Tag: charity

Diverse Verse – Poetry For a Cause

~ Meg ~ 23 Comments

Sometime last year (memory not what it used to be…) poet Richard Archer asked for submissions to what would become a third volume of verse from poets across the globe to benefit Cancer Research, UK. I offered my favorite poem: Just Burn and was delighted to be accepted for the publication. Please consider buying this marvelous collection and supporting a most worthy cause! Purchase the book here.

My contribution: Just Burn

Why do I write in the light,
When the dark is so intoxicating?
Just to keep up appearances?
Do I continue to smile though I’m dying?
How do I find my voice?
Amidst a cacophony of screaming?
I don’t want your self help diatribe.
I don’t want your power of positive thinking.

I can’t hear myself think,
Let alone pen a work of distinction.
I need a strong, stiff drink,
But that’s only self medication.
And what’s it all mean anyway?
When nothing’s going to give satisfaction?
Just a book full of ink spots,
That sits on a shelf gathering desolation.

How do I come to grips,
With my own profound unhappiness?
I’m nothing but thunderstorms and anger.
Keep your sunshine and sweetness.
I have no more words of encouragement.
It’s cruelty, competition, unfairness.
The theme for the day is belligerence.
It’s outworking displays it’s aggressiveness.

So save your kindly comments,
And your gestures of reverent concern.
For into the fires of failure,
I let the manuscripts burn.
Lick the curling hundreds of pages,
Kindle the books, at each turn,
Throw gas on the conflagration,
And I’m gone nevermore to return…

Payback

~ Meg ~ 33 Comments

By Meg Sorick. A short story from July 2015, edited and ready to go into the collection. Here’s one last read:

“I know it’s not much,” I said, as I handed the homeless man an orange and a five dollar bill. I had passed him every day since he first appeared a week ago, on my route to work. With haunted green eyes and a sad smile, he looked neither dangerous nor crazy, just like a guy who had fallen on hard times.

“There but for the grace of God, go I,” I thought as I entered the diner where I waited tables. With a heavy sigh, I tied my apron around my waist and picked up my order pad. I had the worst section again: the one right by the door. Every time the door opened and closed, the wind rushed in, chilling my stocking clad legs and bare arms. Despite the fact that I never stopped moving all day, I never managed to get warm. By the end of my shift, my feet were sore, my back was aching and my meager tips wouldn’t go very far toward paying my bills.

I packed up the last of the vegetable soup to take home for my supper. I smiled. There was enough for two containers. No sense in letting it go to waste. On impulse, I grabbed the last two rolls and a couple of packets of butter and tucked it in the takeout bag with the soup. My homeless friend was waiting in his usual spot. “I brought you some hot soup,” I said. “Do you have somewhere you can go for the night?”

“Thank you,” he said, gratefully accepting the container and the rolls. “Now don’t you worry, I’ll be all right.”

The next day, I packed another orange in my bag for the homeless man, but to my surprise, he wasn’t in his spot when I passed. I trudged on to another long day at the diner.

Just as lunch rush had ended, a handsome man in a business suit sat in my section and smiled at me.

I gaped in confusion at his familiar features. “Is it you?” I gasped.

He smiled and gave a little shake of his head. “You’ve met my brother, Marcus.” Flicking his eyes toward my name tag, he added, “Cecilia.”

“Is your brother all right?” I asked, fearing the worst.

“He’s all right now. I’ve taken him home.” He passed me a business card which read, Lucas LeGrande, Executive Chef, above the name of the finest restaurant in town and said, “You’re the only one who ever showed my brother any kindness. I’d like to return the favor. Come work for me.”

Header Image: “Together” – artist, Lesley Oldaker, oil, 2011