From the shadows

Its been a while, but i am ready to commit to writing for a bit. I have missed the hours of introspection to books on politics, sociology, communication and my daily news fit. It was so long I almost forgot my password! However I hope to bring some very interesting things to the page once i am completely disengaged from school. I look forward to any comments hope everyone is well. Here is poem to digest:

I was lost
By all meanings of the word
My soul scattered like sand on glass
This was my life wandering the earth

I was the capitalist of human capital
I sold the desires and dreams
while in a nightmare

In every step I felt the water in my shoes
And the hand on my pants leg
Pulling me down

I kept wandering

In the streets my home
My money and
My grave

I continued my journey
Aimless, and blind
So empty and hungry
Trying to fill that void

One night I passed a one armed man
Pushing a cart
Filled with paint scraps and canvas

I then turned around
Determined to give something
To help him

He was obviously homeless
Musing, I got out my hearse
And approached him
Somewhat startled we were

I cannot remember the words that were exchanged
My mind was filled with years of
"The shit" "dat fire" and the like….
Those things that keep you up at night

I remember in this haze: I saw a picture
The man and the Bull
Of a man in an arena, facing a bull

He was fighting under a sea of people
Faceless
Nameless

I saw my self

In the picture
The arena traveled to the top of the canvas
And on the rim of this vision of troubled humanity
There was a steeple and a light shining through

This was my hope,

I understood it all


Moved, from the picture
I took my pager an gave it to him
This one armed man, with a cart of paint, scraps and canvas
I said if someone needs to get into touch with you
Tell them to page you

I never gave him the number

It never crossed my mind

He stamped my life
Etched a mark that will never be forgotten

I smiled when I saw him walking the streets
Down Tryon, and Old Concord, Independence
Pushing his cart of paint, scraps and canvas
I felt at ease

After my treatment
After my changes,

Tears and struggle

I will always remember him
I was homeless and he connected with me
He gave me a hand and peace of mind
He started my path out of the arena


And shared his vision of faith
So I share it with you


May God bless his soul

R.I.P.
David "Ray" Chisholm
http://www.charlotte.com/mld/charlotte/news/breaking_news/15898254.htm

Posted on Wed, Nov. 01, 2006
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MAN APPEARED HOMELESS BUT GAVE MORE THAN HE TOOK
Streets lose a piece of soul
120 pay last respects to artist who roamed city, touched many
DÁNICA COTO
dcoto@charlotteobserver.com

You might have seen him pushing his red cart along Independence Boulevard.

Or maybe Freedom Drive.

Some felt sorry for the one-armed man, and drove on by.

Others stopped, assuming he was homeless and needed help. But David "Ray" Chisholm rejected food and money. If you insisted, he'd ask that you donate to a church. He was content roaming the streets and creating art.

On Thursday, more than 120 people filed into Christ Lutheran Church for his funeral, including former Duke Energy CEO Bill Grigg. There were men in dirty work clothes and women with demure blond highlights. A young man with a mohawk and a couple in designer sunglasses.

Halfway through the service, a balding man burst into the church, startling everyone. He strode swiftly down the aisle, his right arm held high, clutching one pink rose. He placed it on the black and silver coffin.

Everyone grieved for Chisholm, born 60 years ago.

His parents named him Robert Louis Chisholm Jr., and he grew up to become a popular, well-respected athlete.

At 18, Chisholm recruited five boys for a band. Some thought it was called Foxy Fire. They traveled to clubs in Gastonia and Concord and played James Brown, Jimi Hendrix and Bob Dylan songs, said friend Charles McCauley.

One band member had a girlfriend, and Chisholm asked whether she had a sister. She did: Sylvia Massey. Chisholm met her in 1969 and married her a year later.

Chisholm's troubles began in 1989 when he was helping his father, who owned a scrap metal service. As he wielded a torch, it exploded, friends said. He lost part of his left arm and injured his leg. He spent several months in a coma.

By 1990, he was still in a wheelchair. During rehabilitation, he painted and began studying commercial art at Central Piedmont Community College.

He started using a red buggy and filled it with his art supplies and paintings. He became a recognizable figure.

On Thursday, police said, he was hit by car. The driver was charged with driving while impaired.

A couple days later, John Boyd, who works at a store where Chisholm often bought fruit, put up a sign to raise money for his funeral service: "He doesn't bother anyone. He is just there, making this beautiful art. ... I already miss this man that I never got a chance to talk to."

On Tuesday, Boyd introduced himself to Chisholm's family and gave them a $320 check.