it’s too late 6.17.25 (7:00 pm / 19:00) i can still hear your voice still in my head you said ‘god bless you’ you held out your hands
i’m sorry for all the things i did i can’t imagine how it must be for you
i’m sorry i left you there i’m sorry didn’t try to help i’m sorry it’s far too late
i’m sorry for you and all those who carry your name pain is universal, i’m sorry i drew borders, i’m sorry i didn’t know
i’m sorry i left you sitting in a wheelchair in front of the stores i’m sorry i left you for you to leave us
today my mother said she saw you all the way downtown hanging with the people doing drugs i’m sorry
because you were one more person really not to different from me who could have been saved if only if only
we were a bit kinder
i guess it’s way too late
[playing (idk why): what dreams are made of - ballad version by paolo and isabella from the lizzie mcguire movie]
you can interpret this any way you want but while writing it i guess i was thinking about a houseless person i used to see asking for money in front of a store i go to. i always walked by them and felt guilty all the time, because my family is pretty well off and we could have spared a lot for them but we never did
There's a city where people are asleep on the streets, with nothing to eat, some of them even lack shoes on their feet. A city where overdose deaths are the "norm" People are fighting for the doorways at night to keep warm. Fentynal is everywhere and the addicts need help. But with all of the stigma, they're to ashamed of themselves. In this city where people smoke drugs on the street, and burn hand sanitizer at night for the heat. Where the rents are to high and income assistance to low. If you can manage the rent here, there'll be no food in your home. Moneys not spent on saving their lives, no its spent on public art and yet another high-rise. Tourist attractions and random art pieces, are great when the overdose deaths AREN'T INCREASING. We need social programing and addiction resources, some good low cost housing or more food supports. In a city like this what are the addicts to do, just stay out of your sight, as to not offend you? Cops do Illegal searches and seizes, and your friends tell you about, the POLICE LEAD Stanley Park BEATINGS. In the mornings on Hastings Street the city workers come through, now destruction of peoples belongings ensues. They can't even protest this or put up a fight, because the City Workers come armed with VPD by their side. This city treats homelessness as if it was a crime, they are treated like **** that is not worth your time. If you're homeless here dont expect any respect, in fact your human rights don't even have an effect. This city is sick and its priorities need help. Vancouver B.C you should be ashamed of yourself.
in this country, we waste so much food in a country where people go to bed hungry if food doesn't sell then it gets thrown away perfectly good and edible food just wasted it could have been handed out to homeless people or people struggling to provide for their family they could've gotten many meals if only we didn't waste food poverty and homelessness would decrease it's so amazing what people can do when they have a full stomach the work they can accomplish
Fifty years ago, the future came, built in concrete, tile, and bright lights, underground station, undergirding the fame of this city, adding to its manifold sights.
Now the future’s a place that smells of stale beer, barely lit by futuristic lamps in disrepair, wallpapered in graffiti, strewn with gear of the pale homeless who’ve made this their lair.
They, like this chipped, grimy, forsaken place are left in the dust of our dreams’ mercury pace.
Inspired by this photo I took of a semi-abandoned pedestrian tunnel system near the Berlin trade fair: https://bsky.app/profile/jackgroundhog.bsky.social/post/3lfxjtrxss22h
Homeless and roaming the streets like an orphan. It was the dead of winter, and I was still alive—barely. My ex-girlfriend let me crash on her couch for a few days. She didn't smoke. I did, so whenever I wanted a cigarette, I went out in front of her apartment and lit up. One night, bent on nicotine, I entered the January thaw. As I had my smoke fix, a man with a huge Rottweiler slowly walked by. The dog caught sight of me, and gave me a low growl. The guy talked to his pet like he was his best friend. 'Leave him alone, that's his home; let him smoke.' The dog knew better, and glared at me. He barked loud and viciously. 'Leave that poor man alone. Let him enjoy his cigarette, that's his home, ' the man said. A small dog began yapping in the distance. The man said, 'Oh great, you've upset that little dog. Come on, let's go.' The Rott gave me an evil look, and sauntered off. He recognized his own kind. He also knew that there was something different about me. He could smell it, almost taste it. He knew I was a mongrel and a stray. He knew I didn't belong.
Here's a link to my you tube channel where I read my poetry. My book Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems is available on Amazon.com