Where Roses Grow Wild
Camden, New Jersey

I. Maybe if I write this
In blood, the furor of Camden
You would feel stronger.
There beauty is a state

Of action, the script looks
Of wisdom, in a myriad
Of unforgiving tension.
These streets don’t seem

So hard after you walk on
The angry turf all bassed out.
Control the roar in your eyes.
Loosen the hitch in your stride.

But watch for the roses.
Where roses are weeds,
Beauty is a burden on
The mighty shoulders of children.

II.  Never saw it coming--
The rise of something more
Hardcore than Harlem, Watts,
Brooklyn.  Where ciphers were

Born with real stories
Branded underneath eyelids.
They stay up late
To avoid the nightmares.

Never mind the bloodshot.
Beats being shot at,
Ain’t that right?  Don’t trip
Over your brothers’ chalklines.

And watch for the roses.
Where roses are weeds,
A look back alters destiny
For generations in advance.

III. Beneath the tattered cups
And lives, somewhere along
The subtext layer between
Garbage and grass,

Trash and word,
They search for distraction.
Maybe God.  Seize it
One step at a time:

Watch for the roses.
Where roses are weeds,
You must love those
Who live among them.

© 2001 Harrod J. Suarez

Trouble breeds here

A city gone astray

Shattered glass and dreams

Litter children's playing fields

A soccer game turns into

A trip to the emergency room

Even a pen can pose a threat

In the hands of a child from these streets

A dirty stray dog searches for food

Rescued and sent to the SPCA in the burbs

He is lucky he escapes

Others dream of salvation

Places like Rochester New York and Maine

Seem like havens for some

Potential for so much more

A fifteen year old finds himself in jail

The playing field isn't level

A city struggles

- SJH -

Me

Do any of you know me?
About who I am and not what you see.

To you am I just Puerto Rican
or maybe the soccer playing speaking.

Well neither is right if you want to know
and there is a side I don’t show.

I refuse to be judged by my race,
the mistakes I’ve made or my face.

But this poems not for me but everyone here
who are simply judged by how they appear.

There has to be someone who feels my view
and we all know people can be see-through.

I’m not asking you all but maybe just one
and if I’m lucky I’ll have some.

And though what I write may sound sweet
maybe we just need to get our head out of the street.

At times we all act different, than we truly are
but I’ve realized it doesn’t take you far.

So hopefully we’ll all mature
and not do things we’ve done before.

So for all of you who think you see
I’ll ask once more: Do you know me?

-- Brian Lee, 16 years old