Stephen Manual Bumpus

Due to the out-pouring of love and reverence for the life of "Shakey", we were able to find his family. Respecting their wishes and traditional ways of laying their family members to rest, we have been authorized to have a memorial service following his final resting. The family has expressed their sincere appreciation to all who have prevented the unfortunate outcome that many of our community members face when it comes to relying on the system for reverence & respect in the end. POEM A Homeless Man Those cold hands sheltered in his lap... A simple life chosen to live, perhaps? Could no bed be offered though? Not even a chair? In that desolate, gray street of the city frozen like ice, but still calmly sitting a cigarette is lit and- smoking, fretting, spitting - he makes his retreat from human affairs And so, another lonely story without any care shoots a puffy white cloud of smoke in the air and I can't help but stare... at all of his dreams briefly lingering there as he disappears leaving the cold, winter road seem so quiet and bare. And the sun in the sky is In my eyes, as it rises I look at this guy As he tries not to cry his Heart out... Sometimes we drive by even though he needs help The indifference within is a sin in itself Only focused on the ladders we climb and we climb And Heaven forbid if you're not to work on time Maybe he's hungry; he very well could be sad Maybe bad luck's all the luck that he's had Perhaps he was rich and traded stocks for big cash 'till the whole market crashed - fortune gone in a flash Maybe he thought, 'In America, land of Prosperity, With so many Christian hearts filled with Sincerity Surely someone will lead me back to the fun I'll repay them their kindness - no harm will be done…' '…But in the Home of the Brave and the greatest of lands Not one single man will lend me a hand... When an insult and pocket change is all that I find In my sweet home America - I must've lost my mind! ' I see the sun in your eyes, in the sky as it rises Remember my friend, life is full of surprises And one day… You may find yourself standing next to him Beggin' for bucks; beggin' for change; Down on your luck; down in the drain; Lookin' aroun' with a frown on your face Cuz you ran outta gas and now your ass is sittin' out of the race Could you ever let go of the stuff you don't need? Or, is it deep in your bones and the blood that you bleed? did you read the fine print in your contract on the day you signed your soul and life away? So, if you ever see a lonely story Without any care cold wind in his hair Maybe his thumb in the air... Stare if you dare but, consider it fair - - Fairly likely that one day It could be little old you standing there. Poem by Ray Quesada