Many people have contributed poems over the years for the homeless memorial. Please see below for some examples of their work which include Michael Mallard, Reverend Sherman Hesselgrave, Bonnie Briggs, and Don Weitz.
Just Say Hello (Poem by: Michael Mallard aka. Duckie)
I am really sorry that I did not know Johnny Doe or even his sister Jane
I am really sorry we didn’t even talk, or even say hello, good morning, or see you later
I am sorry that you were on the street, I was there once too
But I was lucky, I got a roof
I am sorry no one told you hello, or where you can go for help, or to get out of the cold
I am sorry no one had the time to stop and even say good morning, or hello
But I am happy, now, cause everyone here today has a memory marble with them
I am happy now cause they will always remember you
I am sorry that you got lost or turned around and no one gave a damn
I have lost a lot of friends to the street over 20 years
Each year, there are more and more people on the street that I don’t even know
But I still say, how are you, hello
So when I pass people on the street, who I don’t even know, even that might help people
Someone took the time to just say hello
If someone said hello to me (I must be important you think!)
They took the time to just say hello
Toronto Homeless Memorial Collected Poems (2008-2017)
Written by: Bonnie Briggs and Sherman Hesselgrave
About this collection
When I arrived at the Church of the Holy Trinity, Trinity Square, Toronto in
June 2008, the Toronto Homeless Memorial had been around for the better
part of a decade. My predecessor at Holy Trinity, The Rev. Sara Boyles, had
been meeting with one of the Homeless Memorial founders, Bonnie Briggs,
(and, for a time, with Bonnie’s husband, Kerre, as well) to create a poem for
the monthly memorial that took place on the second Tuesday at noon.
Until her sudden and untimely death in August 2017, Bonnie and I continued
the tradition, usually meeting in the Trinity Square Cafe the week before the
memorial, armed with a legal pad and a rhyming dictionary,
Bonnie and her husband Kerre had been homeless, and celebrated 25 years of
being housed during the time we collaborated on these poems. Bonnie was a
force of nature, and interested and engaged in a wide range of activities. Her
memorial service, at which a few of these poems were shared, included
friends from all the groups she was part of, from Samba Elégua drumming
buddies to fellow Tiny Home enthusiasts.
The themes varied from month to month and season to season, but year over
year we were often tilting at the same windmills.
This collection of our monthly collaborations over nine years is offered in
Bonnie’s memory, and in honour of all the social justice warriors she inspired.
— The Rev. Sherman Hesselgrave
June 2020
SUMMER IN THE CITY
Sleeping overnight in a park
is ruled constitutional in Victoria
while here in Toronto
shelter beds are cut back
(because the weather’s nice)
But don’t try to sleep in
Allen Gardens after midnight.
Heat. Lightning. Safety.
Where to go for refuge from
the hazards of summer?
One cooling centre is open 24/7
but there’s no place to lie down
and nothing to eat.
If you’re homeless,
it’s not like you can escape
to the cottage by the lake.
People need housing
to get out of the heat.
Maybe what we need to do is to
camp out in front of the homes of
politicians to make the point.
Whatever happened to walking
a mile in someone else’s shoes?
Why is it so difficult to imagine
what it’s like when you move
from one pay cheque away from
homeless to being
homeless?
That person on the street could be
someone’s aunt or sister
father or uncle.
None of us can do it all
but all of us can do something.
EVERY FOUR YEARS
No matter what city holds the Olympics
homeless and poor people
are swept
out
of
sight.
To make room for the swarm of tourists
folks already hanging on by a thread
are forced out of housing.
We must present a “clean” image to the world.
Nevermind that all the visitors
have the same problems
in their own countries.
IT’S OLYMPICS SEASON
The season of gold, silver, and bronze,
but more importantly,
of the almighty dollar-euro-pound-yuan.
What started out as a celebration
of humans at their best
has become a spectacle of commercialism at its worst.
In a few weeks the crowds will be gone
but the architectural carcass will remain,
while Olympic villages are turned into condos
and even more unaffordable housing.
Venues recently filled with cheering crowds
become underutilized monuments to
corporate greed and arrogance
following the two-week ego trip.
Just think, when this year’s freshman class is graduating…
we’ll be doing it all over again.
HOMELESS AUTUMN
With the arrival of autumn,
there are a few things the homeless
don’t have to worry about (thank God!)-for
example, they don’t have to close down the cottage,
drain the pool, get the car ready for winter,
or book airline tickets to the Bahamas.
But they DO have to start to figure out
where to stay when the weather gets cold
where they’re going to get warm clothes
for the kids and themselves.
Since they can’t sleep in the parks
they have to find ways to avoid tangling with police
or having their belongings burned.
They are asking themselves
“Will I be able to get housing this year?”
“Will I be forced into the streets-to-homes
project and end up in a crummy place
in the Middle-of-Nowhere, Ontario?”
“Is someone going to try take my pets away?”
“Will we make it to next spring alive?”
The changing colours of the leaves
look beautiful on a greeting card,
but to the homeless, they’re like last call
before life takes the hard turn towards winter.
HOMELESS THANKSGIVING
Many people sat down with family and friends
for turkey, stuffing, potatoes and gravy,
cranberries, vegetables, and pumpkin pie,
but to a homeless person, it was just another cold day on the street.
What do the homeless give thanks for?
Living another day
Having enough layers to stay warm as the weather gets colder
That there are some drop-ins to help
That, occasionally, a kind person will give them a meal or some money
And some are thankful for the companionship of a pet.
What do the homeless WISH they could be thankful for?
Some wish they had a job
And safe, warm affordable housing
With a fridge and some food to put in it, and a stove to cook it on,
And a door to lock the world out.
Some wish they had a community to be a part of
Others wish they didn’t have to only look out for themselves
and the stressfulness of the street.
Will Thanksgiving a year from now look any different for us?
ELECTION BLUES
I’ve got the-month-after-the-election blues,
Same singers, same song:
How long, oh Lord, how long?
The only upside is that they still don’t have a majority.
The view from the street is that
this election didn’t help
anyone who is poor.
More distortions of reality
Longer lines and wait times
Hikes in user fees on top of already
high food and energy costs
Would it surprise anyone if there were
more social service cuts?
While the corporate fat cats
get whatever they want, and more.
Before long, we’ll be singing
the-year-after-the-election blues.
What is it going to take to bring
people to their senses?
How many more lives have to fall between the cracks?
How many more have to die?
REFLECTION ON A NEW YEAR
It’s a new year
Is it going to be any different?
Will everyone who needs housing find it?
In the current economy,
people working paycheque to paycheque
could find themselves at the edge of the homeless abyss.
People who always thought of the homeless
as “those” people
could find themselves among them.
What’s going to be different this year?
Will we, can we see
that what happens to the weakest
in our society affects all of us?
Will we, can we walk in another’s
footsteps and understand?
Understand that government policies
can make fundamental improvements
that benefit everyone at once?
What are you doing this year to leave
the world in better hands?
Will your fingerprints be found?
In the end, none of us gets a pass-We
will all be held accountable.
GUERRILLA VALENTINE
Valentine’s Day is coming
Who will show me love
and help me find a home?
The street has no love
for someone who is homeless.
For me, it’s just another
long, cold day.
Noses are red
fingers are blue
toes are getting numb
what else is new?
For couples,
the street adds several degrees of difficulty:
no privacy, separate shelters,
no pillow to slip a valentine under,
and frozen chocolates.
This year, for Valentine’s Day,
why not conduct a guerrilla
war on loneliness:
let random acts of generosity
break out in the streets
leaving no homeless person
unrecognized or unloved.
SPRING AHEAD
I want to press charges.
Someone, in the middle of the night,
stole an hour.
If anyone witnessed this thief of time
would you call 1-800-something something?
It’s bad enough-remember
the t-shirt:
Life is short
And then you die
But now, this chronological larceny
is too much to let pass,
unremarked upon.
Perhaps, if we join efforts
we can track the villain down
and demand restitution.
I am so confident that our
common efforts will be successful that
I am willing to wager a free lunch
that within six months we
will have that hour back again.
STREET BIRTHDAY
Let me count the ways
of celebrating birthdays
when you’re living on the street.
It makes a difference if you’re one
or have a friend to share the fun
when you’re celebrating birthdays on the street.
The only birthday cake you’ll see
is the single piece you order, and it won’t be free-Happy
Birthday to me on the street.
One more year I don’t want to remember-Can’t
we skip ahead to September
or beam me back to when I was tender
before I had a birthday on the street?
And if, somehow, that can’t be done
could we agree to just keep mum
and hold this intelligence between us, you and me,
and hope that one day soon
we’ll have something to celebrate, a boon,
beyond the annual blip on our journey around the sun.
THE UNFORGIVING STREETS
We’re here at the memorial once again,
Gathered to remember the names.
Of the people who pass away,
On our cold, hard streets every day.
In the cold and in the heat,
Their final resting place, the street.
The concrete is very unforgiving,
It cares nothing for the living.
It strips your dignity and self-esteem,
Shows how worthless life can seem.
Society doesn’t seem to want to care,
About the body lying there.
“It’s in the way, it’s blocking my door,
I don’t want it there anymore.”
The one you despise is a human life,
With a husband, children or a wife.
It’s worth your compassion and respect,
It’s nothing less than you’d expect.
So, get over yourself, and wake up
Give your self-centeredness a shake-up.
OUT IN THE RAIN
In the lexicon of street wisdom
having the sense to come in out of the rain
does not apply.
Lightning, thunder, hail, and downpours
are 100% al fresco
when you’re homeless.
There’s nothing worse than a wet sleeping bag,
with no place to dry out
in the middle of the night,
and you dare not seek shelter under a tree
for fear of a billion-volt bolt.
Some things don’t take to waterlogging:
like papers, sandwiches, and animals.
It doesn’t take 40 days and 40 nights
to flood a homeless person’s “home”-it
can happen in fifteen minutes.
Watching the drama of a thunderstorm
from a 42nd-floor condo
is any romantic homeless person’s dream
as they huddle under garbage bags
with all their their earthly possessions-all
moat, and no castle.
STREET THANKSGIVING
The warm and fuzzy thoughts of Thanksgiving
depend on the situation in which you are living.
If you’re home with siblings, Mom, and Dad,
with turkey and stuffing, it’s not so bad.
But if you’re living on the street,
with the weather turning and freezing your feet,
then Thanksgiving thoughts are not so sweet.
If you’re lucky, you might find a meal at church
or someplace else where they’ll let you perch
for a bit of warmth and a bite—or, you could also be left in the lurch.
Thanksgiving should be about community,
whether it’s family, friends, or just fellow humanity.
It’s sad to note that our consciences are clear
on Christmas and Thanksgiving—two whole days a year!
But what about the other three hundred odd
when we offer the homeless up to God
or trust that the system will give a nod?
What will it take to create a table
where everyone—weak or strong—will be able
to be fed and sheltered with a life that is stable?
REMEMBRANCE DAY ON THE STREET
Poppies, poppies, everywhere: Remembrance Day once more
We annually commemorate the brave who died in war.
But there’s another battle front, a war on poverty
where homeless hundreds lose their lives, their hope, their dignity.
We remember them by name, even the John, Jane, or Harry Does,
and tell their stories here, the moments of sweetness and the woes.
Every person honored here was in life uniquely gifted,
A thread cut short by circumstances into which they drifted.
Economic justice—is it a Pollyanna’s dream
or is it our call sign, our banner, our organizing theme?
THE LONELY SEASON
As the days get shorter and darker
and the nights, longer and colder
we are bombarded with images
of happy families and twinkle lights.
On the street this signals the ascendancy
of loneliness and even more self-medication
with drugs and alcohol.
The loneliness eats at you
until you’re just a shell of yourself.
What is the cure for this condition?
Family, community, someone who knows your name,
acknowledges your existence–besides your pet.
If this is the blue season for people
with a home and a three-car garage,
it’s a black season for those with
nothing and no one.
Resolve here and now,
covenant with yourself to leave
fingerprints of cheer and hope
when you see or pass by those
wrapped in the gloom of December.
AFTER THE AUGHTS
So, we’ve made it through the Aughts-
What will the next decade bring?
Affordable housing, or more promises of affordable housing?
Maybe we’ll get a government that actually cares about poor people
–or maybe not.
What does the light at the end of the recession tunnel look like?
Will it be the flicker of a dimly burning wick
or a follow-spot focused tightly on things that really matter?
It depends.
It depends on us and people like us showing up-”
80 percent of success is showing up”-and
applying minds and words and voices-refusing
to be sidelined by the rhetoric
of deep-pocketed special interests.
What will the Tens, the Tweens, the Teens bring?
If it were up to us, another step toward
the Peaceable Kingdom where swords are
beaten into ploughs, and lions lie down with lambs.
HOMELESS IN FEBRUARY
In the bleak midwinter we stand here in the cold
The days are lasting longer, but the bleakness is getting old.
The world is full of problems, from Haiti to Khartoum,
There’s global warming, tar sands, and lakes where algae bloom.
But bring up nasty business in far off Afghanistan
Then watch our fearless leaders run away as fast as they can.
Proroguing they call it, and what a perfect name,
For to these professional rogues, it’s all a political game.
Homeless in Toronto are dying at our feet
While the people with the power refuse to even meet.
Our candle flames are small and frail, giving little heat and light,
But blazing in compassionate hearts is a fire strong and bright:
Our power is in our caring: strong, lasting, and deep,
And our persevering passion will never flag or sleep.
WHAT’S IN IT FOR US?
It’s budget time again, so you know what that means-The
sharpening of pencils at the Park known as Queen’s.
Anxiety is rising while we wait for hopeful news;
The only thing for certain: the finance minister’s new shoes.
A new allowance we’ve lobbied for: a hundred bucks for food-for
the poorest of the poor the outlook is rarely good.
There will never be a shortage of advocates for the wealthy,
but for the poor and homeless OUR passion is certainly healthy.
The need for affordable housing will never go away;
it’s something people wish for every single day.
You can’t solve every problem with the budget knife
but a budget CAN make a difference for the most vulnerable in life.
WHAT APRIL BRINGS
Spring is moving in and people are moving out-al
fresco, that is–to soak up the sun and give gloomy thoughts a rout.
If out is where you live, however, say what you may,
but sunshine and gloomy thoughts play together any day.
The permanently housed among us are getting together our taxes
which will then be distributed with government axes.
Those budget whacks change Ontarians’ lives for real:
thousands with special dietary needs, already in a crunch,
will lose their monthly supplement–an extra hundred or two–in the deal,
which to a Bay Street banker may mean a long lunch-but
to the poor, four weeks of having a proper meal.
Transportation priorities are made to sit at the back of the bus,
guaranteeing that those who travel the farthest with the longest
commutes
will continue to measure the ride from home to work in hours,
not minutes.
Some gloomy thoughts keep pushing us to
fight for change–by baby step or quantum leap-and
we’ve miles to go before we sleep.
THE G-20 BLUES
Lucky Toronto! It’s almost G-20 season
when authorities, as always, for whatever reason,
will move the homeless off their turfs
as if they were Medieval serfs.
A mighty fence is to be built
with not the slightest sense of guilt
from north to south; from east to west
to spare our guests from all protest.
It doesn’t take wisdom solomonic
to understand what’s most ironic-progressive,
industrialized Canada is the only host
without a federal affordable housing policy to boast.
I’ve got the G-20 blues, but that ain’t no news
‘cuz it’s always the same when the powerbrokers schmooze.
Just once wouldn’t it be great, for justice’s sake,
if they did more than say of the poor, “Let them eat cake.”
URBAN COTTAGE SEASON
With the G-20 behind us we can settle into
summer as it should be: cottage season in the city.
Who needs a cabin on a lake
when you can have a sleeping bag on Nathan Phillips Square
and dangle your feet in the fake lake
while people-watching at the jazz festival?
Why drive three hours just to dodge
waterskiers, when right here on the
sidewalks of Toronto you can risk
life and limb to kamikaze skateboarders?
There are plenty of quiet, restful places in the city
where you can put your feet up and
read a book or play a game of cards,
take a swim, or feed the seagulls.
What it comes down to is the final analysis:
cottage season is all in your mind.
WHAT KIND OF THANKSGIVING DID YOU HAVE THIS YEAR?
What kind of Thanksgiving did YOU have this year?
What are you thankful for?
Are you thankful you don’t live in an apartment building
where a fire in one apartment would force you out of yours?
Are you thankful that you don’t have special dietary requirements
that make it harder to eat healthily on less income?
Are you thankful that you can go to sleep at night
without worrying about your personal safety?
Are you thankful that your pets are warm and safe?
Are you thankful that you have friends and family
you can turn to when you’re in trouble?
Are you thankful that you’re not just one cheque
away from living on the street?
What kind of Thanksgiving did YOU have this year?
What are YOU thankful for?
TEN DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS
It’s ten days before Christmas
and all through the street
the homeless are hunkered
with near-frozen feet.
The lobbies are hung
with twinkling white lights
but places of refuge
they’re not through the nights.
Santa and reindeer
may fly through the sky
but visiting heat grates
they won’t even try.
“Home for the holidays”
brings a warm fuzzy feeling
unless home is the street
and the sky is your ceiling.
The gift that the homeless
want most of all
is a roof, a floor,
some love and four walls.
OH, WHERE, OH WHERE HAVE THE SHELTER BEDS GONE?
Oh, where, oh where have the shelter beds gone?
Oh, where, oh where can they be?
Out of the Cold doesn’t have its own telethon
and the mayor is chopping with glee.
Valentines bring feelings fuzzy and warm
and celebrate the power of love.
But life outside lacks every charm,
with the ground frozen below and the air chilled above.
The human spirit is, indeed, hearty,
and joined together we are strong.
There will come a time to throw a party
when all our efforts right the wrong.
In the meantime, chilled and shivering,
we move forward with resolve;
step by step we keep delivering
hope the world can still evolve.
ON THE CENTENNIAL OF INTERNATIONAL WOMEN’S DAY
One hundred years ago today,
’twas about a woman’s right to vote.
We may have checked that box off now,
but it’s not yet time to gloat.
Women, women everywhere
are earning less than men,
deferring oft to customs old
from London to Phnom Penh.
Autonomy is but a wishful dream
for many women still
are legally prevented
from exercising their free will.
We remember, too, the women who
on city streets are dwelling,
whose dignity and sense of worth
take a brutal daily shelling.
Half the human race today we honour with a blessing;
and may the century that lies ahead continue the redressing.
ELECTION SEASON
Who has affection for another election?
Weeks of projection seasoned with misdirection,
incessant attempts to make a connection, avoid rejection.
Will the voters, on reflection, stay the course, or choose correction?
Or is this a year for resurrection?
Will disaffection bring dejection or electoral insurrection?
The hope of the poor depends on protection
of basic human rights and social introspection:
“What kind of people do we want to be?
And who will steer in that direction?”
NOON IN JUNE
It’s noon in June
in Toronto, not Saskatoon,
and the homeless importune
while others honeymoon.
The weather may have gotten nice-at
least we’re done with snow and ice,
but homeless people pay a price,
and it doesn’t buy them paradise.
If a doorway’s where you lay your head,
and the street is where you get your bread,
one can’t possibly leave unsaid,
“It’s a miracle that more aren’t dead.”
This gathering is a sign of hope,
for we’re not here to mope or cope.
If enough of us put our hands on the rope
we will make it up this slippery slope.
REMEMBERING JACK LAYTON
As we look back on the life of Jack,
whose rich career brought him here
to this very place–this holy open space-to
honour those Jane and John Does
and all who died on the street, in the sleet or the heat.
He inspired us to hope and love
to keep a spirit of optimism above
the politics that divide and deride
and keep the poor from hitting their stride.
The world is a different place
because of his wide and gracious embrace
of all that is just and true
and he’s left his fingerprints on you, too.
THANKSGIVING IN A TIME OF WAR ON THE POOR
Thanksgiving began as a harvest festival.
Tiny seeds planted months ago
have yielded their crops by the bushel-full.
“You reap what you sow,” the wise one said,
about that there is no dispute.
If you plant a weed at City Hall
don’t expect to harvest grapefruit.
How do we give thanks for abundance
that never reaches those in need-thanksgiving
for OUR good fortune,
while so many with us plead?
Thanksgiving begins with giving-giving
a care, not a stare
giving a hand, not a command to disband
giving a hope, not just an envelope.
REMEMBER, REMEMBER
Remember, remember, how every November
with badges of red we honour the dead
from every war but the war on the poor.
The chasm between the fat and the lean,
the rich and the poor, the ceiling and floor
are farther apart than Mozart and Sartre.
The system is broken when only a token
of everything needed to float every boat
has all but receded or become a footnote.
So how to attain a measure of gain
when the ruling creed in the culture of greed
is what’s in it for me and to hell with thee?
The corrective is love: a rising above
the petty concerns, the fears and the spurns,
to fiercely embrace our hopes and our place.
A WINTER SONNET
How do we occupy this season of cold
With stories of Wise Men bringing gifts of gold
To a homeless baby some said would be King
While those in power to their power did cling?
Crowds flood the malls to shop till they drop
With Rudolph the Trojan reindeer as a twinkle-lit backdrop.
Black Friday will turn into Blackest December
When retailers proclaim it “A month to remember!”
In this peak season for Dancer and Prancer
There linger some questions that lack a good answer:
Will the poorest of the poor ever advance?
Will peace on earth be given a chance?
Wherever we glance we see need and greed,
If only the powerful would heed and lead.
BE IT RESOLVED
‘Tis the season for a resolution
But for those living in destitution
What’s really needed is a revolution.
Plenty of people are seeking a solution
to mitigate pollution
But mention redistribution and all you get is retribution.
The one-percenters’ billions make homeless problems seem
lilliputian,
As if survival-of-the-fittest evolution
Means the poor warrant only further prosecution.
So, here is our unwavering contribution:
to hold up a mirror so full attribution
can be given to those responsible for the dissolution
of the social contract as an institution.
NOSES ARE RED
Noses are red
Fingers are blue
Valentine’s Day on the street-Hey,
whoop-de-doo!
Cupid’s little wings are about to drop off
And his quiver must be running out of arrows
Restaurants full of couples enjoying beef Stroganoff
While the homeless lovers eat like sparrows.
Everywhere you look you see pink and red hearts
Signs of love litter the landscape
While those who survive by their street-smarts
Hold it together with duct tape.
Love may make the world go round
But on the street it’s out of mind
Though people everywhere abound
Compassionate ones are hard to find.
WHEN SPRING HAS SPRUNG
When Spring has sprung
and signs of new life have begun
to poke their heads
from barest limbs
and thawing beds
the homeless, too,
can sense the hope
in longer days
and nights warmed through.
Life on the street
is changed, not ended,
though still a long way off from splendid.
Nonetheless, the shedding of layers
liberates long dormant prayers
for a life that’s less hardscrabble
despite doomsayers and callous mayors.
MOTHER’S DAY ON THE STREET
Breakfast in bed is a Mother’s Day treat
Unless you happen to live on the street.
Forget about flowers and chocolates, too,
For Mother’s Day on the street, there’s no whoop-de-do.
And what about the kids, whose Mom’s Day it will be,
Who live on the street, in a car, behind a tree?
What kind of future is waiting for them
Even if they manage to carpe diem?
On this day we cherish those dear to our hearts
But on the street, they’re all so far apart.
The street is a pro at rending families asunder
So those who keep it together are a statistical wonder.
While the weather is warmer and the flowers are in bloom,
Mother’s Day in a home beats any perfume.
A SONNET TO OUT OF THE COLD
On the verge of summer it’s hard to remember
the ice and the wind of a recent December.
For twenty-five years, Out of the Cold
has been a life-saving blessing to thousands enrolled.
Life on the streets is ever fraught with danger,
lacking the security that comes with a home of one’s own.
That’s why Out of the Cold is a true game-changer
at a time of the year when people can freeze to the bone.
The agenda is still housing for all,
but the challenges before us abound.
Winter, spring, summer, and fall,
people need shelter all year ’round.
So, we join with others, and by loonie and penny
we’ll work for safe housing for the few and the many.
ENCOMIUM OF TDRC
It’s hard to imagine where we’d be
if it hadn’t been for TDRC.
The Homeless Memorial’s founder, patron, and guiding spirit
was the Toronto Disaster Relief Committee.
They have left big footprints to fill
and were a beacon of light on a hill:
Emergency shelters, cooling centres, poverty tours,
researching homeless memorial names-were
all part of the drill.
With step-wise advances we’ve come a long way
from the Tent City adventure to the present day.
Yet supports for the homeless are continually fragile,
as income inequality climbs higher
and the haves make a quick cottage getaway.
HOMELESS OLYMPICS
If providing housing was an Olympic event
what kind of medal would our government win?
First, the gol, silver, bronze, we’d have to supplement
with aluminum, copper, lead and iron.
But would even lesser metals rate
as medals for apathy and neglect?
For years of avoidance so great
will take more than a few days to resurrect.
Shelter and security are basic needs,
not frills and frou-frou for the rich.
We have the resources to succeed-It’s
the political will that is ever the hitch.
SEPTEMBER
For lots of folks, it’s back to school and back to work
now that summer is winding down.
For the homeless, though, vacation is not a perk,
and Lake Muskoka is just a place to drown.
The work that is ever before us
is how to create a world with justice for all.
Of income disparity we will continue to make a fuss
while political solutions seem to be AWOL.
So keep voting for people who are part of the solution;
we’ve problems enough without an assist from Queen’s Park.
If we don’t, we’re part of the devolution
of a good society that’s jumped the shark.
HOMELESS THANKSGIVING (2012)
Everyone can be thankful for something this time of year,
thankful, for instance, that the snow’s not here–yet.
Or thankful that Out of the Cold is opening soon
and for thousands that will be a boon.
Or thankful that we don’t live in places where there’s civil strife,
where a walk to the store can cost you your life.
Or thankful we can get a meal
and it’s close enough to walk or wheel.
Or thankful to have medical care
that doesn’t require being a millionaire.
Or thankful to have a faithful friend
who will travel with us to the bitter end.
The time for a grateful heart is every day above ground,
so, Happy Thanksgiving, and may good things abound.
NOVEMBER REMEMBRANCE
November is the month we commemorate
those who’ve paid the ultimate sacrifice
defending their homeland and compatriots, to re-create
peace and prosperity, if not earthly paradise.
So what do we make of the deaths we remember today-fellow
travelers, whose homelessness led them to an early grave,
and whom we mourn at this cenotaph every second Tuesday at noonday?
Were they, in their own ways, any less brave?
The war being fought is for basic human dignity,
not against foreign principalities and powers,
but against apathy, ennui, greed, and malignity.
Against such foes we bring our complete resolve, not only flowers.
THIS WINTER WILL BE ESPECIALLY FIERCE
This winter will be especially fierce
we’re told by those who know.
And shelter where the cold won’t pierce
may be scarcer than a UFO.
The politics of poverty
are always touch and go.
The homeless lobby, unfortunately,
is outgunned by those with dough.
And so we stand and make a fuss
as squeaky wheels do.
We push and press, cajole and cuss,
our mission to pursue.
In summer, winter, spring, and fall,
in rain, and heat, and snow,
we gather to remember all-John
and Jane Does and those we know.
A NEW YEAR ALWAYS BRINGS NEW HOPE
A new year always brings new hope,
Resolution that things will be different THIS year.
Perhaps they will, or perhaps we’ll see a familiar trope:
New Year cheer undermined by chronic fear.
But where two or three join hands to care,
And hearts are warmed with love for all-Surprise,
surprise, we all have gifts to share,
There’s no such things as a gift too small.
Resolve this year to open your eyes
To see things fresh and new;
Climb out of ruts–they are tombs in disguise,
And severely hamper your view.
Resolve this year to open your ears
To hear things for the first time.
In the midst of chaos and clamour and jeers
It’s easy to miss the moments sublime.
With hearts and hands we resolve this year
To work and hope and pray
To be the change we’d like to see,
And bring into being a new day.
PASSING SEVEN HUNDRED
Seven hundred is nearly two years of days
And more than two football fields in feet
About fifty-eight dozen Tim Bits sticky with glaze
And the count of homeless deaths on Toronto streets.
It’s the square feet of a condo for two or for one
Or the dollars to pay seventeen and a half parking fines
If you’re lucky it would buy a round-trip to Edmonton
Or a riverboat cruise for one on the Rhine.
But deaths on the streets of a great megacity
Is shameful, pathetic, unjust and wrong
There’s no way to make the number look pretty
Who would have thought the list would get this long.
We gather to remember, to honour, and name
And work for the day when justice for all
Includes adequate housing for all with a claim
And the ultimate name is inscribed on this wall.
HOW WOULD ST PATRICK DRIVE HOMELESSNESS AWAY?
How would St Patrick drive homelessness away?
Would he stretch out his arms like Moses parting the Red Sea,
and banish it by fiat with ostentatious display?
Or would he make an appointment with his MPP?
Would he sit down with the Housing Minister over corned beef and cabbage
or go door-to-door with leaflets and petitions?
Or co-opt Bay Street bigwigs to conduct homelessness arbitrage?
Maybe he’d recruit David Copperfield to use his skills as a magician.
Would St Patrick make the rounds of churches and Rotary Clubs
with a message of safe housing for all?
Or maybe a bunch of rounds in hundreds of pubs
making his pitch one-on-one, without starting a brawl.
Or would St Patrick hold up a mirror for all to view
that, until we treat our neighbour as our self,
the status quo will stick to us like glue.
IT’S SPRING, BUT…
It is April, verging on May,
Should be warm sunshine every day.
Yet, unbelievably, it’s still cold,
This is not what we were told.
By Mr. Groundhog and his friend,
He said that the winter would end.
Some of the Out Of The Colds are closing this week,
Even less shelter for the homeless to seek.
We’re still getting temperatures with wind chill,
Still potential for the cold to kill.
When will it get warm? I don’t know,
When will we see the end of the snow?
We’re probably going to lose more people before the Summer,
That would definitely be a bummer.
Possible changes are coming to Social Assistance,
Hopefully, they will meet with much resistance.
They want to merge OW and ODSP,
That will be the biggest mistake that could ever be.
Have faith my friends, it will get warm,
Then, on to the streets we must swarm.
We must stop these changes as soon as we can,
That will take every woman, child and man.
We can no longer be complacent,
Our fervour must not be dormant.
Throw out your apathy, show that you care,
Do we want more names to go on there?
Then, let’s hit the streets, raise our voice.
Tell them that they have no choice.
But to raise social assistance rates,
And reduce the number of unfortunate fates.
STREET WELLNESS
Canadian homeless have one advantage
over those who live on the street
south of the border—a health card–which
is great until you have your IDs stolen.
It’s tough staying healthy on the street.
Between the heat and the cold, the rain and the snow,
checking blood sugar levels is one of the first things to go.
And, heaven help you if there’s a heart condition
or high blood pressure in your portfolio.
Then there’s the daily struggle to stay alive–the
food options with sketchy nutritional value
and risks of violence around any corner,
down any alley.
These are the reasons so many whose
names we remember
died long before they should have,
and why we continue to wage war
on the causes and conditions that
perpetuate these unnecessary deaths.
IT’S SEPTEMBER AGAIN
It’s September again,
and the kids are back in school,
new hopes and challenges before them.
On the street, though,
the homeless face the same old challenges
and hopes are as scare as unicorns.
Yet here we are,
remembering lives lost to the streets,
and believing that things can change.
Change for the better, that is,
because to live is to change.
But to turn the great steering wheel
of Society requires a variety of forces
to push or pull in the same direction.
Unless we are satisfied with the tractionless
spinning of the status quo tires
it will be up to us to hook up the tow truck-and pull.
‘TWAS TWO WEEKS BEFORE CHRISTMAS
Twas two weeks before Christmas
and all through the Square
Santa’s helpers were scurrying
and pulling out their hair.
The children were coming
to sit on Santa’s lap
begging for Minecraft
or some other clap-trap.
The homeless look on,
toes freezing in the snow,
dreaming of being holed up
in a cozy bungalow.
Black Friday is past,
so retailers are hoping
that sales were good
so they can quit their moping.
The homeless, however
don’t have a black Friday
to float all their boats
or bring them a payday.
So, here we are again,
for anyone to hear:
The work of justice is never done,
but we won’t give up, no fear!
POLAR VORTEX
They say a polar vortex
is the reason for the season
of this bitter, numbing weather
that is more like Quebec’s.
Freezing rain and broken branches,
power down for days on end,
turning out those housed in comfort
in hotels their nights to spend.
Homeless only for a moment,
unlike many on the street,
who for weeks and months have spent
every minute making ends meet.
THERE IS NO WORD THAT RHYMES WITH BUDGET
There is no word that rhymes with budget
Just like some budgets, you have to fudge it.
Every budget’s a moral statement.
What’s it do about poverty abatement?
We’d like to know ’cause we’ve been nudging
for years we’ve been this road trudging,
yet powers that be are barely budging,
doling out pennies, and those, begrudging.
Justice for all is all we ask.
Why is that so daunting a task?
Loving others as oneself’s a start
to bring real change to this city’s heart.
ELECTION REFLECTION
It’s time for reflection on the coming election,
a modest inspection, if you have no objection.
‘Tis a naive confection, expecting perfection,
but, oh, the dejection, when there is no correction.
We need a connection, not a deflection.
nor more misdirection or wholesale resection
of social supports and tax collection.
By every projection we need more protection,
and not genuflection to powers of subjection.
Thoughtful selection could bring resurrection.
HOUSING, HOUSING EVERYWHERE, AND NOT A PLACE TO LIVE
A rooming house fire in the Kensington Market
reminds us, again, of what we all know:
Affordable housing is scarcer than hen’s teeth,
while towers of condos pop up and grow.
Why is it that housing is not a basic right
in a first-world country with riches untold?
The poor have no lobbyists queued at their door,
while political forces the funding withhold.
Housing, housing everywhere, and not a place to live
Unless you have experience–and only Canadian counts-a
Bachelor’s degree, at least, and a couple jobs, to boot,
You might as well abandon hope, there is no parachute.
WHEN GIANTS FALL
(For Dan Heap)
When giants fall, our world is shaken,
and here was one, who lived to waken
a passion for justice for all
in all who cared for the poor and forsaken.
Before his rise to the House of Commons
he was a worker priest–not a Brahman-working
rotating shifts making cardboard boxes,
daily becoming a socialist shaman.
How many fathers would cheer the arrest
of their children involved in political protest?
Against a legion of evils in the street you would find them
wearing red in solidarity with workers oppressed.
So, in honour of one who liked his politics al dente,
we raise our left fists in unanimous consent, eh,
and say: “Daniel James Macdonnell Heap. ¡Presente!”
MILESTONE ANNIVERSARY
Twenty-five years ago yesterday
two homeless people left the street for good.
This was before OCAP and TDRC
and social supports that were yet to be.
If you were homeless and married
you were on the skids;
there was housing for singles
or families with kids.
Under the Harris regime
while she was in school
they had to live separately
because of the rule
that a person on welfare
couldn’t share a house
with a person on OSAP, not even a spouse.
So, congratulations are due
to this couple, these two,
who are still together (and housed)
after all they’ve been through.
Bonnie and Kerre–here’s to you!
OH, CANADA, YOU SPACIOUS LAND
Oh, Canada, you spacious land
from coast to coast to coast,
you’ve prairies broad and mountains grand
and cities and lakes to toast.
Oh, Canada, your wide embrace
of folks from everywhere
has made the place a great showcase
of strength beyond compare.
But, Canada, there is one flaw
that makes the world wonder:
Why no housing strategy law?
What a colossal blunder!
We need a national roof we all can gather under.
STATISTICS ON THE OCCASION OF THANKSGIVING
The number of Hamilton kids
who depend on food banks to thrive
would fill nearly three hundred classrooms-not
exactly a number any would want to high-five.
While many dug into turkey and stuffing
with cranberry relish and honey-baked hams
a segment of our industrialized nation
got turkey à la shelter and candied yams.
You’re right, it could be far worse-Thanksgiving
in war zones and famine
is something hard to imagine,
but doesn’t excuse our need to examine
the things we can do to help the hungry
the other three hundred and sixty-four days of the year.
HOMELESS MEMORIAL: REMEMBRANCE DAY 2014
On this day when we remember those
who fought and died for country and monarch
we also grieve for lives cut short
for living on the street or in a park.
Some names we know, our lives intersected
at a drop-in, a corner, or public square.
Others will be remembered as Jane or John Does,
unique lives, who never knew they’d be confreres.
If every life is precious, however it unfolds,
our gathering to remember is a holy thing to do.
For each life has left its footprints in a universe of souls.
CHRISTMAS IS IN THE AIR
Christmas is in the air, the chilly air of December
and twinkle lights everywhere warm the night like little embers.
Families gather from far and wide, Christmas carols singing,
and feast on turkey, beef, and wine, while lovely presents bringing.
But for the homeless and sheltered folks Yuletide is not so glitzy.
The blast of wind and Christmas out of a tin is a long, long way from Ritzy.
Compassion means “to suffer with,” not pity from afar.
To enter into another’s plight you have to get out of the car.
If change is what we really want, then let it start with us,
by speaking for the voiceless ones and kicking up a fuss.
The day will come, with justice won
for those who long had none.
NEW TEARS FOR NEW YEAR’S
The party’s over, the champagne is flat,
the weather is frigid–a word about that.
Two homeless deaths in as many days-emergency
shelters full, warming centres closed-The
system’s inadequate, and fails once more
and two who walked among us have slipped this earthly shore.
Everyone’s death diminishes us, a poet wisely wrote.
Every life has purpose and possibility,
from princes and paupers to you and me.
We turn from silent homage
to raise our voice once more
and call for housing justice
and an end to the war on the poor.
FAMILY DAY ON THE STREET
A midwinter long weekend
to spend with the kids.
Get away to the country
unless a blizzard forbids.
If you live on the street, though,
it’s a different affair-Family
Day weekend
is no big deal, confrere.
It’s just another day
to eke out a living,
to get out of the cold
and weather unforgiving.
If you live on the street
your family may be
your fellow companions
whom daily you see.
Everyone needs community,
whether rich or poor,
let’s look out for one another-and
forget about keeping score.
FIFTY-SIX PERCENT OF ONTARIANS
Fifty-six percent of Ontarians
think the Safe Streets Act
is a feckless way of dealing with homelessness.
After fifteen years and over a million dollars
spent ticketing panhandlers
are the streets any safer?
When you have outstanding tickets
making a new start is nearly impossible.
So, why even try?
There has to be a better way.
Let’s put our heads together
and ring in a brand new day.
SONNET TO TINY HOUSES
Is Toronto ready for tiny houses?
Or are they just another dream?
Oh, the bureaucratic crap a tiny house arouses,
a dream to make NIMBYs scream.
A tiny house is like a Smart car,
fitting where no other can.
Barely bigger than an armoire
or a blooming minivan.
High-rise living’s not for everyone.
A detached house is now a million or more.
Affordable housing is coming undone,
going the way of the brontosaur.
Should we give tiny houses a chance,
or is this the last dance?
TRUTH AND RECONCILIATION
Toronto has no First Nations reserves
There were no residential schools here
But the wounds are felt– more than anyone deserves-And
the pain from the past is ever near.
As the Truth and Reconciliation process nears its end
Stories of neglect and abuse abound
So many lives destroyed, we can’t pretend
The system’s reasons were ever sound.
There’s nothing we can do to change the past
Repairing wounds so deep will take much time
Yet injustices continue wide and vast
We’ve much to do, and it’s a steep climb.
THE SMELLS OF SUMMER
Hot dogs roasting on an open fire
Paving tar wafting through the air
Doggie doo lingering on your shoe
And farmer’s market flowers on Nathan Philips Square
The parks are filled with the essence of mown grass
Clouds of grease hover over the Ex
In Chinatown the smells of exotic fruits
Compete with spices just as complex
Exhaust from cars and buses haze the air
A thunderstorm provides an ozone purge
Along the lake there is always l’air de l’eau
Punctuated by an occasional fishy surge.
Old memories are stirred by olfactory prompts
A coffee with a dear old friend
New leather of a baseball glove
The smoke of autumn signaling an end.
ELECTION REFLECTION
We are all connected in the social fabric-Everyone’s
death diminishes me, wrote Donne.
But at election time, for the body politic
it is slicing and dicing that everywhere are spun.
“We’re all in this together,” you hear a candidate say
just before they drive a wedge to turn the votes their way.
Canadian values, Canadian values, we hear them continually spar,
but we are clearly not of one mind about what they actually are.
Why talk about jobs when you can harp on niqabs?
Who wants to debate housing when you can argue about rabble-rousing?
Everyone’s crying out about refugees, refugees,
only to be silenced by fears of terrorists, terrorists.
Elections have consequences, as we all know.
Just make sure to the polls you go.
LET US DO MORE THAN REMEMBER
Let us do more than remember
those whose lives were lost in war
and let us do more than remember
those who died because they were poor.
Let us speak out, let us invest,
let us join hands in a brave new quest
to focus our power and our wills
on bringing an end to shameful ills
that have beset our vulnerable and frail,
ensuring they will always fail.
Let us turn the page, begin anew
to find solutions for this age
by pulling together and taking a view
that this is a war that we must wage.
Let us do more than remember
Let us remember and then let us act
so that those who have given their lives
will not have their legacy hacked.
MORE THAN TWO THOUSAND YEARS LATER
More than two thousand year later,
the annual celebration of a homeless baby’s birth
is still a big deal.
But even the Son of God
became a refugee while still a child,
political forces being what they were.
The message remains the same:
love your neighbour as yourself.
But challenges remain as well,
social forces being what they are.
But the dream is not dead
We struggle to make our country more just,
for where there is justice for all,
there is peace.
HOPE FOR A NEW DAY
It’s a new year and with it comes hope,
hope for a new day and a vision of housing for all.
Housing for all is more than a dream,
a dream that could come true with a strategic windfall.
The winds are changing across this vast land,
and it’s not just global warming that’s come into play,
but warming of hearts and a joining of minds
that are changing the landscape, ushering in a new day.
It won’t happen on its own–housing for all-but
the arc of the moral universe bends toward justice,
so, sooner or later, the dream will come true,
but not without hard work by me and by you.
WHAT’S ON OUR MIND?
What’s on our mind? The city’s budget.
There are consequences to how we slice the pie.
Life or death consequences, so let’s not fudge it.
A billion dollars to police our streets
But how does housing rate?
Death sentences for the mentally ill, instead of a bed with sheets.
So much in life is easier if you have a roof over your head
You can tackle your struggles one by one
When you come home to your very own bed.
What’s on our mind? The city’s budget.
The powers that be say the bar can’t be raised-But
maybe we can nudge it.
LET US PAUSE TO PRAISE OUR PROGRESS
Let us pause to praise our progress
after years of tireless work
counting homeless deaths now merits
work the City must not shirk.
So, now we’ll have these ghastly numbers,
but how will homeless deaths decrease?
It will take far more than tracking
if we want this list to cease.
Moving in the right direction,
grateful for each battle won.
But the war on the poor still rages,
there is work that’s still undone.
HOMELESSNESS IS ON THE WANE
Homelessness is on the wane in London, Ontario,
while the average house price in Toronto is now a million-two.
It is a polarized world in which we live.
Urban dwellers can drink water from the tap,
but in remote Indigenous communities it is common
to have boiled or bottled water advisories for years.
It’s not all economics; it’s about policies and priorities.
A billion here, a billion there, in defense spending or streetcar subsidies,
but safe water for all Canadians is political Kryptonite.
We keep pushing for justice, but it’s not just us.
There are millions like us who want to bend the arc of history
toward justice for all–one action at a time.
MADE IN THE SHADE
When it’s hot and steaming
not everyone has it made in the shade.
If it’s hot enough long enough
there’s always the cooling centre escapade.
But only until seven at night-(
except for Metro Hall, which is open
twenty-four hours for extended heat warnings).
Otherwise, you’re on your own until daylight.
Even people with housing can die of heat.
It’s not enough to get off the street-a
climate-controlled place is hard to beat.
SHORTER DAYS AND COOLER NIGHTS
Shorter days and cooler nights
will mark the changes of the seasons,
while heat alerts and thunderstorms
still punctuate for various reasons.
Molecules of hope across the land
for housing funds are whispered
while on our doorsteps, in our lanes,
more homeless lives are disappeared.
The safety net continues to fray
from season to season and day to day
while forces that can change the weather
jerk us all around together.
Giving up is not our way
Each of us has a part to play
Building bridges, making hay,
Working for a brighter day.
PAUSING TO GIVE THANKS
With so many things wrong in the world
an inventory of bad news could fill a dump truck.
So, to keep our sanity, let us pause to note
some of the things for which we give thanks.
If we have a roof over our head
and a place to make a bed, let us give thanks.
If we have water to bathe, and food to eat,
and a Twitter account with which to tweet, let us give thanks.
If we have someone to love and friends we can trust
and a bank account that hasn’t gone bust, let us give thanks.
If we live in a land that’s not continually at war,
where we need not fear bombers and snipers and more, let us give thanks.
For all of these gifts and for blessings rife
we give thanks most of all for the gift of life.
WHAT IF THERE WERE A REMEMBRANCE DAY
What if there were a Remembrance Day
for all who have died in the war on the poor?
What colour would the poppy be
and what day of the year?
What if there were a monthly remembrance day
for the war on the poor?
And what if the poppy was made of McDonald’s wrappers
or a shred of the Globe and Mail?
What if there was a parade down Yonge Street
to remember the casualties of the war on the poor?
With floats and costumes and streamers and super-soakers?
Then again, what if we lived in a country
that was so rich, that there was enough
food, shelter, and health care for every
girl and boy, man and woman who lived there?
Really. What if we did?
HOMELESS FOR THE HOLIDAYS
It’s the time of year when charity is top of mind,
The jolly season when all we do is talk of being kind.
That, and collecting socks and mittens and cans of food,
And things like that that make us feel oh, so good.
Too bad that poverty and homelessness don’t happen just once a year,
or everything would be peachy, have no fear.
A group of five crowd-sourced support to sponsor a Syrian refugee-raised
fifty-thousand dollars in one week with only a single plea.
Yet the poor and poorly housed, every month and every day,
Struggle to keep body and soul together, whatever comes their way.
ANOTHER TRIP AROUND THE SUN
Another trip around the sun
Another year has just begun
And with it hope for a new day.
A little sign of hopefulness
was just announced to local press:
Homeless deaths will now be counted.
Will shining light on these sad numbers
Wake us from our civic slumbers
And make a difference on the street?
A snowflake is unique and frail,
An avalanche, another tale.
So, let us use our collective might
To build momentum, and take the fight
To places of power, and make things right.
BLACK HISTORY MONTH
Today may be Valentine’s DAY, but it is also Black History MONTH,
And when it comes to life on the street
the verdict is in-for
people of colour, discrimination is concrete.
The data is there for all to see:
the decades of carding,
of catch and release,
confirm beyond question, the malignant caprice.
As Martin reminded us more than fifty years ago:
it is the content of one’s character,
not the colour of their skin
upon which anyone judging should weigh in.
Every generation must learn anew
that everyone is a child of God, no matter their hue.
INTERNATIONALS WOMEN’S DAY
International Women’s Day comes every year,
an annual moment to look far and near
at the status of women—what’s happening here?
For under-housed women life’s especially hard-with
personal things men don’t have to regard,
and, possibly, children, whose lives they safeguard.
Today we give thanks for one half of our race
their strength and endurance, their genius and grace,
make all our lives possible, a joy we embrace.
There are barriers, still, that stand in the way;
we strive for equality for all each day,
and sooner or later it will be here to stay.
THE GREAT DIVIDE
It was a special year: nineteen-ninety-one,
A year of infamy in rental history:
open season had begun
on apartment rents in buildings newer,
making access to affordable units
fewer and fewer.
And then, this week we finally heard
the news of a rent hike so absurd
that even the Queen’s Park crowd opined:
the marketplace had lost its mind.
Perhaps, if the planets were aligned,
a legislative answer they could find.
What will it take, do you think
to see a new law signed in ink?
Reining in the unbridled greed
in a marketplace where millions bleed
their monthly incomes out of pocket
while landlords’ bank accounts sky-rocket.
A HOMELESS HAPPY BIRTHDAY
One way we mark the march of time
is to track our birthday year by year.
But, if you’re homeless, what’s to cheer?
With luck, a friend might buy you a beer.
A birthday’s an existential note
that you were born and you’re still here-you’ve
gifts to offer, though some may sneer,
and fail to see you as a peer.
A human’s a human, we share a race:
our colours are varied, we’re different of face,
our languages, myriad, our cultures embrace
all human experience in every time and place.
So Happy Birthday to you, a blessed natal day,
no matter your circumstance, no matter your sign.
You’re here for a purpose, so let your gifts shine.
Leave your mark on the planet while there’s still time.
THE HAZARDS OF HEALTH CARE
The chronically housed have a distinct advantage
when it comes to the hazards of health care.
When everything you own is carried with you,
a health card is easy to lose or have stolen.
And then, there’s your medications:
if you can get seen by a doctor,
there will be co-pays
and people interested in helping themselves
to your pills for their ills.
But then, there are also stories of hope:
the ones who found a path out of addiction;
the one who had eye surgery and now sees;
and those who were treated for cancer, in time;
all because, unlike some other places in the world,
a homeless person here is entitled to health care.
While we grieve the loss of some,
we are grateful for those whose lives have been saved.
Poems below by Don Weitz
For Leo, Panhandling on Yonge 2015
he crouches in front of Tim Horton’s
head bowed as if praying
holding out an empty coffee cup
motionless not yet homeless
shivering but not complaining
he lifts his head up
his bright expectant eyes meet mine
thanking me God bless for
any sign any gesture any recognition
he knows I know his name
he knows I know he’s not crazy
I give him a loonie
later, a blanket
when what he needs
is shelter
a room
a warm coat
a hot meal
a job
a hug
love
on
a cold
concrete
street
day
and
night
a human right
out of sight
Homeless Blues (2017, adapted to song)
did you see a homeless man
an unsheltered woman
did you see their pained face and wounded hand
standing or squatting long and hard
lyin in a laneway doorway or storefront
on this racist and stolen land
dyin for a home, sick on the street
it’s time you knew he’s my brother
it’s time you knew she’s my sister
singin the homeless homeless blues
sngin the homeless homeless blues
did you see, them outside city hall
sleepin rough in the cold
did you see, them in a shelter or shopping mall
panning for loose change as you’re told
did you see that security guard or cop
hassling threatening them on the spot
so tell me what did you do and see
just walking by blind to reality
singin the homeless homeless blues
singin the homeless homeless blues
I have a name just like you
but have no home, it could happen to you
I lost a brother and a sister,
I’m on welfare and can’t pay the rent
out on the street sick and stuck in a tent
poverty reduction, affordable housing plan
more official lies, another city sham
time to speak out, time to move on
time to march and mobilize
no time to agonize
singin the homeless homeless blues
singin the homeless homeless blues
dyin for a home, sick on the street
it’s time you knew he’s my brother
it’s time you knew she’s my sister
time to speak out, time to move on
time to march and mobilize
no time to “analyze” (substituted in song finish)
singin (the) homeless homeless blues
singin (the) homeless homeless blues etc.
(in variations with)
healing the, healing the, homeless blues
talk about, talk about unity
Nameless Homeless
I see you I hear you
at the worst corner in town
I see you I hear you
in and out of the filthy crowded shelters the city wants to shut down
save the schoolhouse save the schoolhouse
where are the women’s shelters
safe havens for courageous survivors
of unspeakable poverty homelessness rape
I see you I hear you
women alone and lonely
beaten or worse in dark alleyways
all over this fucking stolen land
Vancouver where 1000 aboriginal sisters are
missing or dead
thanks to the genocidal colonialism
of people like Stephen don’t-give-a-shit Harper
and the sexist racist Canadian state
where are the safe women’s shelters
the 24/7 crisis centres damn city councils for refusing to act
I see you I hear you
freaking out in the boarding-house district
near the psycho-prison where you’re drugged and shocked
I see you I hear you
desperate mad
your voices medicalized
as “symptoms of mental illness”
I see you I hear you
Native, Black, refugee, immigrant psychiatrized
sisters and brothers
murdered by cops
I see you I hear you struggling young people in Nunavut
where polar bears are also homeless
Oh Kanata
your corrupt politicians
your final solutions for homelessness
your mass evictions mass arrests riot squads
pepper spray tasers tear gas prisons bullets
your criminal just-us system
your mental death system
I see you I hear you
I fear you not
I am with my sisters and brothers
we stand we march against injustice
and for human rights
Jane Doe
you froze to death at 30 below
Your sisters sunstroked at 40 above
no respite, no warming, no cooling centre to care or love
in Vancouver, Winnipeg, Calgary, Toronto, Ottawa
the RCMP, cops, and mayors, don’t seem to care, if they ever did
nobody stopped to give you a loonie or dime
in rain, snow, sleet, in the wind or sunshine
nobody stopped to touch, to say “hi” or hello
don’t ya know, don’t ya know, don’t ya know
crowded shelters turned you away
while mayors, councilors, ministers lied
brothers, friends, shouted loud and long
“She’s gone. She’s lost,” sisters cried and cried
no justice, no peace, no safety, no home
Your kids never found, lost to suicide
while ministers committed genocide
You barely survived third world welfare
no heat, no clean water, no healthcare
Jane Doe you died, alone, stigmatized
racialized-traumatized-criminalized
nameless, homeless, no direction home
nameless, homeless, no direction home
Missing, Murdered Women, and Girls on stolen lands
no justice, no peace, for Native bands
Jane Doe, Jane Doe, where are you now
tell us, where you, must be found
Your spirit rising like the phoenix
like a smoke signal rising from sacred ground
justice, peace, reconciliation, truth wherever found
lie deep, deep, asleep, in Mother Earth
too scorched, too damaged, to give birth
Jane Doe, Jane Doe
nameless, homeless, tell us your Name