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Honey and Tea On television I saw the documentary Of boys sitting on the sand, maybe 50 With a woman cracking a whip over their heads So they could chant a prayer They, orphaned and lost, no food or medicine Left in Africa by the Taliban All men killed Flies buzzing Where were the girls No I’m not exaggerating One child held up a paper to shield the sun They were dead No life in their eyes Already dead among the buzzing flies I long ago asked God how I could still believe That’s an old question Now I ask myself How can I write this Now I say I do not want this cup.  Grace Cavalieri is Maryland's tenth Poet Laureate. She founded, and produces, "The Poet and The Poem" from The Library of Congress celebrating 47 years on-air. Her new book is "The Long Game: Poems Selected & New."
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Mightier than the Sword Soldier travels from the south plucks the crumbs from the orphan's mouth burns the fields and drains the ford bend a knee before your lord Hunger mightier than the sword No mercy from the burning sun no bullets needed for his gun jackals prowl and vultures soar hunger stalks the killing floor A perfect weapon of the war Brother Famine loves Sister Drought blind and deaf the land they scout children's eyes no longer bright withered limbs too weak for flight Hunger kills the will to fight Daughter of the blighted earth bears no guilt for famine's birth doctors flee the healing ward starvation leads the murder horde Hunger mightier than the sword Listen to what your mother said submit to rape or join the dead no saviour from a distant shore survive to be the victor's whore A perfect weapon of the war Rich men toast the price of wheat richer still if the poor don't eat the world outside has closed its eyes hunger is the bread that cries Her body soon the victor's prize Let her weep and let her pray if you don't look she'll go away man has cut earth's fetal cord watch her starve until you're bored Hunger mightier than the sword Click to hear the poet read the poem. BIO: After leaving university with a degree in philosophy and art history I tried my hands at many things - including working with refugees and homeless charities, designing education programmes, journalism and writing books on oriental and islamic arts and crafts.
Growing Pains Juan listens to his stomach growl The hammering in his head. It's summer and his school is closed, No breakfast, lunch today. He wishes he were old enough To supplement the pittance His unschooled mother makes. Why did his father leave them? Their church food closet helps a bit But they are four in all. Luckily Juan has learned To cook an egg And toast his single slice of bread. No fruit or juice today. Greedily he gulps his food Though he'd like to eat it slowly. Satisfied just for a while, His teen brain starts again To wonder if there's food for lunch Anywhere Or empty air?  I am an 84 year old grandmother, formerly a teacher of high school English in New York city. At age 75, I published a book of poems entitled Or Something Like That, available on Amazon. for the last year I have had poems published in my community newspaper.
For Our Hunger a chicken a guitar a vase me We each in turn will be taken by the neck and plucked strummed filled wrung And (sadly) in the end broken but not before we offer (I hope) our little morsel to this world a meal a melody a bouquet a poem “For Our Hunger” first appeared in my 2109 book of poetry Home By Another Road. Click to hear the poet read the poem.  Cathy Warner is author of three volumes of poetry: Difficult Gifts: Home By Another Road, and Burnt Offerings; and editor of three anthologies: Poemographs for Peace, Poemographs, and Viral Verse: Poetry of the Pandemic. Cathy writes, takes photographs, and renovates homes in Western Washington. Find her at cathywarner.com.
Wolf at the Door Mama presses the steam iron to the Brownie Uniform I once wore that now belongs to my sister and then to the green Girl Scout uniform I proudly wear. While she puts away the ironing board, I fry the ground beef in the skillet and pour tomatoes and pinto beans in a pot. I’m making Wolf at the Door for supper to practice for the scout weekend campout, I tell Daddy as he carries in the big box of Girl Scout cookies Judy and I will be selling door to door. Daddy peels and dices an onion and tosses it in the sizzling skillet sprinkled with salt and pepper. Judy takes out the graham crackers and covers them with marshmallows and chocolate and melts them on the broiler. Daddy and Mama always managed to keep our bellies full and the hungry howling wolf at the door out of our house. Originally published in The Leading Ladies of My Life (Cyberwit 2023.)  Sharon Waller Knutson has published eleven poetry books including What the Clairvoyant Doesn’t Say (Kelsay Books 2021) and her twelfth book, ‘My Grandfather is a Cowboy” is forthcoming in 2024. Her work has also appeared in more than 50 journals.
A Glimmer Planting a garden is revolution-- hope triumphs over despair. Flower or veggie—all green comes from a smoothie of crushed rock and humus—spiked with nitrogen, phosphorous, and micronutrients. Even seed anatomy amuses—the coat that keeps all dry and warm, cotyledon, the battery for growth, hypocotyl and plumule--stem and shoot, and last the embryonic root, the radicle, linking us to the first revolution. Seeds are small packages of optimism. Decisions that light and warmth will prevail and jonquils or turnips, lilies or peppers will rise, one or both. There is hope in nourishing life besides our own—faith in clear skies and sun, that spring is the pupa of summer and summer fall. That hope can be cultivated more easily than cut down. Verse-Virtual, June 2022 Picking Carrots It’s March 18th and despite the ground freeze last weekend, our carrots exude a craving for examination and evaluation--intoxication emanating from the bed of orange, red and purple heads poking up through rollers of crushed pine bark and black soil. The secrets of root vegetables arouse me. Always a hidden story, always a probability. Seeds sown last October, but winter’s wardrobe was unhemmed, cool, and bright enough to sugar these painted vegetal fingers. Now feathery leaves weave the spring breeze, their scent a lurid promise. I pull the largest bunch, parting a wave of soil—sand grains dripping off the root. It is straight, thick and half a foot long—a clandestine happiness, like holding a new lover for the first time. Moving through the bed, I hope for more sticks of orange candy, not crooked roots—sour as an old bachelor. I move to the next patch and wonder, what secrets the earth will whisper? Last Stanza Poetry Review #10 2022  Gary Grossman’s poetry book, Lyrical Years is available from Kelsay Press, his graphic novel My Life in Fish: One Scientist’s Journey, and his cookbook A Bone to Pick… are available from [email protected]. Website: www.garygrossman.net
ABOUT HUNGER A poem about hunger Is not one of awe, not one of wonder This thing that grows Below, Inside Reflects, Of need Denied A painful thing to see A wretched thing to be In hunger A darkness Sharp, clawing at ones’ being The lungs, the heart Messing with the reasoning of the mind The hope The emptiness that rises To the throat Choking on water Offering appeasement to the belly Releasing unrelenting anguish In a language called despair The weariness that is telling The aching, the swelling The deadly devastation That stalks in starvation The extreme Muffled muted screams It cries, it sobs It whimpers in its’ call The distance The fierce, intense, insistence Of the sustenance one needs Shows Hunger is an enemy to us all Like the falling of darkness gives rise to gloom and doom Its’ darker and darker and darker and darker and… © 2018 Brenardo  Brenardo aka Andre’ B. Taylor, is a native Washingtonian poet and songwriter. He has been writing for over five decades on all matters of life. His written words have been featured in countless newspapers, magazines, and poetry anthologies, and he is a veteran of stage, radio, and television, and United States Navy who believes in being of service to the word which graces him to help others.
Salty Growls By Chip Williford A full plate of hunger Pain fills my belly Salty Growls Snapping fast Eats all desire Placed before me Lacking Substance An outdated menu nourishing depression leaving nothing else  Chip Williford is a prose, poetry, and short story writer, equal rights advocate and activist, filmmaker, documentarian, family historian, good listener, and relatable storyteller. He co-host Poetry Street “The Room Without A Roof”, with Maggie Bloomfield.
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