway,
a blanket of newspaper lining his cage
They said it was overexposure,
hypothermia and bad luck.
He was pronounced, tagged, thrown in a bag,
and loaded onto the truck.

John Doe had lived in that same spot
for fifteen haggard years.
Yet nobody knew his real name,
or listened to his tears.
Was he once a father? Or
was he always just a punk?
The community just passed him by
To them he was nothing but a drunk.

Whether or not John Doe had seen
better times seemed irrelevant.
Legally, John wasn't a human being
just a negative urban element.
His last words were "Spare some change
for coffee and hot bread?"
But nobody could spare the time,
and left John Doe for dead.

I wonder how long John sat dead
before anybody saw or cared.
I wonder how many handfuls of change
really could have been spared.
A little bit of warmth and hope
Were all that he desired;
But John Doe never saw a break,
until his time expired.

Old John was unidentified,
no license or social security;
no family reported him missing,
see, John was just an "impurity".
The mortician took his organs out
and stitched him up with wire.
Threw him on the metal table
and slid him in the fire.

John Doe was disposed of
in accordance with local code
Then they cleaned up the alleyway
He lived and died in, his abode.
John Doe is dead and gone now,
but I guess it's all the same.
John had never really lived
since the world forgot he had a name.

Don't look into,
Homeless eyes.
Because,
You know their lives,
Are one big mess.

Don't look into,
Homeless eyes.
Don't look into,
Madness,
Despair,
And anxiety.
Don't look into,
Homeless eyes.
You'll only see,
The pain,
And agony,
They face,
Everyday.
Stay away,
From,
Homeless eyes.

Pushing their,
Shopping cart lives,
To the sidewalk's edge.
Hear them mumble.
Hear them mutter.
Endless paths of concrete.
Where they step off the ledge,
An' tumble into the gutter.

Haunted city streets,
Where the not yet dead,
Meet.

Comin' out at night.
Like zombies from the grave.
Haunted Eyes,
With no sight.
Haunted lives,
Enslaved.

Eyes that shed no life,
Look into black holes of death.
No mercy in their strife,
None 'till their last breath.

Haunted lives,
Living on the run.
Living on the street.
Haunted by the sun.
Haunted by the heat.
Living lies.
Haunted Eyes.
Bottle fed,
Needle led.
Living dead,
Have Haunted eyes.

home was grandiose in the poems
so it didn't exist.
it had to be fantasy
where there weren't tears on your tuxedo
but the alcohol stains of acceptance. and love?
love couldn't fly away on an aeroplane;
love stayed.
and clouds didn't swell into
empty promises; they
gathered their things and rained.
yes, you don't believe in home anymore
but god, you miss it.
so you'll drink beer at the ballet and pretend
that home is in the poems you've written today.

Beggars line the busy streets
cup and cloth outstretched
the look of desperation etched on their faces
like the dawn shadow of a carved lithograph

they don't ask me for spare change
just a simple nod of acknowledgement;
even after a shower and a change of clothes
I must have their look, that broken beaten look
the look of the street.

George Square is busy today
tourists happy clicking panoramic memories
admiration of forced foolish bravery at the Cenotaph
a list of names they will never know
and marvel at the antiquated architecture
to later revel in the wonderment of how anyone
in a civilised and modern society can do without skyscrapers
while they grudgingly share a half-measure of a single malt

I sit on a bench that marks a families love and remembrance
to the passing of a woman named Judith
the pigeons flock in carnal mass gatherings
knowing I've been there for 3 hours already
because I have the look of someone who hides his crusts
because I have the hungry eyes of the look of the street.

The well dressed man at the end of the alleyway,
the plume of carcinogen cigar smoke
like a coal fired power station  in the sunlight
this is where they go for over-priced craft ales
with Sautéed Wild Rabbit starter and £65 Wagyu Tomahawk Steak
a place for fine pickings in the alleyway ashtrays
dispensed cancer sticks left disregarded
the half-finished defiance of another £9 packet
that was simply spare change to begin with

I hover around making false promises on a deadline phone call
pretending in mime to be semi-OK
that the compadres are running late
and "tell me about the theatre show later"
the misdirection amid the camouflage of plastic peace lilies
while my other hand rummages the unspent tobacco
and the black-on-black door steward keeps clocking me
because I have the look of the street.

I just feel like
Everyone need
Look through different eye's

That man you cursed
Riduquil  to get job
When there are none
And God forbid
For you to help him
So he can survive tonight
His death may never
Be on your conscience
You could have helped stop it

He got family to
Your not only one
You should stop think
Before you spit on him

Just like every one else he feel
The pain  when he try's
Why do you think he cry's

Sitting here in Tompkins, it all comes rushing back
The empty stares and bloodshot eyes,
Shooting dope and smoking crack.
Tiger is on the corner shouting "it's the first day of spring!"
Everything is gone to me, all my belongings in the pawn shop, sold.
It doesn't matter what season it is, my heart is always cold.
They kick me out of the basement and now I have no place to sleep.
So I rob a man, cop a few backs.
Get high in a public bathroom and weep.
My eyes are brimming with tears as I walk down down the street.
They're silently screaming help me to every person I meet.
But I cannot let the world see me cry, they cannot know my tears. The world is a big bad place and it cannot know my fears.
I'm waking up next to the East River, I'm only 19 years old.
How did I get this way, what happened? I was always a good girl and did as I was told.
Mommy, where are you?
Mommy can I please come back?
My father has left me and you will too
I'm sorry.. I'm sorry. But this is what enfolds when your daughter does smack.
I'm in Denver now still miserable, I am so far away.
I swallow my pride and lie when they ask if I'm okay.
I'm staying in a crack house, my arm is infected, I'm scared.
"Help!" I tell them. "Please take me somewhere safe."
They roll their eyes and laugh, they say there's no such place.
I overdose, my heartbeat stops for two minutes. Then I snap back to life.
"******* it!" I yell "why didn't I just *******  die?"
I try again and fail twice.
My time is running out, I can't take this **** anymore. But when it comes to that needle.. For her I'm a ******* *****.
My arm though.. My ******* arm. It's getting worse. Five times is size, filled with ****, it's so ******* sore.
I take a breath. It's early morning. I grab my things and run for the street. I'm sorry to my friends.. But my promises I can't keep.

A thousand more miles away now, my arm is still throbbing, lying in a hospital bed. Hooked up to a million machines, my doctor saying he's surprised I'm not dead.

This is what I think about, just so you're aware.
This is what I think about, alone in Tompkins Square.

She stands tall and proud, her elegant architecture that even on winter mornings warms an icy breath and sates an empty belly.

In the burst of sunlight, beyond and through the trees, she is a muffle of loud voices, calling out a name, I can't quite catch it, in the rush of a westerly wind and the swirl of Autumn leaves.

The echoes bounce off the bark, and in her resonance heralds the death knell of the light and the coming of the children of the dark.

The moon wrestles in a patchwork cloudy sky, and I the Watcher can do nothing to halt time or the tide.

Left to watch as the Belle Tower fades from sight, silently she hides in the long shadow, and like the moonlight between the trees, flickers as she slowly passes me by.