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Tuesday Mornings


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Tuesdays in the Church Parking Lot

Cigarettes and paper
cups half-full
of steaming coffee warm
chilled fingers
while faded characters
in frayed levis
turn their backs to the street
to avoid stares
of passers-by
and wait . . .

. . Arms fill with brown
paper bags bearing boxes
of cereal, eggs,
home-grown produce, rice
and assorted cans
then they vanish,
only to return
and wait. . . .
on Tuesday morning.
           - Judi Van Gorder

~~ © ~~ Poems by Judi Van Gorder ~~

For permission to use this work you can write to Tinker1111@icloud.com

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'hard times' are just around the corner, have already arrived for many, and time for the few time to share more than ever...instead policy is to make life harder so there isn't a 'culture of dependency' and waiting rather than doing...either way I like the unfussy writing



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I like the uncomplicated way this states facts and then leaves the reader to make of the poem what he or she will. Basic social issues are at the fore-front of news items in many countries of late. Benjamin

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A brilliant poem, Tinker. I loved this one. The clear images are simply perfect. The tone is amazing. Great job with this poem, Tink.



The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth - Jean Cocteau

History of Macedonia



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I've heard this story before, Tink -- from someone I know who works at the local Catholic charity food kitchen. Yes, they show up once a week. By the time next Tuesday rolls around, they're out, or running low on things, and they return ...



Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic

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:-8) everything's said ^-^


"Unbearable, isn't it? The suffering of strangers, the agony of friends.

There is a secret song at the center of the world, Joey, and its sound is like razors through flesh."


"I don't believe you."


"Oh come, you can hear its faint echo right now. I'm here to turn up the volume.

To press the stinking face of humanity into the dark blood of its own secret heart."

"There's a starving beast inside my chest
playing with me until he's bored
Then, slowly burying his tusks in my flesh
crawling his way out he rips open old wounds

When I reach for the knife placed on the bedside table
its blade reflects my determined face
to plant it in my chest
and carve a hole so deep it snaps my veins

Hollow me out, I want to feel empty"
-- "Being Able To Feel Nothing" by Oathbreaker


"Sky turns to a deeper grey

the sun fades by the moon

hell's come from the distant hills

tortures dreams of the doomed

and they pray, yet they prey

and they pray, still they prey"
-- "Still They Prey" by Cough


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Hi Badge, Geoff, Aleks, Tony, and AC, Thank you for reading this one. It is actually an old one, believe it or not written in "good times" before the crash. The poor have always been around.


The town I live outside of ( only about 10 homes are actually in the town) is approximatetly 2 blocks long and 2 blocks deep and the 2 lane highway running thru the middle of town has a 4 way stop smack dab in the middle of town. The town boasts 2 churches, a mom & pop grocery store, a couple of art and antique shops and a couple of tourist attraction family style restuarants, that's about it. The catholic church with its community hall and food locker is set back from the main street with its parking lot in front of the buildings. This is where the Rural Food Program dispenses food on the 2nd Tuesday of every month. You have to drive by it to go anywhere and it is hard to ignore with a couple of hundred of families milling around waiting. Everyone knows everyone in this small community and there are sure to be neighbors and friends waiting there who prefer not to be recognized. It is run by all volunteers. Those of us with gardens often donate excess produce to the food locker, the government provides some dairy products and of course there is a regular collection in both churches to support the food program. If you need food all you have to do is show up. No other qualificaiton. It is front and center to our community life and has had an impact on all of us.



~~ © ~~ Poems by Judi Van Gorder ~~

For permission to use this work you can write to Tinker1111@icloud.com

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Here in Japan in our city we do it in the main station underground concourse on Friday and Saturday evenings. We get hundreds of people lining up, some of them ex-company employees thrown out of supposedly lifetime jobs. Japan?? Yeah, sure. The economy was down even before the March 11 earthquake. Now it's in a nosedive. The lines get longer. Commuters come scuttling by, pretending not to recognize the people they know in those lines. I was tempted to shake a few hands but my companions pushed me along, explaining that it would be a tremendous loss of face for the people concerned. I listened. Most of the time you take cultural advice. Now and then you don't ... those times when the outrage burns too hard. Who am I to pass comment on a foreign country? I'm a human being, that's who I am. I'd say the same thing in America ... probably LOUDER (they don't listen too good).

Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim

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