The Ghost

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alcoholism, Buddhism, Christianity, compassion, empathy, homeless, mental health, personal, poverty, psychology, unconditional love

Little Jake approached me.
He knew that he knew me
but couldn’t remember my name.
I gave him a hug —
we’ve known each other
for seven years.

Jake, I said, “How are you?”
“Not good. I feel like
I’m walking in a fog.
I don’t know where I’m going…
Keep your money.
I don’t need anything.”

He drifted away
I was looking at a corpse.
He was still breathing,
but what I saw
was the ghost
of Little Jake.

…

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rain soaked blues

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aimless, alcoholic, desperate, despondent, homeless, life, lonesome, lost, meditation, music, poverty

i walk these empty, rain soaked streets.
footsteps echo against brick walls
formidable as a prison.
there’s no escape from loneliness
devouring my soul from within —
an endless cinema of despair.

locked within this kaleidoscope,
distorted images from my past
haunt daydreams, nightmares;
there’s no room for reality.
players in my mind pull the strings;
dance this mournful marionette.

i follow the cooling evening breeze
with no purpose or destination.
feet lead me in a trance.
mindfulness blocks my thoughts,
(destroyers of my self-esteem)
momentarily, held at bay.

life, a never-ending battle,
one foot in front of the other,
seconds follow tedious seconds,
breaths counted entering and leaving,
heart beats it’s pounding rhythm
down and out, rain soaked, blues.

…

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Lost Brave

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addiction, alcoholism, assistance, Buddhism, Christianity, compassion, homeless, kindness, poverty, psychology, Sociology

 

 

a lost brave
leans against a building
(tho he is unwelcome)
beside a busy walk.
everything he owns
fills a pack
upon his back

he is far
from his fishing boat,
an ocean teeming with fish,
from the majestic forest,
from his children,
his clan

his eyes reveal
a story of hurt and pain –
the uncertainty of the city.
a sidewalk for a bed,
charity of strangers
his only grace

a challenge
every day –
a new beginning.
beyond the fire
that tames his demons
the only plan that matters
is to survive

far from home
he can scarce remember.
a lost brave, fighting back tears,
pride in the knowledge
of his ancestry,
his place –
his blood

 

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Street Angel

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addiction, alcoholism, Buddhism, Christianity, compassion, homeless, kindness, mental health, poverty, psychology, Sociology

 

I met a woman
who lives on the streets.
All her belongings
fit in her backpack.

She has sparkling blue eyes,
a smile that would light heaven itself.
She looked cold.
I asked her how long
she’d been on the streets.

She replied, “I don’t know….too long.”
She is forty-four,
but looks older.

She told me her story.
I won’t repeat it,
but, to give you
some idea,
recall your worst fears,
your worst nightmares
rolled into one.
That’s the way
her story starts,
it only gets worse
from there.

I brought her a sandwich
and a coffee.
She said, “God bless you.”
He did,
immediately.
A wave of joy spread
throughout my body
and stayed there
all day long.

I have been blessed
by an Angel.

 
 
 

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Fire for the Mind

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ancestors, bleak, cold, farmers, heritage, immigrants, nature, poverty, refugees, religion, starving

A House is not a home unless it contains food and fire
for the mind as well as the body. ~ Benjamin Franklin

…

Iceland’s earthquakes and volcanoes,
blackened skies, smothered crops, starved livestock
left already poor families
destitute, no means for survival
in a harsh unforgiving landscape
of glaciers, scarce arable land;
only rough terrain for the grazing
of sheep and tough Icelandic horses.

Canada invited immigrants
to settle its prairie provinces,
unite the country from sea to sea.
They needed farmers to break the land,
plant and harvest wheat, barley and rye.
They offered passage by sea and rail
and provided implements to farm,
tools and supplies to last the winter.

In 1900 they left their land
of fire and ice for Saskatchewan,
my Grampa, Magnus Ingimarsson,
and Gramma, Vilborg Gudmundsdottir.
In sea trunks their priceless possessions:
the Lutheran Bible, Prose Eddas,
writings of their distinguished authors
and poets. They had but little else:
household goods, language, culture, courage,
thirst for knowledge, fire in hearts and minds.

Their first shelter dug from prairie sod;
oiled paper, no glass for windows,
scarce logs supported sod for the roof.
The first winters were harsh with freezing
temperatures, driving snow, blizzards
so fierce they couldn’t see their hands
in front of their faces. Many died
walking from their farmhouses to their barns;
but, they persevered and made their home,
tilled the soil, planted, harvested crops
and, in time, became wealthy with food
and fire for mind as well as body.

 
 

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Dear Silver

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alcoholism, Buddhism, Christianity, compassion, homeless, illness, kindness, poverty, psychology, Sociology, unconditional love

 

 

Dear Silver,

I miss you
(your cap on the sidewalk)
panning in front of Starbucks.
Your regulars miss you too.
Out of respect,
nobody’s using your spot —
Joy sees to that.

Eventually,
someone from the family,
(someone you’d approve of,
maybe Little Jake)
will carry on
where you left off —
serving ‘good mornings’
with a side
of smiles.

I miss
our conversations,
seated on storage boxes —
you’d light a cigarette,
sip your beer.
We’d discuss friends,
adventures from your past,
the Chateau Lafayette.

Some of the guys
were too upset
to attend your funeral.
I know you were there
as the group congregated
at noon, with the snow falling.
Albert still cries
at the mention of your name.

Sometimes,
you’d sit alone on the curb
as Shaggy barked.
I’m not going up there,
you’d say,
that damn dog
is barking her head off.

At those times
we’d wonder what you were thinking —
just staring off into space.
That’s just Silver, zoning out,
somebody would say,
He does that,
sometimes.

 

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The Happiest Guy Alive

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Buddhism, Christianity, compassion, generosity, homeless, kindness, mental illness, poverty, psychology, Sociology, unconditional love

 

So, I’m panning
in my usual spot.
This suit walks by —
in passing he says,
“Get a job!”
“Hire me!” I say.
“Take a shower,” he says.
“I may sleep outside,
that doesn’t mean
I don’t wash —
I wash all over.”

“Hey,” I say,
“if you’re so successful,
why do you look
so unhappy?

“I’ve made the price
of my bottle.
I’ve got some smokes,
a little pot.

“Me, I’m the happiest guy alive.”

 
 

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My Name Is Hippo

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Buddhism, Christianity, compassion, homeless, illness, loving kindness, mental illness, poverty, psychology, Sociology, unconditional love

 

 

My name is Hippo,
I’m an alcoholic.
Joy was the first
to call me Hippo.
My face swells
when I drink beer.
I guess, I look
like a Hippo.

Before that
they called me Farmboy.
I never lived on a farm,
but, I come from
a farming community.
I guess I looked
like a Farmboy.

Why do I drink?
Welfare asks me that
all the time —
I’m also homeless —
I don’t know why I drink.
I have bleeding ulcers;
I shit and puke blood.

I drink because
that’s who I am.
If I didn’t drink
I wouldn’t be me.
If I didn’t drink
I’d die…

 
 

 

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How It Began

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compassion, kindness, loving kindness, mankind, mental illness, poverty, psychology, social science, social work, unconditional love

.

 

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2010

How It Began

My lungs ached, as frost hung in the bitterly cold December morning air, making breathing difficult. I trudged in the falling snow toward the building where I work, in one of the city’s grey, concrete, office tower canyons. I dodged other pedestrians, also trying to get to work on time, I noticed a woman seated cross-legged on the sidewalk with her back against a building wall. A snow-covered Buddha, wrapped in a sleeping bag, shivering in the below freezing temperature. I guessed her to be in her forties. Everything about her seemed round. She had the most angelic face, sparkling blue eyes and a beautiful smile. A cap was upturned in front of her. I thought, There but for the grace of God go I. Her smile and blue eyes haunted me all day.

In the past I’ve been unemployed, my wife and I were unable to pay our mortgage and other bills, we went through bankruptcy, lost our house, my truck. Being in my fifties, my prospects looked dim. It could have been me, on the sidewalk, in her place.

I was told not to give money to panhandlers because they’ll just spend it on booze. I thought to myself, What should I do, if anything? What would you do? I asked for advice from a friend who has worked with homeless people. She said, ‘The woman is probably hungry. Why don’t you ask her if she’d like a breakfast sandwich and maybe a coffee?’

That sounded reasonable, so the next day I asked, “Are you hungry? Would you like some breakfast, perhaps a coffee?”
“That would be nice,” she replied.

When I brought her a sandwich and coffee she said to me, “Thank you so much, sir. You’re so kind. Bless you.” I truly felt blessed.

This has become a morning routine for the past four years. The woman (I’ll call Joy) and I have become friends. Often I’ll sit with her on the sidewalk. We sometimes meet her companions in the park. They have become my closest friends. I think of them as angels. My life has become much richer for the experience.

.