Holy Apostles Soup Kitchen

Archive for March, 2013|Monthly archive page

A New World 2 Dream

In Uncategorized on March 27, 2013 at 8:59 pm


How many people lost their job?

You need a new start

everything goin wrong

even your curl doesn’t twirl

how about a new world

a fresh start – diggin up the forgotten garden

(in ur heart)

plantin seeds weeds 4 each

season, very pleasin.

My enterprise you work 4 me

– to ur surprise – here I

can do anything I dream –

no government –

we are the leaders – each community

creates necessities 4 the people.

Recycle the money – each one teach one –

going back to primitive times

everyone is buildin my house ur house –

sharing jobs – community,

no poverty – eat and share

every tree of life –

no more tears no more

fears. The children playing

running, laughing – on ever

green endless lawns and trees

fall to ur knees if you please

the bees won’t sting –

the lions will roar with

nearly a locked jaw, all

creatures will greet

you with love – no stress –

my world is blessed – beware

if you get overwhelmed with

negative thoughts u will be

disconnected from

the matrix – with eternal

laughter. Does it matter?

by Precious


The Mind Travels

In Keeping hope alive, Poetry, Who, where, how? on March 21, 2013 at 5:09 pm


The mind travels,

then it gets there.

To see something that you saw,

then you know.

A hint.

A birthday –

you buy something for yourself,

a holiday you share with a friend.

And by the crossroads,

you say ‘hi’ to everybody else.

by Maurice

Image Crossroads (C) by www.martin-liebermann.de –  prints available from martin-liebermann.fineartamerica.com

Homeless Story

In Guest stories on March 13, 2013 at 6:54 pm


Some years ago, I worked in lower Manhattan for a company that sells suits. My job was to hand out flyers on the corner. Some people took them, others crumpled them, while others dismissed me as a nuisance. There were a couple of guys who went to lunch every day, and I handed them a flyer, but this particular guy always folded his arms as if to say, “Don’t bother me.”

Around that time, there was a scandal brewing at the company where they worked at, involving people getting paid too much, going on junkets, buying expensive toys. This made the news and the company fired a few of their employees. Among the ones who got fired was the guy who refused to take the flyers.

Fast-forward to two years ago. I was going to the library on Fifth Avenue and stopped at 38th and Fifth to sit on a bench and drink a Coke. Sitting on the other end of the bench was the guy who refused to take the flyers and was fired. He was sitting there with shopping bags from some of the expensive stores on Fifth Avenue: Lord & Taylor, Saks, Abercrombie & Fitch. He saw me, and he got up and left. He knew I was homeless. It bothered me for a second, and then I took it as a big joke.

A couple of days later I was in Grand Central Station, and out of the corner of my eye I saw that very same individual going through the garbage. At first I thought he was searching for a newspaper, but no, he was going through discarded bags for food. Since then, a couple of times I have seen him on line at St Francis and also here at Holy Apostles, wearing dark glasses and a baseball cap.

My reason for writing about this, is that I hate people who pretend they are not homeless. Be who you are. Things don’t always go the way we want them to….you roll with the punches. But to look down on another person because they are less fortunate than you – you are in the same boat with them, all sinking together, until someone throws you a rope.

George Cousins

Where I Am From

In Who, where, how? on March 7, 2013 at 4:13 pm

map_of_africaI am from Uganda, the eye of the skull-shaped African continent. And from the eye I am. The lush, hot African landscape receded and a Canadian one took its place in my life. Cold, long winters and free roaming wolf-dog hybrids as numerous as snowflakes were my morning. Then in the afternoon, the Canadian canvas was replaced with an American one. Washington serenaded me with star-spangled anthems as I ate hot apple pie at the ballgame. But as the twilight fell, the ghosts of all the dead Indians roamed in the growing darkness, like the wolf dogs of Canada, and the lions of Africa.

The ghosts of the Indians found their way onto this page.

Peter Nkruma