We’ve highlighted our favorite Contributor vendor poems from the last year accompanied by custom illustrations by Melissa Willis.
A Poem In Remembrance Of My Dad
Norma B., Contributor Vendor
This is the time of year when many people think of their
Fathers with love and affection.
I, too, give attention to my dad, as I try to imagine
what he would’ve been like as an older man,
though it’s hard since he died at only 37.
I wonder would his dark brown hair have
more of a salt and pepper look today?
Or would it be gray?
Would his bright blue eyes still sparkle and shine the same way
when something special caught his gaze
I close my eyes as I strain to hear the sound
of his voice whispering in my ear.
Oh how I would love to see his smile of approval
looking back at me.
But sadly for me those things are a part of the distant past.
But my memories of him will forever last.
Readers, please take a lesson from me
and learn from my mistakes.
Show and tell your dad how much you love him
before it is too late
and all you have left are memories
that with the passing of time tend to fade away.
Sidewalk Sofas & Concrete Couches
S. Lester, Contributor Vendor
As each day brings new business,
signs aglare, horns that beep;
There’s a man on the sidewalk,
laid out, fast asleep.
No thing at all seems to stir this pro-snoozer.
Not even the lights of the watching cop cruiser!
Maybe things got too hard.
Could be “Out of his head.”
What made such a poor soul call a sidewalk his bed?
And what of the rest of Society’s kin?
Should we all feel ashamed
as we walk through his den?
Something must now be done, though surely not by me.
Let’s blame Life for his plight;
Better yet, Poverty!
Either way, he’ll be right there,
Sun-up ‘til Sun-down.
He looks like the comfy-est person in town!
I’ve just got to keep stepping,
There’ll be two if I’m tardy.
I’m in no mood to join the Sidewalk Slumber-party!
Yet, as tonight comes
and my prayers have been said,
I’ll pray also for him
with concrete under head.
One Number Away
Sarah C., Contributor Vendor
Thought no one wanted to be my friend.
In fact, the only sign of kindness toward me
was the people who supported our charity.
Yes, even the bus drivers became enemies
as they witnessed me load the bus carrying
huge bags of clothing as full of heavy blankets.
They also assumed that I did not hold any fear
and they rushed me to pay.
Screams and cries of strangers filled the air
as all I could do was slay the insults in spirit.
Up the street was a Publix.
I did purchase a $2 lottery ticket,
which had all ten numbers except one,
the number 8.
You should have seen the look upon my face.
I was a homeless person and helpless as some
may say and in need of housing,
yet I was only one number away from $300,000.
Gibbous Moon
FreePressGMA, contributor vendor
I wake to light that glimmers blue like Dawn.
Gibbous moon glides beside me as I wade the aquamarine mists
She is in a talkative mood, sharing all the visions of the night.
As I turn to return home, she keeps step with me a while
until the liquid gold of sun begins to rise.
Then gracefully like a lady at a tea party, she bids me well,
for she is off to wake the armadillos, the rolling hills and marshlands, the desert, and the western Sea.
Once I had a lover who walked this path with me.
The Singer, The Songwriter and Her Wardrobe
Stella S., Contributor Vendor
T-shirts, jeans covered in jelly beans,
twizzler socks and Crocs. Shorts, squats for
sports, socks and slides. Khakis a bit wacky
with a baby doll top. Hats, scarves, holders
of the pony kind.
Ribbons and pearls and that hair she
twirls as her eyes light up like stars in the
sky. Microphone mascara in hand waving in
anticipation of her future crowd. Quivering
lips with gloss, matte and poise, the singer,
the songwriter and her wardrobe.
By day she writes and by nightfall she’s
on a mission to make someone happy. Emo-
tionally drained but in the mood to strike a
pose — I suppose she’s not Vogue. The singer,
the songwriter and her wardrobe.
Dedicated to all the magical people.
The Letter C
Chris Scott F., Contributor Vendor
When they see the letter C?
Courteousy & Charity start with the letter C.
So, does Courage and Creativity.
Compromise and Common Sense.
And, the Cornerstone of Cowardice?
Confessing and Claiming…
I Can’t …
Calm … Cool … And … Collected …
Convinced that the Calling and the Cause,
Are well worth the Cost and Commitment.
You Can Conquer or you Can Care less.
I consider my words,
Being heard in “The Contributor”
A Constant Confession,
Of what it feels like?
To be Continuously Blessed?
When it comes down to being?
Comfortable and Content?
I Consider it a Challenge,
A Contest,
And / Or a Welcome Conquest.
Thank God I’ve got Consistency.
When it Comes down to,
Carrying on a Conversation?
There are people out there,
That I Care about,
Who are Counting on me,
And my Correspondence,
Coming out regularly,
In “The Contributor”
Every Couple of weeks.
When Life Feels Like It’s Coming to an End
Miss Nita, Contributor Vendor
So much to do and so little time to do it in,
Problems, battles, addiction and rejections.
When do we ever win?
I keep fighting even with my back against the wall.
I keep struggling to get up every time I fall.
Some of my hopes and dreams just whisk right on by.
Then, God sends several baby cardinals.
This catches my eye.
Of all the places they could build their nest and visit each day,
God knew that I would enjoy them so he sent them my way.
How angelic are the songs that they sing?
Happiness and joy is what they bring.
Bright and early in the morning,
and always they resist in the evening.
Always happy and content as they want to be.
I get to be a part of their lives as they fl y from tree to tree.
It started from them gathering particles
from my dead, lifeless plant.
I know more than ever to stop sayin I can’t.
I will. I can. They did. We win.
This is a true poem about cardinals making my home their home.
It was the medicine and healing I needed for another painful time in
my life. Thank you, God. I hope this poem blesses you.
Neon Lights
Dawn R., Contributor Vendor
I’m sleeping under Neon Lights
sometimes it feels so perfectly right
Knowing you have no home tonight
Sleeping under Neon Lights
Praying everything goes right
Still sleeping under Neon Lights
City’s full of music
And Neon Lights
Still trying to make things right
Still sleeping under Neon Lights