Broken

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Everywhere I look I see broken things that need fixing.

I used to let it bother me. New I have become accustomed to having things broken. As soon as I get something fixed something else breaks.

In my youth I was of the mind that I could get things done. Fix this or that. Clean up that mess. Get that job done. Now I just let it stay broken. I’ll never live long enough to see all the unfinished projects done.

In the old days we fixed everything because everything was made to be fixed. Now in our throwaway society, everything is made to break. So for those of us who can’t buy new things, everything is always broken.

Our country is broken. we have lost our ability to raise our own crops and manufacture our own goods. everyone agrees. The cops, the storekeepers, the mechanics, the evreyday man on the street. We all agree we live in a dysfunctional society, but none of us can do anything about it.

Because we are all broken.

~Mitch Kane

February 22, 2016/by FreshView

The Writing Group

A Broken Vase

For many years
I sat on the shelf,
Sometimes full and pretty
If I say it myself.
My colors are yellow and blue
I like my colors, do you?
Once I was full
Of daisies so white,
And many times roses
Gave me delight.
Autumn mums
Of various hues
Looked very special
In me, it’s true.
But alas, I no longer
Sit on the shelf.
It makes me so sad,
But it’s true.
That cat knocked me over
And I’m very broken.
Now you’ve heard my story,
So beware, other vases,
If there’s a cat
In your house,
Just hope he’ll be content
With chasing a mouse.
–June Garman

February 22, 2016/by FreshView

The Writing Group: Foreword

The people who contributed to this collection of pictures, poetry and prose range roughly in age from thirty to eighty. Some live or have lived in the Tedford Shelter or in their cars or in tents in the woods; some live in subsidized housing. Some are unemployed; some live on disability checks; some have part time or seasonal jobs; others are retired.

What we all have in common is The Gathering Place at 5 Tenney Way, Brunswick, which is open Monday through Friday from 9:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. for coffee, snacks, companionship, cards, puzzles and on Thursday afternoons for writing.

Over the past four years, I’ve hosted anywhere from one to a dozen writers who have shared stories, laughed (a lot), and cried (a little). I usually throw out a general topic—the first, as I recall, was “Scars,” and the latest, as I write this, was “Doors I have Walked Through--- although people can (and do) write about anything that is on their minds. Some of the topics I’ve given will be self-evident as you read; other topics won’t matter: what’s important is the response. Some of the pieces have been edited from grammar and spelling, but we’ve tried to maintain the original voice and content.

When we first began writing four years ago, some people thought we were having an English class, so they moved as far away from our table as they could; when we began sharing what we’d written, however, they can back, at first to listen, and then over the next few weeks, to join us.

Why? For many of us, writing is a way to make sense of the world, especially when our minds are looping around a particular problem. What I’ve also learned is that all of us need to be heard—listened to, respected—especially if we’ve fallen on hard times and feel that no one care anymore.

What else have I learned over the past four years? Probably the most important thing is that despite common stereotypes, homelessness and poverty have many faces, many voices and that both homelessness and poverty go far beyond not having a physical place to live or a specific job to get to. “Homeless” might mean losing a job that has given you an identity for twenty years, losing a spouse, a child or a friend, losing your health. “Poverty” may mean any number of spiritual or emotional deprivations.

Someone once said that going into The Gathering Place, he couldn’t tell who was a volunteer and who was a client. Four years of writing and listening to stories have shown me that’s because there really isn’t that much of a difference between any of us.

--Rick Wile
Writing Group
The Gathering Place

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Broken

A Broken Vase

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