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About Street roots. (Portland, OR) 1998-current | View Entire Issue (Dec. 21, 2018)
Street Poetry My Sermonette (Part II, The Lie We Come, We Stay by Ron Sanford by Richard Pounds by Michone Nettles My sermonette, so short and sweet Once again a tragedy: My mom, my niece, my brother and friends Where will it end? Where will it end? How do I get rid of my pain The pain in my soul, That’s more than any pain I’ve ever experienced Sometimes it’s in the voices in my head They fill me full of dread I feel like someone else instead. In the grand scheme of things Sometimes life’s lives are cut short. Sometimes it’s just time to pass the torch along the wayward path. Jacob died in my arms after I attempted CPR. Wilma wasn’t homeless but she passed too young. Donnie and I had just spoken, I just left him. The next day he had died. Andy and I were friends for close to ten years He OD’ed on heroin, alcohol combo Nancy lost an arm, then overdosed, afterwards. Young men and women are fading away left and right, dropping left and right. Sadness grips my heart when I feel the loss, young and old. I’ve lost track of the losses of people Who have gone down that road of rebirth. If there is life after death There’s no such thing as death. Hold down the fort, pay the power Cooking, cleaning, no time to waste! You lose your wallet, lose your keys, Lost your cell phone, lose your mind! You’re paying fines, teeth are rotting Cried once or twice, time to move on! Does that make sense? We’re near the edge? Aunt Laina and Andy, Todd and Charlie, See them on the other side My neighbors Jimmie, Wendy, both customers The veteran Ron Britt and more besides After rest I’m nose to the millstone To stay ahead, less time to stress There’s laundry and a new phone - freeze! (sigh) But I’m so blessed to have known them Will see you soon We love you all Life has value,"everyone,' as you altkhW Alcohol and opiates Are my escape from this pain Now I’m dead Thank you for getting rid of my pain Finally? I’m truly free Say the voices in my head The Lie Every one of my friends Being three, has died within The same story, more or less Being added and taken away The lie being, no one can help And no one understands The real lie is we don’t love ourselves and can’t love anyone else. And we don’t forgive either End of story. When They Move On by J. Juno When a person dies on the streets Where do they go? Do they go to heaven? Does anyone miss them? Does their family know? And if they went to heaven... Do they have a home now? Or are they still sleeping
