Looking Out of Windows that Aren't There

Tiny - Posted on 13 May 2019

Poverty Skolaz Story-Theatre Writing Workshop in St Petersburg, Florida

Poetry from the Poverty Skolaz Theatre/Poetry Writing Workshop in Occupied Seminole Territory (St Petersburg, Florida) at the Misio Dei Church with unhoused parishioners of Misio Dei and members of the Refuge Ministry of Tampa Bay.












Incarceration is hard to keep at Bay

by Steve B


On a dreary dismal day, the anger of the moment took me away.

It only took seconds to throw it all away that day.

I still smell the powder & copper, for my life it was the stopper.

Regret I do not have, the rest of my life I have to save.

To live in the street to stay free, unfortunately that’s me.

One must stay awake, there’s too much at stake.

It’s me that I can’t forsake.

Even though no regrets, I don’t want to repeat that day.

Because incarceration is hard to keep at bay.

Now it’s my chance

To keep my freedom, therefore I make my stance.

Any way possible, then homelessness

Shall stay accessible.


Looking Out of Windows that Aren’t There

By Ramires K. Farrakhan 


I like looking out

Of windows

That aren’t there

Basically an operating


Intrigues my soul mathematically

Would he know

What wondrous thought in

Ok I do want to be correct


Which he was a small contributor

Or did he worry too far

Like many of us in glancing

Maybe there

If I lay it that freely

Will I be safe when they come

To resurrect myself a meadow

A tree a herd of goat or sheep

Let your body language as well as

Your utterances leave the message


Walking down a sidewalk, quietly reassuring

The faithful

Wherever we’ve come from

This is home.



By Barbra Wright 


This again.

Not just me and my husband, but my children

Adults in poverty

Who can’t make it without community.

Where will they go?

My four happy grandchildren

Stable and protected from the struggle,

Though aware of its reality.

No longer able to house them.

On the precipice of being thrust into the struggle.

Legacy gone

Wiped out in penstrokes

From the Snakes of Amerika.

Debt not even mine

Hopeless, helpless again.

How did this happen? Why did this happen?

A bottle of pills, and I won’t think, care, feel.

The sirens as the police chase me down

And on the way to their forced detention

Reminds me I’m not free and never will be.

Poverty is my reality.

I can’t protect, only community can.

Each according to their ability and needs.

Solutions, not problems.

Unite to fight

Safety in numbers.


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