Dark & Stormy | The Gathering Place - Part 2

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The Writing Group

It was a Dark and Stormy

It was a dark and stormy Christmas Eve. A poem from Edgar Allan Poe seemed more the mood than “the night before Christmas”. The snow was blowing every which way and visibility was nil. THe wind was whistling through the screens and the snow glistened under the front porch light. I stared at the glowing fire and listened to the wood crackling. Oh, I forgot to put Santas cookies out and thought I’ll put out carrot sticks instead.

I got my Christmas tree early this year and even though I meticulously watered it, the needles were browning and shedding everywhere. It was still a beautiful tree, full with branches and full with ornaments from years ago. I added a new one every year.

I felt at peace with Christmas carols in the background. My favorites are “Oh Holy Night” and “Santa Baby”. I started thinking about how exciting Christmas morning was as a child. I barely slept usually up at 5am before my parents. The tree lights still on. All the presents Santa left. Some I wanted and some I didn’t. My red bicycle with training wheels probably stands out the most. I rode it all around the house and once the weather cleared all around the neighborhood. I was so proud.

So on this dark and stormy night a flood of memories quiets my soul.

~Anne Street

February 19, 2016/by FreshView

The Writing Group

It was a Dark and Stormy

It was a dark and stormy night but I had hope that the light would come out. After every storm there comes a calm. After every darkness comes the light. After every night comes the morning. Out of every joy comes a fear. Fear is part of being human. Fear can be conquered through love.

Love everybody. Every human has value. Every human carries a spirit and every spirit is beautiful. I am in darkness now. I am in a storm now, but I have to keep hope. Hope is what sustains. Hope is why we get out of bed in the morning. Hope is light. Don’t be afraid of a dark, stormy night because the sun will be shining soon!

~Amy Tripp
1970-2015

January 13, 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