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poems 100 poets 10 years Situations 13

Celebrating a decade of exceptional writing from the AIDS Service Center NYC Creative Writing Workshop

Situations 13

Situations is a literary magazine containing the writings of participants in the Creative Writing Workshop at AIDS Service Center NYC. The ASC Creative Writing Workshop promotes medication adherence, stress reduction, sustained recovery from substance abuse, and healthy behaviors by offering a forum for selfawareness, social engagement, empowerment, and selfexpression among persons living with and affected by HIV/AIDS. The ASC Creative Writing Workshop is funded by a grant from the Ryan White HIV/AIDS Treatment Extension Act of 2009 – Part A, through the New York City Department of Health to Public Health Solutions, and a grant from the Phil Zwickler Charitable and Memorial Foundation Trust. The printing of Situations was made possible by the generous support of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration. ASC extends its thanks to each of these funding sources for demonstrating the vision and commitment to support creative programming for people living with and affected by HIV/AIDS. Founded in 1990, AIDS Service Center NYC is a communitybased nonprofit at the forefront of the fight against HIV/AIDS and the effort to ensure that all New Yorkers have access to HIV testing, treatment and care. ASC fulfills its mission of helping many, one by one by providing culturally relevant programs for men, women and families coping with HIV/AIDS. From nationally acclaimed peer training to poetry workshops, substance abuse counseling to support groups, we connect people with medical care, housing, and other services that help individuals and families maintain health and optimism in the face of HIV/AIDS. ASC has three Community Centers located in Union Square, East Harlem, and the Lower East Side. All ASC services are free, confidential, and offered in English, Spanish and French/Haitian Creole. Workshop Leader & Situations Editor/Photographer: Project Advisor: Publication Design: Print Production: ASC Program Liaison: ASC Poetry Leaders:

Gerry Gomez Pearlberg Sharen I. Duke Joseph Cavalieri Talo Kawasaki Ramona Cummings Rufino Colón, Rosa Velez, Robert E. Lee, Chris Cameron, & Grace (a.k.a. Poetic)

Contents A Message from Sharen I. Duke.................................................. page 4 A Message from Gerry Gomez Pearlberg.............................................5 In Memoriam......................................................................................6 Shurland H. Aird, What Is A Prison?.....................................................7 Diane Williams, Get Real On This Train . .............................................8 Mercedes Hendricks, Cure..................................................................9 Robert E. Lee, Champion . ................................................................10 Ashley Johnson, Dear HIV ................................................................10 monté, AIDSLESSVILLE . ....................................................................11 George Leeper, Ode to Medication....................................................12 L. Murphy, The Silent Song of Self-Esteem........................................13 Luther Jarman, My Soul.....................................................................14 Sindy Scott-Jenkins, Hats..................................................................15 Rufino Colón, The God I Believe In, The God I Don’t Believe In . ........16 Elaston R. Washington, My View .......................................................17 R.B.F., Thanks to Jimmy....................................................................18 Sherry P., As I Write .........................................................................19 John A. Cooper, Poetry . ...................................................................20 Robert Fields, Hood..........................................................................20 Andre T. (a.k.a. Peaches), Brooklyn Night..........................................21 Carolyn, For NYC..............................................................................21 Larry G., Facts (Blue Ink)...................................................................22 Reginald Gunnell, My Friend ............................................................22 Anthony Ellis, To All My Homies . .....................................................23 Bobby Weekfall, Big Apple Knowledge...............................................24 David DeSilva, Close My Eyes............................................................25 Dawn McKnight, Movies....................................................................26 Ruth Bryant, My Subway Ride............................................................26 John Johnson, Riding the Train . .......................................................27 Darnell Robinson, Relegated to the A- .............................................28 Ivey Cherry, What I Believe: My Destiny As An Addict . ......................29 Edwin, If...........................................................................................29

Kent Jackson, No More ....................................................................30 Theresa Ilardi, Woman With The Bottle .............................................31 Benjamin Vines, Genealogy...............................................................32 Bernard Wells, Junk...........................................................................32 Evelyn Wiggins-McCauley, Today......................................................33 Stephen Walker, Heavy . ...................................................................33 John Pinkney, Affirmations................................................................34 Malé Vasquez, Afraid........................................................................34 Staci Baldwin (a.k.a. Chocolate), Heroin No More . ............................35 Brian J., A Day in the Life .................................................................36 April Sharpe, Vision..........................................................................36 Rosa Velez, Concealed Emotions. .....................................................37 Maria Sobieray, Notification of Disagreement....................................38 Linda Hamer, Freedom . ...................................................................39 John James Pearsall, To The Women of The World.............................39 Vanessa Sullivan, Gratitude...............................................................40 Beng L. Kam, Two Types of Intelligence............................................41 Roland Caldwell, Suffer the Fool. ......................................................42 Dudley Koonce, Blood Line . .............................................................43 Tracy Collins, The Family..................................................................43 D.C., Family Gatherings....................................................................44 Dalisa, Why Did My Mother Leave Me?...............................................44 Peggy Cunningham, My Mother’s Music............................................45 Larry Autry, My Dance. .....................................................................45 Shannon Randall, He Was In The Army..............................................46 Cat Keith-L, Lack..............................................................................47 Grace (a.k.a. Poetic), My Blueprint (How I Was Made).........................48 Barbara Lewis, Looking In The Mirror................................................49 Clyde C., Guilt, Desire, and Love.......................................................49 M.A. Gustine, Inner Beauty................................................................50 Louise Saunders, The Waterfall Means To Me....................................50 Fred Street, Twilight ........................................................................51 Kenneth Mallard, My Life . ................................................................52 Iris Elizabeth Sankey-Lewis, The Moon ............................................52 Spyhrit, Winter’s Kiss........................................................................53

Diane Dawson, Today I Cried............................................................54 Chardelle Imani Lassiter, Audacity....................................................55 Steve Lewis (a.k.a. Latin Gorilla), The Streets Are Crying . .................56 Bruce Jr. (a.k.a. Priest), Live To Let Live.............................................57 Miguel Class, Muddy Water...............................................................58 Leroy Mott, I Will Always Be There ....................................................58 Chris Cameron, Angel Without Wings ...............................................59 Shabazz, Loving You Too .................................................................59 Pervilder Lewis, Thanks, ASC ...........................................................60 Dwayne/Deanna Gibson, Dining Out ................................................60 Anthony Rubino, Again Time Again! . ...............................................61 Lawrence Taylor, Thursday Writing ..................................................61 Mykel McCauley, Jealousy ................................................................62 Eric D. Miller, Looks..........................................................................63 Gregory Footman, ¿Discontentment?.................................................63 Ronald Smith, To Be Me Is To Love Me..............................................64 Richard Sosa, Wasted DNA................................................................64 Matteo N. Delgrosso, “Love The World”.............................................65 Michael L. Snead, Below Ground Zero ...............................................66 Gene A. Barclay, My Name Is Gene....................................................67 Anonymous, Living In A Shelter . ......................................................67 Ronald Ray, Who Is This Child? . .......................................................68 Connie A., In Dreams........................................................................69 Lorraine Zier, The Prostitute ............................................................69 Yevereh Et Elohim, Will You Look At Her . .........................................70 David Molina, Ancient History...........................................................71 Guy Williams, To All That Knew Me!..................................................71 Sabrina Thomas (a.k.a. Beanie), Children . ........................................72 Hattie L. Brown, Tears/Stress ...........................................................73 Carlos Lopez, Puddles . ....................................................................74 Adam Williams, Recover ...................................................................75 Donald Ensley, My Life......................................................................76 Claudia Rich, The Hill . .....................................................................77 Wamiq ‘Ali Abdus Sabur, Why?? . ......................................................78 Erik R. Nusom (a.k.a. Finesse), Ode to Freedom ...............................79 Leroy Day, When You Write Something .............................................80

“What does poetry have to do with HIV prevention and care?” A decade ago, we launched ASC’s Creative Writing Workshop with the conviction that creative expression would open a path to social connection and healing. What emerged was amazing—fiercely honest, courageous poetry about living with HIV without being solely defined by it. The group became a place of solace and safety. The poets spoke passionately about painful struggles with addiction and relationships, homophobia, stigma, illness, and loss. They shared their experiences in brutally frank and profoundly openhearted ways that magically found hope in hardship. ASC’s challenge was to convince the federal government to fund a “poetry program”—even one that integrated art, healing, and creative expression. With treatment advances, and people with HIV/AIDS living longer, healthier lives, we understood that people living with HIV/AIDS are more than their diagnosis, more than their addiction, and more than their sexuality, gender, race, or religion. So we called the Creative Writing Workshop a “support group” for long-term survivors of HIV and ran the group in that spirit. After several years, with support from the Zwickler Family Memorial Trust, ASC established a Poetry Leadership Program that cultivated the group facilitation and leadership skills of long-term workshop participants, so that they could lead groups when the workshop facilitator, Gerry Gomez Pearlberg, was away. This process significantly developed their skills and self-confidence, reinforcing their sustained recovery and positive health choices. Over the past ten years we’ve lost many poets, many friends. Their courage and creativity continue to inspire us, and we are thankful for the legacy of their writing and their lives. With this special issue of Situations, we celebrate all the poets, past and present, who have joined together to build a powerful and lasting community where creative expression really has become a path to healing and well-being.

Sharen I. Duke Executive Director/CEO AIDS Service Center NYC

“All of us have thoughts, dreams, fears, secrets, and ideas deep inside of us. Poetry gives us the words to bring them out.”

—A participant in the ASC Creative Writing Workshop

I’ve had the honor of leading ASC’s Creative Writing Workshop since its first meeting on January 27, 2000. Since that time, the group has met weekly to explore poetry as a path to personal growth, community, and connection. The 100 poems presented here span the group’s first decade. While these poems certainly speak for themselves about the workshop’s value and impact, a few highlights from the past 10 years further illustrate the scope of this effort. • More than 475 workshops have been held so far, serving about 300 men and women. Many participants have attended consistently for years, and two of our current members have been with us from the start. • The group has discussed more than 300 poems by over 150 poets, taking inspiration from the Harlem Renaissance; 17th century haiku; the literature of the AIDS epidemic; and many other sources. Participants generated roughly 4,000 poems following these creative explorations. • Situations, the publication you now hold in your hands, launched in 2000 and is now in its 13th edition. The magazine has featured over 800 poems by 125 workshop participants. • In 2005, we developed a Poetry Leadership Program to enable participants to run some of the Creative Writing Workshops on their own. We have trained 12 Poetry Leaders who have led upwards of 100 workshops.

• For many, this workshop has been a catalyst for intensive literary undertakings. One participant has written over 5,000 haiku since learning about this poetic form in our workshop. Another turns in a new batch of poems each week, and has produced over 200 poems in the past two years. Several participants perform their work at the Bowery Poetry Club and other venues. One group member has written a memoir, while another is working on his first poetry manuscript. • The workshop’s reach extends well beyond the bright and sunny room at ASC where our weekly gatherings occur. Over the years, our group has been invited to do at least 10 public readings at three Barnes & Noble bookstores in Manhattan, reaching large and enthusiastic audiences. And thousands learned about our work when “My Life In Verse,” a documentary about the workshop, aired on the Showtime Network on World AIDS Day 2004. As a lifelong practitioner of poetry, I’ve had the good fortune of teaching poetry workshops in many settings over the years. Leading ASC’s Creative Writing Workshop has been the most rewarding of these experiences by far. As you read these superb poems, I think you’ll see why.

Gerry Gomez Pearlberg Workshop Facilitator

Situations 5

In Memoriam

Andre T. (a.k.a. Peaches) Erik R. Nusom (a.k.a. Finesse) Ken Mallard Mykel McCauley Peggy Cunningham Robert Fields Sherry P. Shurland H. Aird Spyhrit Wamiq ‘Ali Abdus Sabur

We remember these individuals with gratitude for their powerful contributions to the ASC Creative Writing Workshop. Their strength, passion, and honesty—in poetry and in life— live on in our hearts, and in these poems.

Shurland H. Aird

What Is A Prison? For some, it is drug addiction. For some, it is love. For some, it is a dependency on alcohol to get them through life. For some, it is the hate that they hold on to. For some, it is the obsession with wealth and good fortune. For some, it is the inability to distinguish what is real and what is only in their mind. For some, it is poverty and lack of basic life-sustaining things. For some, it is a disease that takes over their bodies and destroys what they need to survive. For some, it is of their own making— for which they sentence themselves to Life Without Parole. For some, it is the past that they can never forget. For some, it is the future, which they fear because they don’t know what’s to come. For me, I have been in many prisons and probably will be in others in the future. But if I can still write about them, then I will always be free.

Situations 7

Diane Williams

Get Real On This Train HIV/AIDS is damn real. It don’t have no color, race, size, shape—it don’t discriminate. I remember when this train was new coming out of the station. The people in the front didn’t want to be bothered with the people in the back. We were there. Get real, come to the back— we won’t bite. Triple glove to touch you, told you that they care, but it was their job! Treated me and my little girl like we were the walking dead. Come to my part of this train. I don’t care how I got it. It’s here. I’m here. I have to live with it. I want to tell my friends, children, neighbors, everyone how deadly this disease can be. Today I’m doing all the right things in my life. I can hold my head up high and say I’m HIV+ and I’m here!! Here to stay. Here to pass the word that wasn’t passed to me. Here to stand up for HIV rights. Women, children, HIV or not. People denying this disease is killing. Poor President in Africa. I pray for him. I also pray for a cure. Get real and get on my part of this train. It’s O.K.

Mercedes Hendricks

Cure I do not feel so good today. I put on my attire and shop for a feel-good cure. I stop at all the stores in the mall. First, grocery store—I’m not hungry. Next, salon—I look beautiful. Next, drug store—as I scan through the shelves, I notice I have tried everything on the shelves. As I stroll on, there is a street peddler with a large selection of all forms of art— the only items I never shopped for for my health. I saw a painting that reminded me of a wonderful time of past and present. Then there was a book that hypnotized me. Then, there were the most beautiful artifacts I’ve ever seen. Within all that beauty in the arts, I grasped my cure.

Situations 9

Robert E. Lee

Champion I’m a real champ, because advanced AIDS put up a very intriguing battle. But I eventually won the fight. When I first came down with AIDS, I couldn’t walk or talk. The only thing I was able to do on my own was breathe. It was like the AIDS virus knocked me down and when the count started, it turned around, raised its hands and walked away. But before all the counting stopped, I got up and walked over to it. Tapped it on the shoulder, and as soon as it turned around, I completely knocked it out. Whew! Finally I beat it. With my heart full of joy, I raised up my fist and walked away with a big smile. Sure, I didn’t win a belt, but I did win my life back. That makes me the greatest champion in the whole world.

Ding! Ding! Life goes on.

Ashley Johnson

Dear HIV Dear HIV, I’m not going to let you control me. For you need me, I am your host, your survival. By my mistake, I let you into my life. But I thank you, for you changed my life for the better. My eyes are open wider; my mind is never closed. You’re the unwanted guest that will never leave. I’m going to achieve to make you miserable. Cause I refuse to let you make me miserable. From your partner for life, Ashley

monté

AIDSlessville I’m so fed up, sick and tired, tired of being sick, tired of this HIV shit. Where is the billboard ad for AIDSLESSVILLE?

Come, leave your meds and memorials behind, Come to AIDSLESSVILLE, Where our motto is, “Who gives a good goddamn?” Come bask in our sun, Come have your fill on our menu of greasy and downright non-nutritional cuisine. Come to AIDSLESSVILLE. This ad not brought to you by any pharmaceutical company.

Situations 11

George Leeper

Ode to Medication or… How I Got On The Pill The Three Musketeers of my life are Sir Viramune, Sir Epivir, and Sir Zerit. I first met these three gentlemen two-and-a-half years ago. The following stanzas are the application and history of the three above-mentioned soldiers of fortune (if you can apply them in time). First, there is Sir Viramune, whose bloodline can be traced back to the non-nuke family— probably overall the weakest link of the three due to the fact of protein binding, which can go as high as 96% and also the first to become resistant to the fight for undetectability. Second, we have perhaps my favorite of all time: Sir Epivir, who belongs to the Nucleoside Analogue House of Nobility— who also fights more than one opponent at a time (Epivir can fight HIV and HEP B) and boosts AZT if you become resistant to it. Third, but not least, Sir Zerit— who is a hell of a warrior, but sometimes has a tendency to hurt the one he is defending by bringing on neuropathy (damaging the nerve endings in the feet and hands). As you can see, by combining all three of these warriors a person under their protection has an above-average chance to survive. In a way, I feel like d’Artagnon with an undetectable viral load. So there is strength in numbers.

L. Murphy

The Silent Song of Self-Esteem Quiet within. A voice that needs so desperately to speak, speak, yet still silent of words to say, “to thy self be true.” Is it a sin to have the talent to speak but say nothing— afraid, scared? Nervous to do anything, worried about what others may think, shying away from society for so long. Tears following each other down a still, pale face of constant concern about another person’s opinion. The silent song of self-esteem. The killer of dreams. A promised future to behold and to care for— speak, speak like a sumac of far and wild ranges of syllables expressed inside to be pushed out— YELL! YELL OUT LOUD! SING! SING above the silence of ignorance that’s no longer in charge. The silent song of self-esteem has left the building once and for all.

Situations 13

Luther Jarman

My Soul My soul is like a tree growing by a stream Bearing fruit that is strong and green Eve was formed from Adam’s rib God gave her life and she began to live I am bearing fruit in my old age As I write poetry and perform on stage My soul is the soul of a poet that’s old. When he has tried me, I shall come forth as pure gold: My soul! My soul! My soul!

Sindy Scott-Jenkins

Hats Ex-felon. Ex-convict. Recovering addict, mental health client. Ex-streetworker, incest survivor. Ex-ward of the state on a PINS petition. Ex-foster child, rape victim. HASA client. Welfare recipient. Mother of 8. Wife. High school graduate. Music lover (instrumental and vocal). Singer. Valedictorian. Patient. Overachiever. Published poet. A chameleon: Shamiqua, Candida, Zoraya, Dusty— these were the names I went by on the street. Positive since 1985, a long-term survivor. An all-round winner.

Situations 15

Rufino Colón

The God I Believe In, The God I Don’t Believe In The God I believe in is the God of all people, and I mean all people. The God I believe in is the God who parted the Red Sea to pave the way to freedom for the Jews. The God I believe in is the God who wrote our Laws on Mount Sinai. The God I believe in is the God who gave his only begotten son. The God I believe in is the God who made Mohammed His only Prophet. The God I believe in is the God who gave Gandhi and King the courage to love those who hated them. The god I don’t believe in is the god who slaughtered thousands of Muslims in southern Spain. The god I don’t believe in is the god who launched the slave ships that brought the Africans to the Americas. The god I don’t believe in is the god who ordered the execution of six million Jews. The god I don’t believe in is the god who dropped two big ones on Japan. The god I don’t believe in is the god who flew those airplanes into the towers. The god I don’t believe in is the god who condemns people to HIV/AIDS because of their lifestyle. So what God do you believe in?

Elaston R. Washington

My View I live in a world where things and concepts are changed every day. What I have difficulty with is the fact that we are a product of our own discrimination. We’ve set the tone and others put the lid on it. We keep ourselves down, through education, crime, and even language. What we fail to realize is that we have our own beauty, which we need to enhance. Let people know we’re just as smart as you, we just have a language of our own. Let the white man (and/or others) know that I’m not African American, but Black and that I’m standing in the crayon box right next to you. Let’s band together to support the cause.... Cause we belong here. Let’s keep other minorities involved— Asians, Africans, Filipinos, Russians— hell, I’ll go even further than that: gays, bisexuals, lesbians, drag queens, transgenders. We all make the world go ‘round and even you won’t stop us. So let’s stand for something so we don’t fall for anything. Change with the change.

Situations 17

R. B. F.

Thanks to Jimmy At fifteen the thing began to show itself. At sixteen I got to know myself. At seventeen I had to show myself. In the morning following my exquisite discovery of man to man I chided myself. Then I read Giovanni’s Room and I loved myself. After that I found myself in Another Country.

Sherry P.

As I Write As I write as I lay suspended in animation my head imagining what I want my pen to state as I lay awakened by the sounds the whispers the trees make in wondrous delight as I write the world unfolds before my sight the words rhyme in and out of off-beaten time with almighty might as I write dreams are formed in hues and arrays of sunlight bright. As I write poetry pops like a Beethoven symphony. As I write, Picasso becomes alive in my very pen letting the majesty in as I write I become amazing in unbelievable ways I could never fathom in any other way I say with sheer delight as I write, write as I write!

Situations 19

John A. Cooper

Poetry Poetry for what has been an eyesore in life— can be an outlet for the strife. Poetry has been an enlightening tool to get rid of the bad and acknowledge I was a fool. Poetry has been love inside, for self. It is a talent you can’t find on a bookshelf.

Robert Fields

Hood Yea, though I walk through the hood that is mine, I fear no evil, for I am part of these streets. The big red brick buildings they call “Projects,” I call home, built like the pyramids in Egypt, brick by brick. Seeing death daily is like the breath I breathe: short and endless. Thou shalt not kill means nothing in this place. Thou shalt not steal is like saying, thou shalt not eat. I glide through my hood like a black butterfly, unseen but ruffled by the wind— Brooklyn.

Andre T. (a.k.a. Peaches )

Brooklyn Night Very hot evening...all is calm. Disturbance suddenly arose in the midst of the night.... Anger, jealousy has filled the air.... No more peace, wishing to see the sun rise again.

Carolyn

For NYC I live in New York City. For 46 years. The world is so, so round. I am lost, I am worried, I am in pain because I don’t know where to turn, who to talk to, what to say— This is the Big Apple, as they call it. Let me go see what the Big Apple is about— big tall building big green tree all kinds of cars and things all kinds of color mix people.

Situations 21

Larry G.

Facts (Blue Ink) The sound of an alarm telling us it’s time to wake up. The sound of voices and movements vibrating from left to right. We learn to move one leg, then the other. You have learned step one. The smell of milk and honey, freshness of bread and blueberry waiting to be explored by us. As we expand our mind to the information we acquire within us the ability to accomplish whatever we want.

Reginald Gunnell

My Friend The day is a blessing when things can get done. Walk, basketball, baseball, swim. Then my day starts to wind down. I look up to the sky and see the moon. Then the clouds start to surround her. But with me, the day and the night are my friends.

Anthony Ellis

To All My Homies To all my homies in the housing projects who survived The struggle of both poverty and neglect Who ran for days on hope and energy Who lived through depression, recession, and oppression. To all my homies, who still kept a smile— No food on their table, no money to be seen— With no dog or cat— Just the old poor man’s dream. To all my homies, who live to remember The pain of segregation, no voter’s registration, Mis-education by false communication. To all my homies who have now passed on to meet their maker, Those who fought for freedom of speech, freedom to teach And lasting freedom to claim as free. To all my homies heaven-bound, missing only their faces around This no-sleep town, hearing their voices from time to time Causing me to reflect on their struggles As I too draw the line.

Situations 23

Bobby Weekfall

Big Apple Knowledge New York is a beautiful city. It is where cars are flying, people are dying. Robbing, stealing, drug dealing. Sex, crack, a landmark of corruption. Law enforcement killing kids with no weapons and beating it in. It is not justice. It works because they have unity after they divided ours. Even the kids suffer because they have to pass a third grade test in order to go to fourth grade. I guess their way of thinking is, “We need the room. Get out!” Every culture is here. But if you can’t pay, leave.

David DeSilva

Close My Eyes Here I lay, the ruins of what’s left of a day. Less than ordinary, not very exciting at all. Yet so very exasperating. I close my eyes, resting them after a day of training them on the world, battered, abused, and beaten by the Madison Avenue scene, the sparkle and strange chatter of a stranger. My feet lay limp and lifeless after hours of supporting my cigarette habit and blazing old trails. Tired from taking me from one adventure to another they can’t see. Wondering how they can walk a mile in another man’s shoes when they can barely stand to go a few more feet in what they’re in now. Now I lay me down to sleep. Good dreams tonight I hope I reap. Dreams not of what might be but what might have been. How the day might have gone had I only stayed in one place. Had I let the world come and find me today, would old friends have stopped by? Would I have been killed? Would I have been cast in a movie where I run naked through a desert speaking nonsensical French? Or at the very least, not be so tired as I am now?

Situations 25

Dawn McKnight

Movies Popcorn the darkness sound big screen comfy chairs free tickets quietness feel the effects of the movie feels like I’m inside the fact that I get away forget all your problems makes me happy I like the coming attractions

Ruth Bryant

My Subway Ride I’m exhausted. My clothing is dusty and splattered with blood. My breathing is labored because of tremendous fear. Am I hyperventilating? Who’s there? The sand...so much sand. What is happening here? My subway ride. I’m consumed with disgusting newspaper info on Iraq. It is now a morning ritual. I sometimes feel transported—is it empathy? It’s time to find a substitute. I will, I will. For now I’ll read only the passengers’ faces.

John Johnson

Riding the Train While standing in the subway one day I heard two people’s voices yelling at what appeared to be each other. Tired from work, I thought, “What a jerk. Why won’t he leave her alone?” Then, suddenly, I saw what it was about—the man that I hated when he shouted, “Bitch! You’re full of shit!” And then he slapped her. It brought back memories of my past when my father used to beat my mother’s ass and there was nothing you could do or next it would be you.... riding the train.

Situations 27

Darnell Robinson

Relegated to the ARelegated to the A-Train beggin’ for some change— could have gone to Harvard, cause Lord knows I got the brains. How the Hell did I get here, when will this ever cease? Ever since I took a hit, it seems I get no peace. All of this confusion, all this noise in my head. Sometimes I think I’m living large, other times I wish I was dead! Abandoned buildings and rooftops where I’m forced to lay my head. Living in this total despair, living in this dread— And why am I so paranoid? And where did you come from? And why you askin’ for a hit? Man! Shit, you can’t get none!! Didn’t you see me on that there A-Train, beggin’ for some dough? Fuck, Shit, now you blew my high, now I gots to get some mo’

But I ain’t got no more dough, damn! Oh well, back to the A-Train.

(To be continued...)

Ivey Cherry

What I Believe: My Destiny As An Addict As I’m sitting here in Creative Writing, the strangest thought comes to me: that eventually, my recovery will be my destiny! For instance, I used to rob and steal. Now I’m in recovery and eating a meal. My family was the last thing on my mind. But ’cause of my recovery, the time for them I’ll find. I believe in my recovery. Because now, it’s all about me.

Edwin

If If I was the king of the world would it bring me happiness? If I had a kind and beautiful, humble lady— my new girlfriend—could she take away my loneliness and sadness, and offer me peace and love? If I had a fly woman, would she be true to me or always make me jealous and blue? If I had all the gold, silver, diamonds, and treasures on earth, would I be a wild pirate or change into a sad, evil, drunken sailor?

Situations 29

Kent Jackson

No More Hmmm... They ask me, “How come you don’t come ‘round no more?” I say, “I don’t have a need for that pain... no more!” At night, the committees aren’t in session... no more. So much freedom comes from surrendering. No more fear of violence or deceit. Close your eyes. Sweet dreams. Just remember in the morning to give thanks and say, no more.

Theresa Ilardi

Woman With The Bottle I’m the woman with the bottle, sitting in the street with no place to go. That is what you see, if you even look that closely before quickly turning away. I was my mother’s baby in pretty lace dresses from her sewing machine, ribboned pigtails and shiny patent leather shoes. Some say I was Daddy’s little girl, but hey, let’s not go there. Brought shame onto my family— people shaking their heads, babies having babies, they said. I graduated Junior High, eight months full. My son’s mother: happy and young making bottles, changing diapers, playing peek-a-boo after school. Not everyone thought that was too cool. Became my husband’s wife: black eyes and bruises overnight. Oh that? Just slipped down the stairs. Yeah, and right into someone’s fist. He kept my belly filled, three more hostages into a house filled with rage and alcohol. Uh-oh! BCW is knocking on my door. He can put it down for appearance’s sake. Me, I’m shaking like a leaf. One day at a time, fuck that! Can’t you see I need a drink?! Detoxes, rehabs, did them all. If nothing changes, nothing changes. I know who my true friends are: José Cuervo, Bud the Wiser, King the Cobra and let’s not forget kind old Georgi. So now you see me on the street, the woman with the bottle. Dear God, perhaps it’s time to become— plain old me.

Situations 31

Benjamin Vines

Genealogy Come one, come all—let’s talk about alcohol. Who cares to admit complete defeat? John Barleycorn tells me what it wants. Cunning. Baffling. Powerful. A rapacious creditor. I drank for effect. Of course I plotted murder with it. The relationship was one of undying love. Not once did it tell me it loved me. I would’ve killed you, probably, if you tried to tear us apart. Environment played a deadly part— a bar on every corner, and a liquor store too. The advertisements on billboards and the media. What a great thing for sex: wine, champagne, cognac. And then she will turn you on and no human power can help you. Only God can, and may you find Him now.

Bernard Wells

Junk Impregnated with junk steals his wealth Guerilla warfare with himself He fights his life with a world of strife Infections, injections—there’s no protection It’s fair no one cares he’s headed nowhere This pain he breathes is self-inflicted The hurt he birthed is so explicit He’ll survive this fight but will he miss it No pain no gain to free this hell His kids will listen—what a story he’ll tell

Evelyn Wiggins-McCauley

Today Passing through life, Traveling at high speed Suddenly one day there was a planted seed Growing as quickly as a strange wild weed Wondering to myself where this might lead Just for today, this is my plea: To focus on my health and sobriety A higher power my creed One day at a time is my intention indeed.

Stephen Walker

Heavy The weight of the world Can be very heavy The strain of reality Can be really heady To make it through You must be ready To master the world You have to hold it steady

Situations 33

John Pinkney

Affirmations Now I recognize how much my alcohol and drug use kept me from being really close to my body. I’ve been hiding out for a long time. Somewhere along the way I quit being open to anyone. I quit taking any risks. My only relationship was with my addiction. When someone approached me in a caring way I was afraid. I’d back away as quickly as I could. I knew I was not being honest with myself and I did not want people to discover my phoniness. Now I am discovering a real desire to be close again, to build some honest relationships.

Malé Vasquez

Afraid I feel afraid, but why? I try to run, but to where? I try to hide, but from who? I suddenly awake and realize it’s just a dream. So why am I still afraid?

Staci Baldwin (a.k.a. Chocolate)

Heroin No More Heroin, I choose to use you NO MORE. You kept me many times from answering the knock at opportunity’s door. You kept me paralyzed and lost for 22 years and because of you I acquired many unwanted fears. I tried to fight you back but every time I tried the degree of physical, emotional and mental pain you inflicted on me laid me flat on my back. You brainwashed me and you helped me to hurt my family and friends, and because of that, I wanted my life to end. But guess what, Heroin?? I fear you no more, no more, no more, no more! Guess what? Opportunity has knocked again and this time, Motherf---r, I am going to open and walk through that door. Guess what, Heroin? I found someone who’s going to help me whip your ass, because just for today I know I can’t whip you alone. This morning, I prayed to God for you to leave me alone and you know what I was told? If I don’t f--k with you you won’t kill me. Situations 35

Brian J.

A Day in the Life Life has been good through years of recovery remembering the ups and downs of life, pain, and suffering waking up with the need for another fix—morning sickness—knowing the wrongs but continuing to suffer

April Sharpe

Vision My vision is hazy. I think I’m in paradise. I see myself running along the beach. For once I am totally happy, wishing this would never end. Then I awaken and realize nothing has changed. I am still the lonely and very unhappy woman who went to sleep earlier that day.

Rosa Velez

Concealed Emotions Concealed Emotions Inner Thoughts are dreams Just like it seems— Concealed Emotions Inner Thoughts of warnings, things to come. Concealed Emotions Inner Thoughts My life... beats like a drum. Concealed Emotions Scary thoughts are fears of things not done.

Situations 37

Maria Sobieray

Notification of Disagreement I do not want anybody to come and give me what I need. Let me regain: my freedom my independence my will my self-consciousness self-confidence self-control Do not put me ever on a shelf. Do not open the door one way.

Linda Hamer

Freedom Caretaker. No longer do I wait on you. No longer do I steer you. No longer do I worry for you. No longer am I your superwoman, flying and leaping when you ask. Because furthermore, these are all your tasks, not mine. So handle them.

John James Pearsall

To The Women of The World To you who has been used To you who has been abused To you who has been left to struggle To you who has been left to survive To you who has been abandoned— On behalf of all men, I say sorry. To you I say stand tall To you I say hold your head high To you I say take that which God has intended for you to have, and that is: Peace, Love, and Happiness.

Situations 39

Vanessa Sullivan

Gratitude Lost in a different neighborhood the whole atmosphere is changed. Beautiful little homes made out of brick and glass. I sat in the car just wishing I could live in a home like that. My spirit was lifted up just thinking about me and my family living in a big home like that. Then I said to God, I’m grateful for my 4 bedroom duplex. Thank you for me having a roof over my head. When I reached home, I felt joy and I opened up my shades. As I sat on my couch watching a DVD, I saw people looking in my window and I wondered was they wishing they lived in my home? Then I looked around and I was contented being home in my house, sitting on my new caramelcolored leather couch set.

Beng L. Kam

Two Types of Intelligence When I was a child I learned to crawl then I learned to walk. I liked to learn everything. Then I went to kindergarten to learn my ABCs. I finished high school. All of this is acquired intelligence. I have to work to make a living. Working is no fun. Bending up and down, I am a cleaner and it is physical work. I would like to have my own business, like an entrepreneur. When my business is growing I will hire more people. I want to help somebody in need. I want to give back to the community. After all, it shows humanity to be caring and have compassion for human beings. To have happiness and peace on earth, for tomorrow is another day. This is natural intelligence.

Situations 41

Roland Caldwell

Suffer the Fool There once was a man with a fine family— A beautiful wife and kids—one two and one three. He threw it away—drinking booze, smoking crack. After awhile, tried to get it all back.

Pushed by parole and a counselor or two,

“Too late,” said his wife, “the damage is done.”

The hope of his life, a chance to renew.

He rarely was seen with his daughter and son.

Don’t think it can happen to only a few.

Cracking and drinking drove him from City to State,

If it happened to me, it can happen to you.

Each day a new bag, each night a new mate.

Wise up while you’re young, get right back in the line.

Now a tired old fool for the whole world to see—

Show the whole world that you’ve still got some shine.

Twenty years later, that old fool is me.

Show the whole world, let them all see—

Homeless and broke and hardly a friend,

Don’t be an old fool, an old fool like me.

He realized his time would soon come to an end.

Dudley Koonce

Bloodline A beginning to an end. An end to a beginning. Family life will always be a part of my life... in more ways than one. I was conceived not knowing that I had baggage attached to me already.

Tracy Collins

The Family We were a happy family. We talked, laughed, joked around. Everything seemed so pleasant and right. Then drugs and alcohol were introduced to us. And matters changed. We were still the happy family, but with more issues than before. Risky behavior, IV drug use, paraphernalia. In these moments, sadness came. And stayed. It’s a narrow road to no road at all. Recovery. Many years later, a healing is taking place. But still, addiction leaves an abrasion.

Situations 43

D.C.

Family Gatherings When families get together the one thing they almost always do is eat. Everyone cooks their favorite dish and brings it to the table. Now that we have finished eating, let’s have a little fun playing spades and Scrabble, video games for the kids. By doing this at least once a year, the family will keep in touch— eat, stay healthy, have fun. I wish my family would do this. Maybe we would get along much better.

Dalisa

Why Did My Mother Leave Me? Why did my mother leave me in the dark without no light shining upon me? Why did my mother leave me without saying good-bye? I wonder if she cared. Just say good-bye. Why did my mother leave me? She was afraid that I might judge her faults. That’s why mother left me, so I wouldn’t have to criticize her for her mistakes.

Peggy Cunningham

My Mother’s Music I remember my mother as young in heart and in mind, she played her records and danced the night away. I was glad she taught me to listen to her records and showed me her dance. She always said, “Peggy, there are fifty-two steps to the Charleston—get one, and you’re good to go.” I been gone ever since. I loved my mother. She’s no longer with me now but her memory will stay with me forever, especially when I hear her music.

Larry Autry

My Dance I remember one rainy day I was sad and lonely. All of a sudden, I heard a loud crashing at the door. It was a noise I will never forget. It was my father who came in late—very late— from wherever. The sound of his voice was like a train roaring through a tunnel, a tunnel from hell. It didn’t surprise my mother or my brothers and sister. I knew the house was going to rock tonight. On that rainy and sad day, I got sadder. I knew the time was near for the train of fear to come crashing in. We danced and weaved and cleared the room. Situations 45

Shannon Randall

He Was In The Army He was in the army, living in Germany. Very obedient, very strict—didn’t play that shit— but at the same time, very lenient, somewhat playful. I was the one with the attitude but my sister was the one always getting in trouble. She got beat constantly, nonstop. She cried and cried. Sometimes wouldn’t say a word. “Who made this mess?!” came from the man standing tall in his army fatigue uniform. My sister pissed her pants, ran in the room— we both knew she was doomed. “I did.” He turned and walked away. “Why don’t you come and hit me?” is what I said. The look he gave, I thought I’d see an early grave. But to my surprise, he broke down and cried.

Cat Keith-L

Lack I remember when I was a little girl How I used to grow up with lack and limitation uttered in my house— “Don’t use this up.” “There’s not enough money.” — Over and over again. Finally, there was a BIG DAY— a freezing cold day in January, maybe 1965— I think I had turned 7 years old. My mother and some little friends (maybe all white) were all gathered for MY BIRTHDAY at Howard Johnson’s! I think my father was there, too. Everyone was allowed to order whatever they wanted on the Children’s Menu. I ordered a VEGETABLE PLATTER. I hated it. I felt miserable. I did not eat it. Why did I order a VEGETABLE PLATTER on my birthday??? BECAUSE IT WAS THE CHEAPEST THING ON THE MENU!!!! This is what LACK AND LIMITATION can do to a child!

Situations 47

Grace (a.k.a. Poetic)

My Blueprint (How I Was Made) I made her because I love her. She is different. She is unique. With love, I formed her in her mother’s womb. I fashioned her with great joy. I remember with great joy the day I created her. I love her smile. I love her ways. I love to hear her laugh and the silly things she says and does. She brings me great pleasure—this is how I made her: I made her pretty and not beautiful, because I knew her heart and she would be vain. I wanted her to search her heart and to learn that it would be me in her that would draw friends to her. I made her a little more lonesome than she would like to be, only because I need her to depend on me. I know her heart. She would go her own way and forget about me, her Creator. I’ve given her good and happy things because I love her. I’ve seen her broken heart and the tears she’s cried alone, I cried with her and had a broken heart too. Many times she’s cried alone—she’s stumbled and fallen alone, only because she would not listen to my voice or hold my hand. She’s learned the hard way, she’s gone her merry way alone, only to return to me sad and broken. Now she’s mine. I love her. I have to remold and reshape her. She is my image and she has a high goal that I have set for her.

Barbara Lewis

Looking In The Mirror Looking in the mirror What do I see? I’ve seen pain and suffering. Looking in the mirror What do I see? I see hope. Looking in the mirror What do I see? I see life.

Looking in the mirror What do I see? I see a beautiful Black woman who has a future and loves herself. Looking in the mirror What do I see? That I love me once again.

Clyde C.

Guilt, Desire, and Love Sometimes it’s hard to understand certain feelings one has in life. I mean, it’s hard to grasp why someone sometimes feels the same feelings for people of the same or opposite sex. If you are a man, people say that you should love women. And if you are a woman, people say that you should love men. But what if that’s not the case? If you listen to what other people say and live according to their feelings and not your own, you will surely get wrapped up in their crazy world of guilt, desire, and love. So I say, live life according to your own feelings. Live life free from other people’s ideas about guilt, desire, and love. Situations 49

M.A.Gustine

Inner Beauty Isn’t there a fact, not lacking in substance nor flattering in structure— what some may call inner beauty? Standing with grace rising above cascading falls bellowing in the mist of dew. Listening out for a change of pace we sometimes forsake. It’s never a shame or mistake. Inner beauty—the whole of our insides. Do we all share this trust of a prize? Can we rely on it, within the soul of our heart— something we wish not to hide? One has to choose—hopefully never to lose.

Louise Saunders

The Waterfall Means To Me I would love to be water, falling free, without a care in the world, without a bill to be paid, have the quiet and the peace to fall easy and free, for people to feel safe, calm next to me, to come visit and leave knowing they have a friend in me.

Fred Street

Twilight The light from the sky full night and sunrise or sunset and full night: decline—

between between A period of

An occasion on the road to New Mexico— a thunderstorm erupted— flashes of lightning spread across the sky like day was breaking. Just a thought imagine that— Daytime in the middle of a storm.

It’s quiet now—not a sound can be heard.

Morning has appeared fresh. Life calls us to perform. That’s all for now.

Situations 51

Kenneth Mallard

My Life My life—I am just a pea with the blood of God in me, who lights the path I walk. I like to meet people where they are and love you for all good and bad. I will always be there when the dust is gone. Not one of asking, but one of helping. I, the love in me that overflows in, within. Sometimes people say, “Are you for real?” I say, “Sure. Truly real.” There is more, but it is not warranted and it’s personal to say.

Iris Elizabeth Sankey-Lewis

The Moon See the full moon’s bright eye You may use as guide. Capture its sclera, pupil and iris In colors you see fitting on a clear evening. Cut out its yellow yolk of an egg, to reveal Just albumen, as if to mix in potent drink. Look at the moon. It is a silver balloon Suspended high up in space. Feel the moon. It feels like a heavy ball Holding a patient’s leg in traction.

Spyhrit

Winter’s Kiss Where snowy grounds bleed & trees meet, leaves have fallen & enlisted the gracious puddles among them... Sounds muddled become crisp. Flakes cover sweet chestnutcolored cabins & loving leaps. Angels drawn & children’s laughter-filled surrounding nutmeg scented & aroma load hot chocolate’s warmth. Cherrywood drifts welcoming to hug you. Snug to catch you. What more of tender mercies from the window’s frame stretched out humble, wanting to know your name.... Where snowy blossoms— under midnight skies.... I rise, I rise, I rise as I hear the supreme whisper— grow, grow, grow! I lean on winter’s kissed possibility! Situations 53

Diane Dawson

Today I Cried Today, I cried...I voted for a black man and I cried. I cried for my father and my grandfather and all grandfathers before him. I cried for my uncles, my one brother, and my three nephews. I cried for the black men I have loved and those that have loved me. I cried for the millions of little black boys (not forgetting the girls) over the centuries that did not, in their wildest dreams, imagine that they could run for the Office of President. I cried for their despair. I cried for all the men and boys incarcerated (justly, as well as unjustly) that lost hope in themselves and have taken the wrong path in life. I know that this was “just the primary.” But whatever the end result may be, today I voted in the United States of America for a black man, and I cried. If I should die before the presidential election it will be OK. Because today I voted. I voted for a black man and I cried.

Chardelle Imani Lassiter

Audacity MY (OUR) ANCESTORS COME FROM THE LAND OF THE SUN ROUTED BY TERRORISTS ROPED...RAPED...BY GUN AGGRESSION!

TRANSGRESSION!

OPPRESSION!

AUDACITY

TERROR...STILL OUR PLIGHT STILL...(WE FIGHT) FOR RIGHT...WE FIGHT TO FIND OUR WAY OUT OF THIS NATION’S PLANTATIONS THE BIG HOUSE THE POOR HOUSE THE JAIL HOUSE INTO

THE WHITE HOUSE

AUDACITY

Situations 55

Steve Lewis (a.k.a. Latin Gorilla)

The Streets Are Crying The streets are crying because another soul has been lost to the corner. Old-timers call it the infamous School of Hard Knocks. So many have graduated, moved on, and gotten their Master’s— become scholars with degrees and titles in this industry we call life. Doctors, pharmaceutical owners, producers, directors of adult entertainment and drama flicks that kept us on the edge of our seats. We all take part in this cooperation, as actors, or actresses, or extras. So many of the actors and actresses made their names, but not on the Big Screen. You’ve probably heard of them! On every corner, block, and even borough. It’s sad to say that these names mostly ring bells behind forty-foot walls and gates with barbed wire. We all wish upon a star. Someday we will see the light! I just wish Peter would pick up his pants and Jane would stop doing those crazy things.

Bruce Jr. (a.k.a. Priest )

Live To Let Live Why do you put a foot on my neck, a foot on my back? Damn, my Brother, I am Black, Black like you, like me, Black on Black crime, that’s the way it’s got to be— live to let live. Slavery is over, so why hate me? Hate the game, not the player. You want what I have? Learn to work, that’s class. You stab a knife in my back. Take two steps: look, I am Black. Live to let live. You talk to my girlfriend behind my back, you smile in my face and that’s a fact. I still have my girlfriend and I am proud to be Black. So remember, friends come and friends go. Stab me in my back again—be ready to throw. Live to let live. Black on Black—it’s a crime you’re not my Brother. True fact: live to let live is the fact.

Situations 57

Miguel Class

Muddy Water I didn’t realize you were wounded ’til I saw blood. My vision was blurred like water mixed with mud. I kept swimming without true clarity. I thought I could find my way because I was impatient and anxious. Then I stopped and the water started to settle, the dirt sank to the bottom—now I could see only because I was patient I’m given clarity. I will no longer haste, but be slow and steady. There is a race, but now I’m ready.

Leroy Mott

I Will Always Be There for Rose B. When the sun is bright and the moon very full, I will be there. When the clouds are gray and the rain is full, I will be there. When things are at their worst or best, I will be right there. When the pain is so unbearable and the tears won’t stop, my love, I will be right there. When you don’t know where to turn you can turn to me. My dear sweet love, I will be right there. When life is so good and everything is going just right, the one and only love of my life, I am right here.

Chris Cameron

Angel Without Wings Features shocking and rarely seen the epitome of a human being: hair aquatic, tamed by the flames of the labyrinth, body shaped like a unique vase, skin fairly touched by the kind rays of the sun, soul as deep as a black hole in space, her essence irresistible to man, honeysuckle taste. My angel is real and true as the clouds white and the sky blue— Ashley, my Nevaeh, my angel without wings— I’m missing u.

Shabazz

Loving You Too You mean the world to me when I think of you. You mean the world to me when we’re together. You mean the world to me when you’re happy. You mean the world to me when we’re holding hands. You mean the world to me when the stars are out

and I’m gazing in your eyes like the stars that shine and knowing that you’re mine.... Seems like a dream of mine but seems realer to us when we’re together. You’re my son’s mother, and that part is true, I love you Elaine, you mean the world to me. Situations 59

Pervilder Lewis

Thanks, ASC Thanks for making me strong. Thanks for making me be powerful. Thanks for making me be the best I can be. We are powerful, strong women. We are that, and more.

Dwayne/Deanna Gibson

Dining Out A knock at my door? I wonder, who is it? Oh! It’s Satan paying me a visit. He comes around quite frequently just to scheme and try to play me. Maybe I should let him in? Just look at him—he looks like sin. “Hello Satan, how do you do? The Lord has left me some goodies for you— He gave me knowledge as I was setting the table, then fried some strength so I am able, a pot full of joy to make you twist and shout, with wraps of love to knock you out. He added some prayers just to stir things up, with a few spoons of humility in my cup. A guardian angel for my company, and to guide me on my way, you see....

To keep you from bringing me down. To keep my feet on solid ground. Don’t leave yet, Satan, please— eat until you’re full, ‘cause right now I don’t want to hear none of your bull! He gave me some wisdom to carry my days through with repent and forgiveness for the bad things you make me do. Out of the best he gave me most of all the will to choose whether I rise or fall. Well, Satan, it was nice dining out with you. Now I’m gonna tell you what to do. I’ll pay for the check and I’ll tip you well. I’m going home. You go to hell!”

Anthony Rubino

Again Time Again! Time and time again, one foul creature has been traded for another. First a dragon, then jackals, and now a serpent! Slithering its way towards you and then sneaking up from behind as it coils itself around one, squeezing the very life-giving breath we need so much. Attempting to swallow you whole and without mercy. For this is the serpent’s way. To strike again and again, injecting its poison to stun, confuse, and deplete one’s will. So it may feed on our very essence! But if I can stand up to the evil ones who call themselves men, then I will never be swallowed by darkness again!

Lawrence Taylor

Thursday Writing A new Thursday visit to see a very beautiful face. It’s another Thursday, with no disappointment I see all my peeps and they’re on coins like big faces. My penmanship is doctored for my understanding. There is no reason not to dream it just seems the alteration of signs. For I just dream-seek, and hope for another day for another Thursday for my coins in the league of writers to scribe there my ideas on paper. Situations 61

Mykel McCauley

Jealousy You’re able to talk my talk. You wish to walk my walk. Well, with no hesitation—here’s my shoes. But don’t get apprehensive when it’s time to pay my dues. For with success there also comes pain. Yet you have no clue of all the agony, stress, and heartbreak I’ve lived through. You want to drive my car, wear my jewels, covet my wife. Somehow you think these things will better your life. Silly, silly man—what I have won’t make you whole. For the answer to that lies in your very soul. My money, my house, my wife, my car— none of these things will remove that scar. For whatever you gain, happiness is still far. Collecting material things is nice, yet a waste of time because happiness, my brother, is just a state of mind. So open your eyes and set yourself free— Free from the bonds of sheer jealousy.

Eric D. Miller

Looks Everything that looks good may not be so good.

You’ll be walking around today and be gone tomorrow.

Just because it looks good doesn’t mean that it is good.

Don’t be worrying about your problem because of the way it looks.

Just because it shines doesn’t mean it’s gold.

Look deep in yourself.

He looks rich, but he’s homeless. She looks nice, but she’s a demon. Don’t be too quick to judge.

Gregory Footman

¿Discontentment? My life is government-funded. No gainful employment—(Part of a study)—I worked. Loneliness—Anticipation—Beauty Imagination—Fear—You BOSCO—Hot chocolate: strawberry-filled. Add milk. Tasty—all over me—Insatiable. Sticky—sun-warmed— Planted, watered, bloomed. Ready to be consumed. As much as I took—there was always more. Glad I was given courage to let you in. You’d never put me out. I’ll never close the door. Togetherness. ¡Indescribable joy!

Situations 63

Ronald Smith

To Be Me Is To Love Me... Why am I not strong when it comes time for me to do that, that I ask of you. I tell you to do only that, that is Good and Kind. I tell you not to worry, to smile when angry. (It’s easy.) And when I ask these same things of myself, I find it is so hard, almost impossible. (It’s maddening.) Practice what I preach, and in time it will all become easy. (It’s simple.) Because it is only what I really want to do: to be, to want, and to love. (It’s my self.)

Richard Sosa

Wasted DNA This DNA that allowed me to be was a total waste of what I feel and see, Cause I born to live dead and not alive, born to never achieve or ever strive. Before I was born, the plan was already made for this life inside me to soon fade. A DNA that should never have been, a wasted creation, just hanging on a string. Born to suffer, born to hate. Breathing—but actually living in a dead state. Of this DNA I speak, it comes from I, who never felt the meaning of life inside.

Matteo N. Delgrosso

“Love The World” What does it mean, “Love the world”? Love men, nature, animals? With this poem, I invite you to reflect on the ambiguity of the love man brings to his environment. Man declares his love only in words, but the reality is different. You say: Love the world. But you destroy it. You say: Love men. But you don’t understand them. You say: Love the woods (forests). But you destroy them with a blow of the ax. You say: Love the animals. But you enslave them. If now you still say you love me, I am afraid.

Situations 65

Michael L. Snead

Below Ground Zero A day to anticipate, as I sit up all night and wait. Maybe it’s my emotions—Lord, I’m nervous. I’m trying my brain; I know the results. “How many more hours?” Sigh. “Damn...three.” It’s only 6 in the morning. I’ll put on Good Day NYC. Now it’s 8:30 and I’m almost ready. Where the hell are my keys? Just as I turned the doorknob to leave, a Special Report came across the TV stating that one of the Twin Towers was struck by a plane. “Yeah...OK.” The Twin Towers on fire—that’s insane. Thank God the hospital was up the block—five minutes by flight. I made it to the third floor—there I stood in awe as I saw the plane go through the second tower, people running and falling as if they had seen the Earth’s core. It was so intense I didn’t hear the receptionist call me four times. “I’m sorry.” “No problem. Please come this way.” The doctor came in. “How is your day?” I replied, “Well, look at the news. What is there to say?” He passed me an envelope, “These are your results. Are you OK?” I looked at the doctor and said, “I will be.” The day is Tuesday, September 11, 2001. A day never forgotten. The first tower fell. Then the second. The foundation underneath me got weak, and I also fell in disappointment, deceit, and anger. A person struggling with cancer now has been diagnosed with HIV and Hepatitis C. Oh God, What am I going to do? Just let me die, please! And as the world wept, so did I. For this reason we even let out many screams ’cause the world has come to an end and now is known as Ground Zero, but at this current moment I fell below Ground Zero. What will I do? Where will I go? Does anyone know what’s gonna happen to me next? Somebody?! Tomorrow is another day. Lord, I hope it’s better. We’ll just have to hope and pray.

Gene A. Barclay

My Name Is Gene Poison running all through my veins, every shirt has a blood stain. Momma shaking her head, it’s a damn shame. I didn’t care—I had a habit to maintain. I got tracks but I ain’t no train. Riding that horse like I was John Wayne. Hold up, here comes the drain— taste so sweet, like a sugarcane. OH! I felt my heart strain, like ice-cold water shot straight to the brain. Like a wild animal, I couldn’t be tamed. Scrape that bag—get every grain. Look in my eyes. Can’t you see the pain? Everything to lose. Nothing to gain. Slow down, get out of the fast lane. Brothers and sisters, it’s time for a change. As a matter of fact, this shit feels strange. My sobriety I must sustain. I need it like a flower needs rain. Look at the big picture—not at my frame. Hang my poems in the Hall of Fame so people everywhere will know my name.

Anonymous

Living In A Shelter Living in a shelter is so depressing so antagonizing. Living in a shelter can be full of discrimination. Living in a shelter is full of all shades of color. Living in a shelter is full of psychotics. Living in a shelter is you and me. Living in a shelter is escaping from heaven. Most of all, living in a shelter is hell with four walls. Situations 67

Ronald Ray

Who Is This Child? His mother gave birth to him at 15 years old. She told him he could talk before he could walk. She was turned away for having him so young. Her family was angry for this. Her pain kept her from giving him a hug or a kiss. This child named Beloved, why? Because everyone who met him loved him as a child. Too famous for his own good. The Abusive Stepfather hated that he knew the whole neighborhood. He kept this child from school, so locked away that he decided to run away one day. 11 years old, the running began. By 15, gone for good. Doing whatever to survive. Whatever he could. Prison, drugs, homelessness were all his life. Some said he would not live. Cold were his ways sometimes, and not a moment without shame. As he grew, he learned life was not a game. However, as much as people spoke in the negative, he knew he could and would live! No matter how dark life would get sometimes, he never lost his mind. He thanked God for staying by his side and for keeping him alive. Mom is his friend today. His dreams are becoming real every day. Who is this child? Who was so wild? This child is free! This child is me!

Connie A.

In Dreams In dreams I am in fire and rain. In heaven, in hell—feelings of splendor and pain. In dreams I laugh and cry. There are demons and heavenly skies. In dreams there is sanctuary and fear, The future and reliving of past years.

Lorraine Zier

The Prostitute They use her, abuse her. I wonder how much she makes by the hour. She smells sweet, like a popular flower.

Situations 69

Yevereh Et Elohim

Will You Look At Her Dusty face, rusty nails missing teeth, missing sock. Please, will you look at her? Tears of pain roll down her swollen face. She sits in that puddle of mud, fear in her eyes. Please, will you look at her? Not asking to live with you, nor suggesting dinner at Toa’s— all she needs is for you to be there. Not asking you to wash her clothes. Nor asking you to help her move out of state. Please, will you look at her? She needs reassurance that she’ll live tomorrow— wants to be assured that she’s a woman, that her beauty is outstanding. Please, will you look at her? Tell her tonight she’s a ray of sunlight, wipe her tears and hold her hand real tight. Tell her she’s God’s pearl. Please, will you look at her?

David Molina (Translated by Rufino Colón)

Ancient History From this lecture I’ve learned about the existence of an ancient humanity whose beings lived in liberty. Their religions’ world of prestige was filled with love, passion. They treated themselves according to their concepts of life. For them, the universe was to pray and surrender to divine gods. They played music with ancient instruments to honor them. Their knowledge was translated into other languages. They hunted to get food and clothing, drank water from lakes, carried their water by horse and camel. Their wood was sacred: the thrones of their kings, kindling to light the fires that illuminated their gods. They completed the heavens, stars and moon. From the summit, after their worship, they waited for enlightenment from the gods—their future and their past written in their path. There was no “mine” or “yours,” only community. The norm was peace, not war.

Guy Williams

To All That Knew Me! As we all are gathered here... Thank you for coming. I know this is a difficult time in your life. But take comfort in knowing I am not suffering. I know the past few months have been hard on you and me. But take comfort in knowing pain isn’t permanent, and that I never meant to cause you any hurt. I know that these past few months have taught us a lot of diversity. But take comfort in knowing that there is nothing in my life I would have changed. Take comfort, my friends, in knowing that pain isn’t permanent and that Guy’s love for you today will give you the strength to go on in the future.

Situations 71

Sabrina Thomas (a.k.a. Beanie )

Children Children—when they’re born we feel so worn, parts of us are torn, yet the beauty of your child being born. Children—when they’re going through the toddler stage, it’s crazy, but that’s another page. Children—when they’re going through the part of life when they ask the same question twice— it makes us want to understand the worth of our creation to the earth. And then it’s the teen-age stage Once there, it’s a new level of life. And it’s no asking questions twice. Then they become adults, making decisions, having the ambition to conquer missions. Not washing their dishes. Yet, as a mom, we ask God and ask for wishes. Hugs and kisses. The love of a mom never misses the beauty of a child. And then they have their own children. And on and on, the beauty of a child being BORN.

Hattie L. Brown

Tears/Stress What do I know of these two sorrowful characters? Plenty. Stress is always following me wherever I go, whatever I do. I can’t seem to duck him. He’s on my mind, my back, my butt. Stress sticks to me so strongly until he makes Tears appear. And Tears stay in my face, all because Stress won’t leave me alone. But I’ve found a way to beat both Tears’ and Stress’ ass. By being so sick and tired of being in the company of these two sorry asses, I have let Serenity come into my life and Ease has joined Serenity and the almighty has given me Empowerment to let go and let God.

Situations 73

Carlos Lopez

Puddles Meet Jenny. Since nine, she’s been a mommy to Mommy and her younger brother, age two, named Tommy ’cause Mommy ain’t there, most of the time and Daddy wasn’t there, none of the time. So this little young Ms. gotta grow up grind— she awakens at sunrise to baby cries while Momma got her nod on from heroin. Around here, that’s the norm. No lie, still Jenny strives, with pride. Hope’s alive that Daddy’s coming back one day and stop sending her checks the mailman way— ’cause she’s growing fast, Tommy too, and she don’t wanna hear him say Who are you? So she does what she gotta do: washes clothes, cops the milk, cleans the crib, and before feeding Tommy, she puts on his bib. She’s a grown-up kid, ahead of time. She blows my mind— how she knows who she wants to be, an M.D., so she can cure Mommy of her wicked disease— Please, God, she prays on her knees as she looks out the window at the rain and the breeze and believes the storm will pass, won’t last. Tears form puddles in the ghetto when kids parent their parents ’cause they’re drug addicts. Tears form puddles in the ghetto when people we love decide to suicide their lives. Tears form puddles in the ghetto when all hope is choked and no one believes. Tears form puddles in the ghetto. Your ghetto. My ghetto. All ghettos.

Adam Williams

Recover... Trying to learn how to recover— I can’t front—drugs was my “lover.” I’ll fight, shoot, and even kill for “my lover,” Damn right, I will... My first “lover” was named Old Gold. I was in love at 13 years old. She made me feel strong and gave me hope, She let me make out with her friends— one’s name was Coke. We would go to clubs, even house parties, where I met this girl by the name of Bacardi. Old Gold was still there, but sort of a tease, So I chilled with this joint let’s call her Weed. She made me laugh at stuff that wasn’t funny— not like Coke— I’d still wake up with money. But the money I lost, I’ll get back by pimpin’ this hooker by the name of Crack— she made me mad cheddar so now I can treat all the others better. She wanted me, And I wanted her too…

But the others said “Mess with her & we’re all through.” So I’ll sneak around with her, a little taste. She couldn’t wait ‘til I went to first base. She wasn’t funny, but she got my hype, I never felt it ‘til I hit “the pipe.” I said, “Forget the others, she’s the prize.” I wish I would have known THEY WERE ALL LIES! She took me places I thought I’d never go. She flipped the switch and made ME her “ho.” I’d go out all times of night looking for her while chasing the pipe. Get her! Use her! And fly out the door, ‘cause the pipe was empty— I needed more. SAD, I wasted the life my Higher Power gave me— rather feed the pipe than my own baby. Situations 75

Donald Ensley

My Life Life is like a credit card.

Discover it.

Life is always changing.

Accept it.

Life is sometimes a dead-end street. Where are the two-way streets? Life is sometimes unfair.

We wish it was fair.

Life is not good or bad.

Things just happen.

Life always threw me a lot of punches. But I’ve thrown a lot back. My life always taught me to stand tall and be strong.

Claudia Rich

The Hill Keep your eyes on the top of the Hill. There’s a time coming to reach the Hill. Keep your eyes focused for the top of the Hill. Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Time is coming near. Do not fear when the time is not near. Do not fear. Then the anticipation is rising and rising and the anxiety is really trying to climb the Hill. The anticipation is still rising. Just focus on calmness, not the panic within or with the darkness at the bottom of this hill. Just focus on calmness. Just focus for the top of that Hill. Keep your eyes on the top of the Hill with the new sunrise in the morning that brings forth the hope and strength to climb. Then you know you will be able to see clearly over the top of that little hill.

Situations 77

Wamiq ‘Ali Abdus Sabur

Why?? Why do I write prose and poetry? What significance do the words hold? How do I distinguish what is correct or incorrect? Is it all about an emotion, a thought of the mind in motion, a beat of the heart, or a note of music to the soul? Why do I try to express what I feel in words that rhyme, where from time to time the words can be out of context? Where do all the words come from and why do I torture my soul to provide meaning for their existence? Why? Why? Why? There are so many questions, yet we cannot distinguish how everyone views the words and notes, knowing that each individual has a different mindset and understanding of the reading in their own way. Why do I continue to write down blurs of the imagination, words that fly relentlessly through my entire being? Why, so that I may be analyzed, criticized, or amorously endeavored in some else’s life other than my own? The “why” is continuous. The “why” is endless. The “why” is meaningful. The “why” is the center of my critical view of self and the softness of my every surrounding.

Erik R. Nusom (a.k.a. Finesse )

Ode to Freedom Can you see the beauty in a blade of grass? I can. Just walking down the street breathing, taking in all the city has to offer. Exhaust, the aroma of food, the smell of hot pavement in summer, that cool smell once it has rained. That’s freedom to me. Can you see the beauty of the rush of air that precedes the A train as it comes to Fulton Street from B.K.? I can. To be able to look in her eyes and just trace the curve of her face with my finger... in silence, even if it’s only for a moment and only a memory... That’s still freedom to me. Can you see beauty on the tiniest or grandest of scales, be it a baby’s coo, or the thunder’s rumble? I can. Just the fact that I sit right here, right now, delivering this poem to you... That’s freedom to me. What does it mean to you? Situations 79

Leroy Day

When You Write Something When you write something: It comes through your mind’s eye traveling through your soul’s lips. When you write something: You know it’s yours, unmistakable, rolling through your very mentality, down through your spine’s eye, and out through your fingertips. When you write something: Life’s breath is a picture or a page, in a picture, on a page, in words— like a bird out of a cage— like a bird. When you write something: You speak without your lips, you talk without opening your mouth, you express yourself without using your fingertips— When you write something.

Founded in 1990, AIDS Service Center NYC is a community-based nonprofit at the

forefront of the fight against HIV/AIDS and the effort to ensure that all New Yorkers

have access to HIV testing, treatment and

care. ASC fulfills its mission of helping many,

one by one by providing culturally relevant

programs for men, women and families coping with HIV/AIDS. From nationally

acclaimed peer training to poetry workshops, substance abuse counseling to support

groups, we connect people with medical

care, housing, and other services that help

individuals and families maintain health and optimism in the face of HIV/AIDS. ASC has

three Community Centers located in Union Square, East Harlem, and the Lower East

Side. All ASC services are free, confidential,

and offered in English, Spanish and French/ Haitian Creole.

For more information, visit ASC’s website at www.ascnyc.org, or call 212-645-0875.

helping many, one by one AIDS Service Center NYC 41 East 11th St., New York, NY 10003 (212)645-0875

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