November 13, 2010
The Streets of Elizabeth,
New Jersey revealed the existence of poverty and homelessness.
Apartment complexes line the streets like broken brick walls. Shattered
windows set shiny mirrors that reflect sun; when it was available in
this cold winter. Children playing in dirty street side puddles marked
an example of how children were “suppose” to play. Grass patches
freckled the majority of dirt, and seemed to be that voice that
whispers, “Winter is leaving.” Snow seemed to take years to melt, and a
clean bit of it was hard to come by. Shredded blinds in those crackled
windows cover old school air conditioning. Clouds cover the sinking
sun, and viewers perceive this slum through a black and white lens.
Nightfall marks the beginning of riots and grand theft auto, and police
sirens wake frightened sleepers from a cold slumber. Shelters are
filled to the brim like an over filled bucket of murky water.
Homelessness fills the air like a thick fog on a cold desolate morning.
Mismatched shoes mark sidewalks like busy highways and cardboard is
used as the perfect substitute for soles. Laces turn a dark brown and
seem to disintegrate after years of wear and tear. Hardened gum is
flattened to a dull gray on every sidewalk and is baked under the heat
of the bellowing sun. The sun rises, the sky creeps to a deep crimson
as dawn alights the day. The crying slum… Elizabeth.
I remember those cold days in the slums. I was one of those people with
missed matched shoes and substitute soles. I was one of the hundreds of
people pouring out of the shelters. I was one of those children awaken
by the bellowing sirens in the depths of night. It was my brothers, my
sister, and I playing in those muddy puddles as a source of ghetto
entertainment. It seemed that those eight months spent with my mother,
sister and brothers defined the ocean floor of my life. Yes, those few
months in Elizabeth still leave cold, crimson memories that are lodged
into my very soul. In the end, home was home and we siblings made the
best of that life. We would sit and watch those crimson sunrises, and
we would slide down small hills covered with seemingly year old snow.
We would make chocolate soup out of the muddy puddles, and brown grass
was a special ingredient. Police cars with blaring sirens drive pass
and I remember how I would stop to yell “MOOMMYYYY, IM GONNA BE A
POWICE OCIFFER WHEN IM OLD!” Sticks were perfect toy swords. Mud balls
were perfect to throw at each other ,until we finally figured out that
mud doesn’t look good as head wear. Although the lack of bathing seemed
to be a almost horrifying memory, back then, nobody cared. The fun of
jumping in puddles and dirty snow seemed to replace that aching feeling
of hunger. The slum was like a place no other…….there’s no place like
home.
Posted by The Olivero Children Online Team.
September 21, 2010
Riding ,not looking back,
Summer breeze through my hair,
Light clothing I wear.
Warring that white t-shirt, and my black slacks
The sweet smell of Lillie
Past the flowering tree,
Sun dunking behind the mountain,
Leaving the sky a dark blue like the sea.
The sweet smell of barbeque,
Ribs on the grill.
Not a strong wind.
The air was so still.
The thoughts of a day dream.
MP3 in my Ear,
Songs sweet as the summer.
Looking past the rabbits and deer.
The beauty of summer,
With ... Continue reading...
Posted by The Olivero Children Online Team.
September 21, 2010
A family many refer to as Relative Safe Haven among the many disagreements and sources of tension within a home. But experience guides me to believe that a family is a force of combined effort with individualized personalities and emotions that make a suitable home in witch many can reside. Home is also many a time re...ferred to as no other place (in a positive manor) such as the renowned statement “there’s no place like home” or “Home sweet home”. But I am forced to review that ... Continue reading...
Posted by The Olivero Children Online Team.
September 21, 2010
Those stars burn like diamounds
In the darkest of night.
Some how reflecting sun
bringing darkness to light.
bringing hope to sorrow
may the powers that be,
See the light in the darkness
see the hope that I see.
see those twinkling Diamounds,
The cold Ice like hand
see the shadow of light
see the stars like I can.
see the beuety of the moment
deep within the night
see the mountians in the distants
wake up early and bright.
Sleep on your pellow
soft feathered grasp.
Close... Continue reading...
Posted by The Olivero Children Online Team.
September 21, 2010
Abuse stands abruptly within a society, yet is so secret and covered by a blanket of lies and distortion.
I many a time refer to abuse as a paradox, such as a enlightened cave, or a light night. Abuse is often surrounded by a second life that seems hopeful, and normal. But every once in a while there is a slight fracture on the surface of that secondary life, and many can peer into that paranormal life in witch the abused and abuser live within. Unfortunately this small peek that everyone ... Continue reading...
Posted by The Olivero Children Online Team.
September 21, 2010
What Home Is/Abuse
Friends actually played a huge roll in my life, and even though true friends were hard to come by. The ones who were there when I needed it the most, words guide me and become a part of the code and life in witch I live. I don’t want to point a person out, But there was especially one person who’s words made a huge effect on me… not because she was thinking of herself, or showing off…. But simply to be a good person, awesome person, and caring person who loves to... Continue reading...
Posted by The Olivero Children Online Team.
September 21, 2010
At it again riding,
Yes I admit I look back,
The orange ,reddening clouds catch my eye.
The head lights of passing cars on my back.
But, within the speed of the moment, my mind lye.
The smell of sweet perfume,
And charbroiled burger,
In my ear a sweet loving tune,
And the gum in my mouth the taste of cinnamon surger.
The world seems to spin beneath my tires
The sight of cloths hanging on old school wires.
Backyards, the smell of fresh cut grass.
House lights enlighten, while I ... Continue reading...
Posted by The Olivero Children Online Team.
September 21, 2010
Up At Night
The Never Ending Battle
Can darkness be a scape of forever?
A never ending land?
Can you see a land of never?
With no light can you see your hands?
Does darkness define light?
Does light fade out dark?
Do these to forces continuously fight,
Why does this simplicity seem to be a black and white art?
In a world of nothing is there a grey?
Why does light always seem to ensure that everything is ok?
Why so these simple questions interest me?
Is it the simple wonde... Continue reading...
Posted by The Olivero Children Online Team.
September 21, 2010
“Thinking of you”
By Roberto Olivero
Thinking of you, in the middle of the night,
My heart pounds to the music I feel inside,
Thinking of you, I can almost see your face,
Thin lips that speak of a women’s taste,
Velvet voice, spreads word of comfort
Listening, I wish to hear no other
Thinking of you, I remember,
Hair that shines In a fogy light
Thinking of your perfect smile please let me see,
Loving, love displayed for the world to see,
Compassion for thos... Continue reading...
Posted by The Olivero Children Online Team.
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