Poetry X Hunger
  • Home
  • About
    • About the Initiative
    • Initiative Founder
    • Recipients and Donors
  • Hunger Poetry
    • e-Collection
    • Hunger Poems
    • World Food Day Poetry Competition >
      • 2021
      • 2020
      • 2019
      • 2018
    • Maryland Poets
    • International Poets
  • ART
    • ART Inspired Poems
  • News & Blog
  • 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
    • Recent highlights
  • Contact/Submit/Take Action
    • Submission Guidelines
    • Call to Action
    • Resources >
      • Global resources
      • US resources
      • Maryland resources

Hunger Poems

You are encouraged to read the poems posted here from national poets 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 Kari Martindale

4/23/2025

0 Comments

 
Control the Food, Control the War

Nazi boots stomping on floors:
control the food, control the war;

              keep them weak,
​              ​              keep them poor–

turn every orchard into forbidden fruit
authorized only for occupying troops.

Take away ​    the parachutes:
refuse school breakfast
​              ​              to destitute youth.
Give them riverwaters filled with lead,
leave them in food deserts–keep them unfed.

A hungry population is easy to control;
securing insecurity is the political goal.

Château d’Orquevaux is an artists’ residency set within an agricultural region of rural France, where during WWII, the Nazis had set up a command station.

Picture
Kari Martindale (M.A., Linguistics) is an award-winning poet, spoken word artist, and teaching artist who has performed across Maryland and at the White House. She recently moved to Alaska but remains active on the Board of Maryland Writers’ Association

0 Comments

Poem by Emily-Sue Sloane

4/8/2025

0 Comments

 
On the Line

No amount of swiping
coaxed money from the card,
the card she insisted held $150.
The cashier, calm and kind,
tested the card over and over
until they had to agree:

no money no groceries.

The woman apologized
to the cashier,
to the line of customers,
a line that snaked halfway
down a long aisle,
no one huffing or puffing
or complaining
except to wonder why
only one register was open
on a late Monday morning.

I’m so embarrassed
her parting words.

The cashier flipped the belt switch.
The air fizzed again
with the buzz of business.
A woman next in line
asked the cashier
did that happen often.
First week of the month, he said,
the cards sometimes don’t work.


So this wasn’t just some credit card mishap.
This was a broken lifeline.

That must have been hard for you, I said
as I watched my credit card pass muster.
Patience, I’ve found the secret to patience,
the philosopher-cashier said,
don’t anticipate.
His reply not what I expected.

At home with cupboards restocked
my questions lingered:

What about the ones
who will go hungry tonight?
If I had been next in line,
could I have covered her bill?
Would I have?

This poem first appeared in MockingHeart Review.

BIO: Emily-Sue Sloane is an award-winning Long Island poet who writes to capture moments of wonder, worry and human connection. She is the author of a full-length poetry collection, We Are Beach Glass (2022), and a chapbook, Disconnects and Other Broken Threads (The Poetry Box, 2024). Her poetry has appeared in numerous print and online journals and anthologies. For more information, please visit EmilySueSloane.com
0 Comments

Poems by Aaliyah El-Amin

3/24/2025

0 Comments

 
Hungry to Work

When you enter the job market your
salary is on par.
Your co-workers all scowl and stare in disbelief.

You move out of your parents’ home and into your own.
Sunday’s you start ordering KFC and watching football.
Soon the bills start coming in,
and you find yourself ordering from the
McDonald’s $1 section.

Your steady paycheck is deposited on the
1st and 15th,
but you must have a hole in your jean’s pocket.

A few years go by,
and your grocery cart is piled high with TV dinners,
but you have just gotten rid of cable.

Now a decade has passed,
you are now shopping at the discount grocery store,
placing can meats in your cart
trying hard not to gag.

​Still working and driving your 12.6-year-old car,
currently parked behind the church,
in line waiting for a bag of food for the week,
so you can focus on more than
the growl in your stomach.

​Walking ahead, I don’t see

Walking ahead, there are others, a blur of constant perpetual motion.
Each walking pass oblivious to the misery an alley hides, on the sunniest of days.

There, between good-times Reggie’s & Sal’s overflowing garbage bins line both sides, almost blocking the view, yet darkness calls out, nudging me to pause and look through.

Shriek loudly, as a skeleton of a man appears.
My gaze gravitates toward his grimy hands, dirt wedged between his wrinkles, and heavy clothes swallowing him in sorrow. He peers back, eyes tinged with yellow.

Frozen still between fear, curiosity, and pity--
A blend of emotions without a name, but I ask him, “What’s your name?”
The answer: “Euwan.”

We lock eyes, and I say, “Nice to meet you,”
but do not extend a hand, and he knows it. He sheepishly stares down at my Cole Haans,
we both linger as we know the next words
that will arrive.
Euwan on cue, asked, “You have a dollar to spare?”

I reach into my tan Ralph Lauren coat and hand him a twenty; he quickly grabs it. An impulse grips me to snatch it back, to run to the other side of the street, and take the elevator to the top
floor.
But I don’t, and I do not walk away but stay.

He begins grumbling to himself, preparing his assorted things in a kind of burlap bag. Steps into the light as if for the first time, sleep oozing from his eyes, and discharge lodged in their corners.
His hands shake as he fumbles to steady his bag.

He tips his hat, but I follow two-steps behind him
he knows that I am following, but he doesn’t look back, figuring I’ll trail off.
Something drives me to see where he’s headed,
Will it be as I figure, the closest liquor store?

A ghost among souls with holes, he roams.
Patting his pockets for a flask long emptied. Pacing wildly, waving to drifting whispers.
Abruptly halts and turns entering a Rite Aid.

I go to the other side and grab a newspaper, peer at the items he places on the counter:
Diapers, a soft toy, and formula.
I had imagined his age--

He looked very old, not a father, but a grandfather.
Now, more than ever, I attach myself to his shadows. He crosses the street, and waves to Sal,
returns back down the alley and huddles on the ground--
Where a young woman cradles a bundle.

I lean closer expecting to hear a baby’s cry, but what I find is even more baffling. It’s a duct-
taped clump of newspaper wrapped in a pink frayed blanket.
She fills the bottle with the formula, and proceeds to hum a beautiful lullaby.

I had to know why he would be so frivolous,
“Euwan, what’s going on? I gave you that money, so you could buy food.”
Euwan answers, “That’s Rebecca and a monster caused her to lose her baby.
That bundle is her light and joy, and I would do anything to extend that for her, so I play along.”

Euwan scratches at the grime on his sleeve, and frustratedly scoffs,
“Oh, what would you know? Some things you won’t understand—because you’ve never had to."

“Worked for 29 years, mortgaged 2 homes,
started losing my mind on some bad drugs;
wife took the dog out the back door,
once the law finally came in to evict me.
Lost the house... then the truck."

Suddenly, the air reeked with the stench of wealth, reservations, and valet. The guilt is
suffocating, and the urge to make things right is overpowering.

Over time, Cole Haans became loafers, and then to a pair of Converse, walking into the
nonprofit office site, providing care for all homeless within a 100-mile radius from the alley
where it all began.

On the office wall hangs the lifelong mantra,
"The true measure of any society can be found in how it treats its most vulnerable members."
~ Mahatma Gandhi

Picture
Aaliyah El-Amin is a poet based in Prince George’s, Maryland. She is the founder of the You Are Write Here collective, and her works showcase unique imagery and resilience, and are featured in both the Maryland Bards and Neopoets anthologies, Artists from Maryland, winner of funniest poem in The Rhyme On contest.
​

0 Comments

Poem by David Dephy

3/13/2025

0 Comments

 
A Day of Hunger

He was faint with hunger.
I saw him on 2nd Avenue
and East Houston Street
that day when I was rushing
to meet a friend. The man
was sitting right in the street
looking at the strangers.

“All of us hunger for a reason,”
he spoke; he called me. “It’s
been a long time since I’ve eaten
some food, but I have my word,
man shall not live on bread alone,
but on every word that comes from
the mouth of… well, you know.”

I’ve heard his voice from far beyond,
I walked closer to him, I gave a dollar
and turned around and then he said:
“Thank you,” but he said strangely,
as if he was singing. I felt some softness
in his voice. “The misuse of language,”
he spoke. “Induces a great evil in us.”

“What?” I moved closer, knowing that
he wasn't talking about grammar it was
something else. “Maybe I’ll die soon,”
he spoke. “Maybe not, but to misuse
language is to use it the way the fools
do, without taking responsibility for
what the words mean.”

​I tried to see that man again, after meeting
with my friend, but he vanished, as if he
never was there. Who was he? What a day
it was, it was a day of hunger, swallowed
by the bizarre meaning of life, if life can be
described by words then there must be
some hope for nourishment either.

Picture
David Dephy is an award-winning American poet, novelist, essayist, and multimedia artist with a Master of Fine Arts degree accredited by Globe Language USA. He is the founder of Poetry Orchestra and American Poetry Intersection, as well as the Poet-in-Residence for Brownstone Poets for 2024-2025. His poem, “A Sense of Purpose,” has been sent to the Moon in 2025 by NASA, Lunar Codex, and Brick Street Poetry. Recognized as a “Literature Luminary” by Bowery Poetry, a “Stellar Poet” by Voices of Poetry, and an “Incomparable Poet” by Statorec, he has also been called “Brilliant Grace” by Headline Poetry & Press and praised for his “Extremely Unique Poetic Voice” by Cultural Daily. In 2017, Dephy was exiled from his native country of Georgia, and was granted immediate and indefinite political asylum in the U.S. His wife and 9-year-old son joined him in the U.S. in 2023, after seven years of exile. He lives and works in New York City.

0 Comments

Poem by Lee Gill

2/28/2025

0 Comments

 
A Sudanese Phantom

I crossed the grand vastness
          between my grave and your doorstep.
I passed your glass palaces:
          solemn monuments to Mammon.
I glided upon fiber optic webs:
          cords caring pulses of lies.
I’ve heard all the growling of Man
          in the throats of blood-mongers.

I declare ‘Shame!’
          Shame! Shame! Shame!
Yes, I’ve seen many shameful things
          yet there are absences in my findings.
I find no empty storehouses here;
          no salted farming soil,
          no shortage of full fridges
          in this land where excess is exegesis.

So, I desire an honest show of hands:
          Who among you has ever
          actually
          ​starved?

BIO: Lee Gill is a writer born, raised and based in New Jersey. He graduated Columbia University in 2013 and has since been creating a wide range of content for various outlets including movie critiques, music reviews, short stories and politically-charged articles. His latest chapbook, 'Suitably Mangled', was published by Bottlecap Press in Spring 2024. Through his versatile and hard-hitting writing style, Lee aims to express his personal struggles with racism, addiction, alcoholism and mental illness as well as the hope that comes via self-actualization and spiritual revelation.
0 Comments

Poem by Bruce E. Whitacre

2/27/2025

0 Comments

 
On the Oreo

It lies in wait like a cockroach on my counter, indestructible,
Evolutionary titan, alien artifact, blue wrapper,
Black and white graphic, imprinted since infancy,
One fourth of a day’s calories in six bites, Big Food love child.

It was a pity buy off a brown-skinned, mute mother
Surfing the subway with her box of stale treats.
Blasting from the next car, babe wrapped to her chest,
Her passage crafted us a sandwich

Of annoyance/anguish/annoyance, choking complacency.
I resist looking. I imagine myself
She beseeches but only with her hungry eyes
As she sways to the world’s harsh rhythms.

Has no one told her these plastic treats are toxic?
A class of people living behind their walls,
To which I too often aspire, won’t touch these brands.
While for those living outside such walls, they’re just another day.

When did my favorite after-school treat, so perfect
With a glass of milk or Kool Aid, become a brick in that wall?
Once the only controversy was whether to bite down as is,
Or split, lick and chew. Bible School was riven by the question.

Or there’s the taunt of racial sincerity,
“She’s just an Oreo.” That caustic metaphor chimes
Sharply off the world’s most popular cookie,
First engineered in New York’s Chelsea Market

Before its later heydays of trans hookers,
Drug dealers and now Google. No longer
Made in the USA. Contains a bioengineered food ingredient.
Trans fats or not, here it is, badged and blue, in my kitchen.

​A glass of milk. My little brother and me,
Breathless after our games. We each take three,
Dividing the package equally, as we do our chores.
Oh, blue devil, if I thought I’d die tomorrow, you’d be my last.

Picture
Good Housekeeping, 2024 from Poets Wear Prada, a BookLife Reviews Editors Pick and placed 3rd in Poetry at The BookFest Fall 2024. The Elk in the Glade: The World of Pioneer and Painter Jennie Hicks, Crown Rock Media, was also a BookLife Reviews Editors Pick and placed 2nd in Contemporary Poetry at The BookFest Spring 2023. Richard Thomas has narrated the audiobook version of this title. Whitacre’s crown sonnet about the culture of violence won the Nebraska Poetry Society’s 2023 Open Poetry Contest. His poems have appeared in many anthologies and over thirty five journals. He has been nominated for Pushcart and Best of the Net. www.brucewhitacre.com.

0 Comments

Poem by Jean Liew

2/22/2025

1 Comment

 
School Lunch

Amorphous pink bagged milk
And a burger patty
Unlike McDonald’s, no Big Mac for your father
Your eyes are table level, and the chairs are blue
And it folds in two

Tin can, cut sausage, fried egg
Lunch monitor puts her hand down like a clamp
Shush, shush, walk in line
Fingers to your lips
Milk is 35 cents
Your silver dollar coin comes from the pink bank
Tall as you, but hollow inside

Trade a tater tot and a couple of fries
For a Garfield comic
Eat a hot dog out of context
Or a milky sandwich in old restaurant foil
Envy the cornbread and the cowboy bread
Find out later you could have had it for free

Collect the violin backstage
Scrape the cake off cardboard
Best you’ve ever tasted
Pizza party, but you’re also not invited

Eat perfect fries for a dollar
With a self-proclaimed hacker
Cut a Hot Pocket with a fork after the towers fall
Split a hoagie, but begrudgingly
No sandwich ever tastes as good after that

Greasy burgers, soft serve, hot cookies
Listen to Avril every morning
Get your PE credit out of the way
First Starbucks, taquitos in the hallway
Braid your hair like Kylie at the Brit Awards

Sunday roast, steal a pie
Eat all the cereal, Texas waffles
Breakfast tacos and bad coffee
Pepperoni rolls from the vendor
Starbucks, Starbucks, Chipotle

Eat everything at once
And then you don’t eat at all

Picture
Jean Liew is a rheumatologist and clinical researcher at Boston University Chobanian & Avedisian School of Medicine and Boston Medical Center.

1 Comment

Poem by Karina Guardiola-Lopez

2/17/2025

3 Comments

 
Sirens, Soot, and Starving Souls
​
Their bellies growl, rumble through the rubble
Mimic the sirens and wails of the wind
They walk through ashes, kicking empty bottles
Searching for scraps, soot rests on crying tongues
They hug their bellies, eyes beg the sunlight
Clinging to hope
Amid the bitter betrayal of bombs
And the hands that released them

Click to hear the poet read the poem:

Picture
Karina Guardiola Lopez is a writer, poet, and educator. Her work has appeared in Press Pause Press, Arts by The People, Acentos Review, Indolent Books, other publications. Karina has performed at the Patterson Poetry Festival, New York City Poetry Festival, The National Black Theatre, Nuyorican Poets Cafe, and Bowery Poetry Club, among many others. For more information visit kglopez.com

3 Comments

Poem by Lisa Bennington-Love

2/15/2025

0 Comments

 
Shopping Cart Jesus

I drag this cart
Through dried bones of the city
Metal groaning like my insides
A new place that's become home to me
The bulldozer keep pushing me further
Away from what I knew
I've become flicker in their rearview
A stain they’d rather wash off their streets

I once had a name
But it blew away with the last winter
Lost in the ash of factories
That don’t spit fire anymore
Tossed into overfilled dumpsters
Becoming damp and wrought
With memories of youth

Now I’m just a pair of cracked hands
Clutching the handle of this rusted cage
Filled with ghosts of things I’ll never own
Family I'll never see
And songs I try to remember
They say laughter is the best medicine
But not when you're laugh at me

You think I’m nothing
But I’ve seen more
Than your eyes could believe
I've watched the city rot from the inside

After the evictions of seniors
It bloom renewed
The people who made the city
Have all gone away
Left is a gentrified community
With food trucks and electric cars

I’m the shadow of your worst fear
The thing you don’t dare become
I am human too
More real than your luxury condos
Than the plastic smiles you wear
To mask your own hunger

My home is wherever I lay my head
It's filthy, decayed, and full of feces
It's not warm or comfortable
It's sometimes just a tarp
But once in awhile I get to sleep
In a house
With no electricity or heat
Eating?
Yeah, I eat whatever I can find
Don't mind the sound of my stomach
That's just god being divine

It doesn't matter how I got here
Our stories aren't cared for anyway
Just excuses and lies
You call me lazy, stupid, and gross
However, I am a lot like you
I want to be noticed and loved too

I once dreamed like you
Homes with roofs that held tight
Windows that opened to let the world in
Now they are boarded up to keep me out
Nah, I guess it's not that bad
I could be dead
That'll probably happen sooner than later
If you find me laying on a slab of concrete
Would you at least take the shoes off my feet?
Put them aside for someone else
Maybe they'll have better luck living in this hell

Bennington-Love, Lisa. Paper Monsters. Phantom Stitch Press, 2025. “Shopping Cart Jesus.”

Picture
A native of Detroit, Lisa Bennington-Love is a poet who uses her experiences to bring awareness to abuse, addiction, and domestic violence. She tempers her work with a dark, wry, sense of humor.

With a deep passion for language and rhythm, she crafts evocative verses that resonate with readers
on an emotional level. Lisa has four books of poetry and has even garnered praise from punk icon,
​Exene Cervenka.

0 Comments

Poem by Jess Perkins

2/13/2025

0 Comments

 
Peaches

I want to sink my teeth into the ripe August peach,
To feel the longing hunger answered, sweet and rich.
Please be forgiving,
As the fruit juice dries, sticking to my cheeks,
Dripping down my fingers, crystalizing in the sharp grass below,
The bugs enjoy their share.
It is a messy thing
To want life so fiercely, to devour it whole.

I dreamed up an adult
So perfectly satiated and clean, only
To find satisfaction in the stickiness of summer fruit,
In dirty hands, sunburnt cheeks, and a hunger that never shrinks.
​
Piles of unkempt laundry await, but I leave them,
Chasing after another bite of the day soon to set.
Mismatched plates served to hungry mouths,
Sharing wine, our garden's jammy tomatoes, leftover pierogi and cheese.
We are at home here, in this messy little life,
Where hunger is sated not through perfected meals,
But by the shared joy of taking, and giving,
Of tasting all we can.

BIO: Jess is a passionate hobbyist with a love for creative expression. Lots of her poetry draws inspiration from her adventures in travel, food, rock climbing, backpacking, and just plain being outdoors. For Jess, poetry often feels like a form of journaling and that it can capture the essence of her experiences & emotions in a way that prose cannot. In her eyes, art is the best form of therapy and a unique means to explore herself and the world around her.
0 Comments
<<Previous

    Suggestions & Ideas

    Take a look at some of the writing prompts to get inspired!

    Archives

    April 2025
    March 2025
    February 2025
    January 2025
    December 2024
    November 2024
    October 2024
    September 2024
    August 2024
    July 2024
    June 2024
    May 2024
    April 2024
    February 2024
    January 2024
    December 2023
    September 2023
    August 2023
    July 2023
    June 2023
    April 2023
    March 2023
    February 2023
    January 2023
    December 2022
    November 2022
    October 2022
    July 2022
    June 2022
    May 2022
    April 2022
    March 2022
    February 2022
    December 2021
    October 2021
    September 2021
    July 2021
    April 2021
    March 2021
    February 2021
    January 2021
    December 2020
    November 2020
    October 2020
    September 2020
    August 2020
    July 2020
    October 2019
    September 2019
    August 2019
    May 2019

    Poets

    All
    Aaliyah El-Amin
    A.G. Kawamura
    Alan Barysh
    Amanda Conover
    Amelia Díaz Ettinger
    Anne Harding Woodworth
    Argos MacCallum
    Ashlynn Doljac
    Bill Batcher
    Blair Ewing
    Brenardo
    Brenda Bunting
    Brian Manyati Aka Towandah Ryan
    Bruce E. Whitacre
    Cathy Warner
    C.C. Arshagra
    Ceredwyn Alexander
    Chip Williford
    Christina Daub
    Christine Hickey
    Christopher T. George
    C. John Graham
    Cliff Bernier
    Crystal Rivera
    David Dephy
    Debbi Brody
    Deborah Diemont
    Dee Allen
    Don Hamaliuk
    Dorothy Lowrie
    Dr. Vaishnavi Pusapati
    Duane L Hermann
    Duane L Herrmann
    Ed Zahniser
    Eike Waltz
    Eileen Trauth
    Elise Power
    Elizabeth Farris
    Ellen Rowland
    Emily-Sue Sloane
    Emily Vargas-Barón
    Eric Forsbergh
    Evan Belize
    Gary D. Grossman
    Gayle Lauradunn
    Geoffrey Himes
    Gloria Valsamis
    Glynn Axelrod
    Grace Beeler
    Grace Cavalieri
    Heather Banks
    Hedy Habra
    Holly Wilson
    Ishanee Chanda
    Jacqueline Jules
    Jay Carpenter
    Jay Carson
    Jean Liew
    Jefferson Carter
    Jeffrey Banks
    Jeffrey Engels
    Jess Perkins
    Joan Dobbie
    Joanne Durham
    Joseph Mukami Mwita
    J R Turek
    Judy Kronenfeld
    Juliana Schifferes
    Julie Fisher
    Kalpna Singh-Chitnis
    Kari Gunter-Seymour
    Kari Martindale
    Karina Guardiola-Lopez
    Kathamann
    Kelley White
    Ken Holland
    Kimberly Sterling Penname-River Running
    Kim B Miller
    Kitty Cardwell
    Kitty Jospé
    Kristina Andersson Bicher
    Laura McGinnis
    Lee Allane
    Lee Gill
    Linda Dove
    Linda Trott Dickman
    Lindsay Barba
    Lisa Bennington-Love
    Lisa Biggar
    Lissa Perrin
    Lynn Axelrod
    Lynn White
    Maggie Bloomfield
    Margaret Brittingham
    Margaret R. Sáraco
    Margarette Wahl
    Margot Wizansky
    Marianne Szlyk
    Marianne Tefft
    Martha E. Snell
    Marti Watterman
    Mary Ellen Ziegler
    Megha Sood
    Michael Glaser
    Michael Minassian
    Mike Dailey
    Milton Carp
    Naima Penniman
    Nancy Murray
    Nan Meneely
    Naomi Ayla
    Naomi Grace
    Natalie Diaz
    N Chamchoun
    Neal Grace
    Paulina Milewska
    Philip Harris
    Pramila Venkateswaran
    P. S. Perkins
    Q.R. Quasar
    Rick C. Christiansen
    Robbi Nester
    Robert Fleming
    Ron Shapiro
    Sandeep Sharma
    Sean Sutherland
    Sharon Anderson
    Sharon Waller Knutson
    Sheila Conticello
    Sherrell Wigal
    Susanna Rich
    Susan Scheid
    T. A. Niles
    T.A. Niles
    Theresa Richard
    Tom Donlon
    Vickisa
    Vincent J Calone
    V.j.calone
    Wayne Lee
    William Rivera
    Zane Yinger
    Zinnia

    RSS Feed

Copyright Poetry X Hunger 2024.
Proudly powered by Weebly
  • Home
  • About
    • About the Initiative
    • Initiative Founder
    • Recipients and Donors
  • Hunger Poetry
    • e-Collection
    • Hunger Poems
    • World Food Day Poetry Competition >
      • 2021
      • 2020
      • 2019
      • 2018
    • Maryland Poets
    • International Poets
  • ART
    • ART Inspired Poems
  • News & Blog
  • 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
    • Recent highlights
  • Contact/Submit/Take Action
    • Submission Guidelines
    • Call to Action
    • Resources >
      • Global resources
      • US resources
      • Maryland resources