Holy Apostles Soup Kitchen

Archive for June, 2016|Monthly archive page

Last Day

In Poetry on June 24, 2016 at 1:14 pm


Last Day is like

Da 1st day

A child at play

Don’t wanna go 2 school

Don’t wanna stop writin

It’s so exciting


Combining creativity with

da universe


Now we can converse

Thoughts that need be said

To those far or near

Lend me your ears

share this food

with all, Never Give Up

stand Up, Brush urself off

keep the motivation alive

reach ur potential.





In Poetry on June 15, 2016 at 8:32 pm

jumping over ravine

Gaps hoops, expanses, chasms, sink-holes

yearning to be filled, caulked, levelled out by the

passing sands of time…our spirits
We strain our sinews reaching into the hidden

recesses of the soul, grasping at elusive dreams

wrapping themselves round our flirting spirits,

screaming out blasphemies too outrageous

to utter to the audience, the congregation of


Perpetually agape — our restless souls wrestling

with choices — what to invite, receipt, review before

allowing the flood of music, to films, to videos –

sight and sound – overwhelm our peaceful,

restless existence.

Revolving door strategies flowing over the blank

canvas of our souls cluttered yet open-accessed

crevices unwilling to remain shut, grasping at the

plethora of myriad needles  pricking at the

pores of the human psyche.

Transitioning expanding horizons through

past, present and future pockets of

intangible spiritual minefields whirling above

our dormant dreams of a utopia called home.

We are in a state of in-betweenity — light

and darkneess, confusion and clarity, chais

and soberness — sickness and health, life

and death.

That unseen hand from someplace –

Writing on the wall of our fake

reality — wake us from our forgone

state of debauchery — fill

the spaces — open to the air

filled with unfulfilled temptation.

-Chris V. 

I Remember

In memoir, Poetry on June 9, 2016 at 5:45 pm

Food for the soul pinto

I remember kitchens and privacy

I remember having furniture

I remember having a place with walls so think you couldn’t

hear the neighbors arguing next door.


I remember driving

the open freedom of the road

being able to go where you want when you want

and not having to shell out $438 to UPS to ship your

stuff instead of transporting it for much less in the car.


I remember owning a car, $2 a gallon gas,

registration and insurance not costing more than the car itself.


I remember the freedom

driving from New York to Colorado

or San Antonio to New Mexico

or LA to Louisville


I remember that getting a job was easier when you had a car

or an apartment that was affordable.


That was so long ago.

-Thomas Clarke


In Poetry on June 7, 2016 at 9:11 pm



My favorite activity in sports

Was shagging fly balls

In the outfield,

Or fielding ground balls

In the infield.

Poetry is similar

To those skills.

You go into yourself

To grasp an object

Inside, or outside,

Of yourself,

And catch it

In mid-air

Or on the ground

In its aesthetic realm

To make it good,

Or exceptional,

In print,

The stadium

Of its practice,

And to get it out

Or get that out,

For all to see,

Or read.

-Michael LaBombarda