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Maxine M Morse

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Clothed in Virtue
by Coleen Maddy

We are all called to become saints in the kingdom of God, but we must be open to receiving His gracious gifts through faithful and humble hearts. This book, written from ..  
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Faceless statues of living stone
by Maxine M Morse
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
Rated "G" by the Author.
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Recent poems by Maxine M Morse
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On Jan.06, 2009 I was in Boston Ma. At the Christine science center. It was a cold sunny afternoon. The beauty of that site, with its diverse architected buildings. Near the old church there is a court yard that has a long pool with walk way. As I sat in the sun I took in the moment, the beauty of the place and the day. The cold bite on my face and thoughts of life. There was a group of people in the court yard slowly walking in circles. As I watched them I realized they were homeless people.

Faceless statues

They walk in circles, warming themselves.
Some silently talking , to no one.
Both men and women , equal in this.
Shuffling , sliding, gliding to no where.
The faces, still in expression, lifeless in motion.

Like statues, liquid stone, not living, but alive.
These souls, together but alone, waiting.
Waiting for the night, a dinner , a center, a warm sleep.
Hey, got a quarter buddy?

Passerby’s look away, making them invisible, no connection.
Some walk around them, avoiding these harmless living in nothing.
They are guiltless if they look away, their lives safe.
Hey buddy , got any spare change?

A smiling face stops, hands a dollar, says happy new year.
Thank you sir, thank you, you are very kind.
One shinning stranger in a court yard of the lost.
Kindness in the shadow of the house of god.
Then they walk, like statues, faces worn cold as stone.

These poor souls, lost , homeless, soiled, abandoned, ruined lives, ambitionless, beaten and waiting.
They walk alive but are not living, breathing, dieing slowly.
Like statues, examples of man but lifeless, stone cold.
All in the shadows of the house of god.


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Reviewed by Axilea MU
What a beautiful poem! All those lovely repetitions, with little changes, that fit the idea of the homeless walking in circles. I love the empathy in this work, the way the author looks without judges and decides to see "the invisible". "Not living, but alive" is a good definition of what goes on there, among those who pay the price for a dehumanized world.

Reviewed by Edwin Hurdle
A well written,excellent poem,I enjoy reading it,take care

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