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Sheltering an ear whisper beyond means seemly out just for the hurting skin to the bones knowing to the lone dry eyes not much to see lonely cry within a sigh sheltering endless pain in a plentiful world an ear whisper through the alley ghostly ashes in the trash fingernails scraping in the dumpster for a mouse nibbling in the spoiling sheltering endless pain in a plentiful world an ear whisper a child staring at the chalkboard strain veins breathing weak enduring fatigue wishful for a bellyful sheltering endless pain in a plentiful world an ear whisper outsight in the moonlight dusk in in the footsteps tears in silence darkness settle in of many tells it all written on the wall sheltering endless pain in a plentiful world an ear whisper impose damned bare hand reach out for hand outs belittle muffle face without meaning to what ends sheltering endless pain in a plentiful world why Click on the file below to listen to the recording of the poem: 
 Guy Chambers living out at North Cooking Lake Alberta. Has two books published called “Flying Kites in the Moonlight” and “The Theater” a story told in poetry about homeless
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Still Life She showed up late for picture day eyebrows shaved ratty toque pulled low Do you want to take it off? I asked. For the photo? No she pulled it lower with both fists My sister tortures me hiss-whispered between savage gulps of milkless instant oatmeal from a tiny pack stashed in a locked drawer in the school office That’s four times this week the secretary sniffed as if there’s a moratorium on food instability I don’t ask if this one knows where auntie is or if uncle still finds her and her little sister fake-sleeping under T-shirt blankets on the couch She tried to hide the circle seared into her palm the scratches on her knees from the cat, or so she said last time Is there any more? A note from the poet -- As an elementary school teacher of 33 years, I was often confronted with kids/families living with food insecurity. Ask any elementary teacher, and they will show you a snack drawer/closet/cupboard stocked with granola bars, oatmeal, beef jerky, crackers, etc. usually purchased with their own money, for hungry students. This poem is a reflection of that all-too-common situation. Click on the file below to watch the video of Brenda reading her poem: 
 Since retiring in 2017, Brenda's immersion in family research inspired a collection of poetry based on her paternal ancestry. A proud member of the Edmonton Stroll of Poets and the Parkland Poet's Society, her work has been published in Canadian journals and anthologies. Brenda is completing a certificate in creative writing and is at work on a second collection of poems.
The Capuchin Day Centre It’s Wednesday morning and the queue on Bow Street gets longer year on year - a family with two children wait in line for the blue bag from brother Kevin. Bread, butter, beans and more - their home, a hotel room, two bus rides away. Yet somehow this place, is just enough to put a half smile back on a mothers face, on these dirty Dublin streets. Click on the file below to listen to Doreena read her poem:
 Doreena is from Dun Laoghaire, Co. Dublin,
Ireland and has been writing from the age of twelve. Her writing is like a diary, reflecting life’s ever-changing emotional landscape. She is a member of the award winning ‘Carlow Writers Co-op’. |
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