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Create!

That's the purpose of this section. You are encouraged to read the poems

posted here and elsewhere on the Poetry X Hunger website, to look 


at 
the historic accounts of hunger, famine and starvation, or consider the

​prompts suggested and then... write some poetry about hunger.
 

Poem by Grace Beeler

4/4/2021

0 Comments

 
Hunger

​It’s only in the last year, really

that I’ve allowed myself to think
about it – about
what it might have been actually like
There.
I’ve permitted myself
to read.
And once, late,
past midnight, to
view photographs
posted on the internet:
stark black and whites,
three of each person
one from each side,
one full front.
Although I was not
allowed
to stop and examine them closely, some
details were inescapable.
A woman’s wiry hair
matted into a halo around her
head as though she had
just been used to mop the
floor;
Fear, thinly
disguised as intellect,
peering shadowlike
though wire-rimmed spectacles;
Fear, bursting beneath a black silk
bosom. Fear in every eye
that catches mine.
They know.
They all know.
The photos I was looking for were not posted.
Perhaps there
was no time for foolery
and cameras on that day.
With each morsel of
knowledge I gain,
my hunger grows.
I’ve never been able to throw even
a potato skin away
but now the pots of
leftovers in the fridge
whisper insistently to me in the
night. I stumble into the kitchen not
an hour after dinner and
gorge myself on
cold pasta, congealed beans,
a sandwich with
questionable mayonnaise
which has been to a picnic at the river
and back and spent
a week in repose wrapped
in sandy tinfoil on the
second shelf, pink slices of
ham, the flesh tearing as
I hastily extract them from the plastic
encasing, explaining (as I push the soft
folds into my mouth)
to the
air
that it is allowable to
break kosher in cases of emergency.
The more I know, the
more I need to atone,
to stuff my gullet,
round my body into curves and
counter curves.
I’m doing it now, I
tell you. I’m eating a
bagel as I write, the seeds
dripping onto the
paper, cream cheese
smudging the corner
as I turn the page,
plate resting on the hill of my belly.
eating as if sheer gluttony were the antidote to
starvation. I bought half a
dozen this morning
and the three that
are left are calling
to me, plaintively
twining their poppy seeded fingers
through the razor wire,
begging.
Click on the file below to listen to Grace read her poem:
hunger_audio.m4a
File Size: 1213 kb
File Type: m4a
Download File

Picture
Filmmaker and poet Grace Beeler lives in Hillsborough NC. She is the director of After the Rain, an NGO which houses both the Appropriate Sanitation Institute and the Triangle Refugee Film Project. When she is not teaching ESL at Durham Tech Community College she spends her time advocating for refugees and cleaning up urban waterways in the developing world. ​

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Poem by Margaret Brittingham

4/4/2021

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She Came for Brisket but left with Ravioli

She came for brisket but left with ravioli, a bag of oranges and a loaf of bread
Disappointed to have her expectations dashed
Too late for the brisket and the hot buttery rolls --
But the warm ravioli soothed and comforted her soul.
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Margaret Brittingham is a Professor of Wildlife Resources at Penn State University where she teaches ornithology and conducts research on birds.  She is part of a team that volunteers at the Community Café in State College, Pa, an excellent cooperative endeavor that provides weekly meals to the community. 
​  
This poem was inspired by an event that occurred in early February.  The café usually serves about 150 meals per night, but on this particular evening, the word was out that the café was serving brisket and homemade rolls.  Instead of the usual 150 meals, we had requests for 200 meals.  The rule for the café is  “If you think you might run out of food,... don’t”.  As we watched the brisket and rolls disappear, we pulled out the emergency supply of ravioli and cooked a delicious substitute meal for the late arrivals.  The next week, I attended the GLAG poetry session and was inspired to write this poem. 

​GLAG = Global Learning in Agriculture, an annual conference sponsored by Pennsylvania State University -- Global Learning in Agriculture Week | #GLAG21: Taking Action (psu.edu)

0 Comments

Poem by Kathamann

3/3/2021

0 Comments

 
Food is a Four-Letter Word

My stomach growls
and roars out loud.
I’m dizzy.
I ate something
sometime 3 days
ago.  My thoughts
are beyond sense.
I fumble in my backpack
and discover saltines.
Stale.
But the salt tastes good.
My dry throat is sore
and it hurts to swallow.
My prayers are silent
and delicate.  Praying
for a rain of pop tarts.
Click on this LINK to listen to Kathamann reading her poem.  
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Kathamann is a returned Peace Corps Volunteer/Afghanistan and a retired registered nurse. She has been active in the Santa Fe arts community for 30 years exhibiting in juried, group and solo exhibits. (kathamann.com) Her poems have occasionally been published in local and regional anthologies.

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Poem by Gayle Lauradunn

3/3/2021

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Playing on the Styx

Margaret’s son left home at 12, roamed
small-town streets, shied away from

anyone who might know him, know
his mother, his strawberry blond hair

hard to miss, that was years ago and I
still think of him, glimpses I caught 

of sad eyes, and wonder where he is now,
she would drive around town looking

for him, how did he manage at his age,
how do all the street children manage,

and where is he now in his torn jeans
and Red Sox t-shirt, does he have a winter

coat to pick his way through snow, slip
on ice, find food—with what money—when

she did find him a few times she took
him to dinner, Chinese his favorite, and

he would not speak, would not tell her
what he had learned to escape from.​

Click on the file below to listen to Gayle reading her poem:
gayle_lauradunn_audio_03_10_21.m4a
File Size: 1081 kb
File Type: m4a
Download File

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Gayle Lauradunn grew up on a poor, rocky soil farm in west Texas where the “extra” spoonful of beans was given to her younger brother because girls come last. She has two award-winning poetry collections and a chapbook. Her third collection is forthcoming.

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Poem by Christopher T. George

2/23/2021

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No Relief

How dare you starve on our national TV?
You stare at the camera with eyes so large
they might be filled with stars, with oceans,
with the treasure of Fort Knox
—not just with plain old hunger
we can satisfy by opening the refrigerator.

Don’t flaunt your tragedy at me.
You have hunger enough
we could drive a Cadillac through it.
How dare you show your ribs like that?
This isn’t the Smithsonian.

These sort of things just don’t happen
—didn’t anyone tell you?
Crawl on back through time
and join those other miseries:
Dachau, Wounded Knee, the Black Death.
​
How dare you thrust your bloated torso out.
You’re just not svelte enough.
Don’t shove your claw of a hand toward me. 
Don’t open your mouth with your disasters of teeth. 
(When did you last see your orthodontist?)  
Don’t speak to me. 
We can have no converse.


Video recording of Christopher reading his poem: ​https://youtu.be/Sm2_gaALtps
Picture
​Christopher T. George was born in Liverpool, England, in 1948 and first came to the United States in 1955. He
studied poetry with Sister Maura Eichner and Elliott Coleman. His poetry has been published in journals
worldwide, including Poet Lore, the American Poetry Journal, Anti-Heroin Chic, Beyond Words, and Madness Muse Press, and has a poetry site at http://chrisgeorge.netpublish.net/ 

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Poems by Sharon Anderson

2/23/2021

1 Comment

 
Priorities

She thought she was hungry

She made toast and brewed tea
then worried the toast to crumbs
while the tea grew cold in its china cup

He knew he was hungry

He watched her feed pigeons in the park
wondered if he might dash
among the flock and grab a crust

She thought she was hungry

She ordered a Big Mac and fries
then nibbled the burger
discarded the pickles
complained to herself that the fries were cold

He knew he was hungry

He rummaged the garbage behind MacDonald's
found half a burger, two pickles
some cold fries
cried in relief

She strolled down the avenue
regretting she had not kept the fries

The pigeons looked hungry


This City
 
This city has shoe stores, but no soul to speak of.
This city shouts "help me," but no one takes heed
This city has cell phones yet nobody answers
the cries of the hungry who call out in need.
 
This city has streetlights, yet harbors a darkness.
This city has children who cry in the night.
This city has traffic that muffles their weeping
as they stand defeated and lost to their plight.
 
This city has hopelessness etched in its structures.
This city lacks passion, while apathy reigns.
This city has people who beg for our handout
while we take the best and then toss the remains
 
This city has churches, yet thirsts for salvation.
This city has bakers, but not enough bread.
This city has hunger that eats at its edges.
When will the poor of this city be fed?


Spare

Night was falling, the room was in shadow,
but Mom wouldn't light the lamps
until it was absolutely necessary.
Eating didn’t require that much light.

Supper was a feast that evening.
My brother had caught a rabbit,
so the meal that night
actually contained meat.

We held hands around the table,
bowed our heads, said grace.
I added my own silent prayer
that there might be eggs for breakfast.

We had never been rich,
but this year was particularly bad.
A drought claimed most of our crops,
and Dad was laid off from the mill.

We all survived, and things got better.
Dad found a job, the drought ended.
Mom turned the lamps on at dusk
and always served meat for supper.

But I never forgot that bleak, spare year,
and the fear I felt in my heart.
Never forgot those times when
my prayers included a plea for eggs.
Picture
Sharon Anderson has been published in many international and local anthologies, has been nominated for a Pushcart prize, and has four publications  of her own poetry with a fifth to be released soon. She serves on the advisory boards of the Nassau County Poet Laureate Society, and the Bards Initiative.

1 Comment

Poem by Jay Hall Carpenter

2/16/2021

0 Comments

 
GLEANING
​
Her: scratching stubbled cornfields with the crows
To fill a needy pocket in the bleak.
A few dry kernels fallen in the rows--
A gnawing, woeful game of hide-and-seek.
Them: digging desert roots in brittle soil
With fly-vexed baby hanging in her sash,
Too dry to feed the child or to toil,
And all too weak to pound the root to mash.
Him: crumpled in the frigid alley doorway
Waiting for the restaurant close,
Praying for enough for just one more day.
Asleep before the cup of coffee froze.
And none of these will see another dawn,
But Hunger will go gleaning, on and on.


Watch Jay read his poem in this video:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JY7JmZ4dC_w&list=PL5bJ-qBBLooIwe-3ryvu5GIrV9EfOo4yj&index=11
Picture
​​Jay Hall Carpenter (Montgomery County, MD) has been a professional artist for over 40 years, beginning as a sculptor for the Washington National Cathedral, and winning numerous national awards for his work. He has written poetry [Dark and Light, Poetry (2012)], plays, and children’s books throughout his career and now sculpts and writes in Silver Spring, MD.

0 Comments

Poem by Jefferson Carter

1/16/2021

1 Comment

 
SQUAB
The poem was first published in The Chiron Review               


Driving to yoga this morning, I saw
a flock of pigeons raveling & unraveling
above the palm trees. Our city’s poet laureate 
writes about pigeons as avatars of love.
What did I see? Protein on the wing.


Our laureate compares feral pigeons 
to street people, both declared unsanitary 
urban pests, the birds’ bodies contaminated 
by heavy metals, but whose aren’t?


I want to be a good person, stop child abuse,
take back the night, fight poverty.  I’m 
ashamed I eat when I’m not hungry.


No more memes on Facebook, no more 
feel-good marches, let’s learn to mend nets, 
scald feathers, to gut & to spatchcock, let’s
deliver tons & tons of pigeon meat to shelters 
& soup kitchens, saying, “Enjoy!  It’s squab!”
Picture
Jefferson Carter has poems in such journals as Barrow Street, Cream City Review, and Rattle.  Chax Press published Get Serious: New and Selected Poems, chosen as a Southwest Best Book of 2013 by the Tucson/Pima County Public Library.  In 2020, Presa Press released his eleventh collection, Birkenstock Blues.
He lives in Tucson with his wife Connie.  He’s a passionate supporter of Sky Island Alliance, a regionally-based environmental organization.
 

1 Comment

Poem by Kim B Miller

1/16/2021

4 Comments

 
The Hunger Dialect
​

We sip on tea flavored with righteousness indignation
Add a touch of honey dripping in our own gluttony
While we slowly speak the dialect of hunger
We claim to be ambitious on solutions 
But truth says we have never met
We spread lies evenly
As if, evenness eliminates detection 
Hungry people see a world of excess who view starvation as avoidable
Victim shaming is our specialty
This dialect of deception is clearly recognizable
The language we lie with is so bitter, even when dripping off of sweet religious lips
We can’t feed everybody
Here comes the lie
We embrace the acceptance that doing nothing is equal to trying
Yet we continuously knit together new excuses with old lies 
We shame hungry people on full stomachs and then we rewrite the narrative
Imagine a world that throws away enough food to feed the hungry complaining about loss
While the population who has food insecurity is waiting to be found 
Empty stomachs are not looking for empty words
We need long term, right now, sustainable actions
Let’s plant fruits and vegetables and let freedom be the gardener
Allow people to pick fresh food from their community greenery
Have community barbeques and well placed public pantries
Donate to trusted restaurants so they can offer free meals to those in need
Create central areas for restaurants to bring food instead of throwing it away
Let’s reinvent how we distribute food
Make it easier to ask without asking
And no more pretty phrases for ugly things
Starvation is not “food insecurity”
Is death “breathing insecurity”
Our appetite for synonyms seems high
Hunger has many levels
And a need to make hunger definable to all is needed
Let’s make sure we are not using it to avoid saying words that sting
Starvation is a “life insecurity”
Action is the cure
But we’re too busy slicing up excuses
While hungry people look at an empty plate full of indecision
We don’t even offer them a cup of hope
Click on the file below to listen to Kim reading her poem:
audio_only.m4a
File Size: 3286 kb
File Type: m4a
Download File

Picture
Kim B Miller is an award winning poet. She is the Poet Laureate for Prince William County, VA. She is the First African American Poet Laureate for PWC. Kim performed nationally in person and internationally online. She is the author of several books. You can find more about Kim at www.kimbmiller.com

4 Comments

Poem by Milton Carp

1/16/2021

0 Comments

 
HUNGER IS A SYMPTOM

WAR AND A RAVAGED LAND,
CORRUPT AND INEPT GOVERNMENT,
DROUGHT AND PESTILENCE,
BOTTOM LINE ENTERPRISES STRIP
THE LAND OF OLD GROWTH FOREST,
AND MINERALS ARE THE GENESIS
OF HUNGER.

THE BENEFACTORS OF HUNGER
ARE THE PEOPLE, THE POOR AND
DOWNTRODDEN. THOSE MOST
UNABLE TO FIGHT BACK, THE HELPLESS.
THE MOST HELPLESS ARE THE CHILDREN
WHO BEAR THE BRUNT OF HUNGER.

SO AS ALL CAN SEE, HUNGER IS BUT A
SYMPTOM OF MAN’S INHUMANITY TO MAN,
OF GREED AND POWER WHICH FEEDS THE
PLAGUE OF HUNGER ON THE MASSES.

IT IS A HUMANE ACT TO DOLE OUT MEALS
TO THOSE IN NEED, BUT WHAT ABOUT
TOMORROW? THE CANCER IS SYSTEMIC.
THE CURE IS NOT AN EASY ONE. IT WILL
TAKE TIME AND MUCH EFFORT. WHAT IS
EASY IS TO START, TODAY WOULD BE GOOD.
Picture
Milton Carp from Fort Lauderdale, Florida is a 91 year old who has been writing poetry for a little over a year.  He lost his wife of 68 years in 2019, and is reinventing himself through the perfect vehicle of poetry. 

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  • Home
  • Hunger Poetry
    • Now more than ever! >
      • Now more than ever: Submitted poems
    • 2020 WFD Poetry Competition >
      • 2020 World Food Day - submitted poems
      • 2020 World Food Day Poetry Competition announcement
    • World Food Day Poetry Competition 2019 >
      • World Food Day 2019 - Submitted Poems
    • World Food Day Poetry Competition 2018 >
      • WFD 2018 - Submitted Poems
    • Maryland Poets
    • International Poets
  • About
    • About the Initiative
    • Initiative Founder
    • Advisory Board
  • News & Blog
    • Events
  • Young!
    • Poems by Young Poets
    • Videos
    • Materials for Teachers
  • Library
    • Extent of Hunger >
      • Global Hunger: Progress & Challenges
      • Hunger in the US
    • Historic Accounts of Hunger >
      • Africa
      • The Americas
      • Asia
      • Europe and Russia
    • Historical Poems
    • Interviews
  • Create
    • Prompts to help you get started
  • Contact us & Get involved!
    • Call to Action
    • Resources >
      • Global resources
      • US resources
      • Maryland resources