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Hunger Poems

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.
 

Poems by Nan Meneely

9/29/2020

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Picture from Somalia

​The eyes of a child 
who is starving to death 
have already died 
of expecting 
what never arrives.
They hold a knowing 
language cannot shape.
of what a wasting body tells.

How shall I write
of this beautiful boy
when all I have is words? 

I look for something
I could name as fear,
fear of death, perhaps. 
But his has been  
a dying every day, 
as natural to him 
as breathing in and out. 
I can’t see hopelessness
but maybe there was never
hope to lose. 
If there is grief for what is not, 
it can’t be named, 
but maybe there has never been
a plenty to regret. 
The rage that must be part
of what consumes him
hides. Perhaps it’s dammed 
behind the eyes gone dull
with brute monotony
of nothing to be done.

I can’t see in. I cannot look away.
I cannot look away although 
I’m sometimes hungry not to know. 


Writing the Unthinkable
The reporter gnaws his knuckle,
as she speaks. He tries 
to write a picture
of her children, boy and girl,
not old enough
to spell their names.
They stand on either side of her,
tee shirts worn so gauzy 
with their handing down
they don’t disguise
the sharp protrusion
of a shoulder bone.
Odd, he thinks, the boy,
the bigger child, leans
into her, encircles her 
with both his arms.
The girl is steady on her feet,
defies his sympathy
and gives no quarter
with her gaze.

His jottings fill a page:
covid riding visitors
into the houses huddling
cheek by jowl; 
barefaced brownstones
muffling tragedy as anger grows;
children escaping to spill
down stoops in search of play
forbidden many months;
soup kitchens running out of soup. 

He can’t do anything
to right the year
but write. It makes him cry 
but he will start his story
with the question 
she has thrust at him
at last:

“How do I choose
which child to feed today?”
Picture
Nan Meneely is a Connecticut poet whose career in teaching and training culminated in twenty years with the Federal Emergency Management Agency where she managed programs in support of disaster response and recovery. Her first publication, Letter from Italy, 1944, was noted by the Hartford Courant as one of thirteen important books by Connecticut writers in 2013. Her second book, Simple Absence, published hours before the pandemic reached American shores, was nominated for the National Book Award.

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Poem by Lisa Biggar

9/29/2020

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I Went Hungry Once

when I spent all of
my money on
vintage earrings
in New York City.

It was a Sunday,
Western Union
was closed, so
my dad couldn’t
wire me any
emergency
cash.

It was hard to
recognize myself
or the city that
now taunted me--
the redolence of
hot pretzels,
peanuts, and
gyros on every
block now
torture.

Money oozing
from limos and
fancy threads
mocking me
in my misery,
the distance
unapproachable.

And, later, in
my dorm room,
after the others
went to bed,
I felt like
Jean Valjean,
desperate and
alone, raiding
the shared fridge,
a Tupperware container
marked for someone
else.
Here is a video of Lisa reading the poem:
win_20200930_14_37_29_pro.mp4
File Size: 13440 kb
File Type: mp4
Download File

Picture
Lisa Lynn Biggar received her MFA in Fiction from Vermont College and is currently completing a short story cycle set on the eastern shore of Maryland. Her short fiction and poetry have appeared in numerous literary journals including Main Street Rag, Bluestem Magazine, The Minnesota Review, Kentucky Review, The Delmarva Review and Superstition Review. She’s the fiction editor for Little Patuxent Review and co-owns and operates a cut flower farm on the eastern shore of Maryland with her husband and three cats. ​

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Poem by Lynn Axelrod

9/29/2020

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Gleaning

Lining up at the food bank,
neighborly encounters.
I drop off pancake mix,
cold sausage, chocolate
milk from our fundraiser,
cancelled in Covid-time.
Homeless men and women
on downtown streets so long
pantry workers greet them
as friends in strange vicinity,
not entirely strangers,
not completely local.
Housed locals enter quietly
depart quickly
or accept offers
for door-step delivered meals.
A woman not far
mails surgical masks
to her roofless brother
by way of a local
knowing his creekside camp.
Is a mendicant holding a bowl 
on pilgrimage less hungry
than a roofless man
with family keeping distance?
Finger-ping of the bowl is a bell,
attention to the virtue of less.
Roofless man is attended
by his own practical credo.
In Paris, passing a child
holding out her hand to a crowd
rushing up a Metro staircase,
woman beside her weary.
Wrong train, running back
down deserted steps in time
to catch the woman
berate the empty child.
Picking these words
for thought, not work,
leaves me wanting more,
an eater of other courses
and meals to give
instead of memory.
Lynn Axelrod is a community organizer in her home area, a northern California coastal village. She’s been a reporter for a weekly newspaper, an environmental NGO staffer, and an (early-retired) attorney. She has an undergraduate degree in literature, pursued graduate lit. coursework while teaching freshman courses, and has studied with several well-published poets. She continues reading literature, poetry, history, and current affairs. Her work has appeared in several journals, in print and online. 
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Poems by Holly Wilson

9/22/2020

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 Crossed a Line



And what was this great sin 
I committed?
I crossed a line
I couldn’t see it, but it was there
Nature didn’t make it,
But they knew where it was

They arrested me and put me in a cell
They took my children away
Even though they cried and screamed,
And all I could say to them 
Was that it will be all right
When I really didn’t know

Just because I crossed a line,
They held me in detention,
It was cold in there
The food was bad,
They said if I promised to go back
I could have my children again

They said I crossed a line
And they were going to make it hard
To stay on this side
Most cases don’t get approved

Some of the guards raped me,
They said I didn’t deserve to stay here,
They said I should go back to where 
I came from

I crossed a line
And they put me in a refugee camp,
Gave me just enough
Food and shelter to survive,
I still linger here
Not able to go forward

But I can’t go back
Because I’d be killed by the gangs, 
Because rebel groups are carrying out 
Genocide against my people,
Because severe drought has made it impossible
To grow any crops where my tribe lives,
Because the city where I lived
Has been bombed to oblivion

I would never have lasted long
Where I was,
So what choice did I have?
I had to cross a line
To see if I could find any justice in this world

Right now I’m riding in a rickety boat
In choppy waves, no life vest
Across open sea
Praying that we’ll make it to land

Right now its midnight and I’m walking 
Through the desert with a few others like me,
Not knowing when our coyote might abandon us,
Or whether we’ll run out of water


Right now I’m riding in a refrigerator truck
Packed in with twenty others,
There’s no light
And it’s getting hot

Right now I’m packing what I can carry
Preparing to leave everything behind
I’ve ever known,
I know I might get robbed along the way,
I know I might get beaten up,
I know I might run out of money,
I know I might go hungry,
I know I might go thirsty,
I know I’ll be cold sometimes, 
I know it’ll be too hot sometimes,
I know I’ll be rained on,
I might even die,
But what choice do I have?
I have to try
To cross that line
Picture
Holly Wilson is a retired professor who lives on a small farm outside of Albuquerque, New Mexico, where she has been active in the poetry scene for many years. She has published one book of poetry, Assorted Snapshots, and she hosts the monthly Tortuga Gallery Open Poetry Reading.


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Poem by Theresa M. Richard

9/22/2020

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America, My Name Is Hunger

Bless me father
for I have sinned.
My name is Hunger. 
I am ancient.
I am birthed from Greed.
I am today and tomorrow.

My name is Hunger.
I live on the streets.
I live hidden in the suburbs.
I live in factories and on farms.

I live In Oregon.
A family of eight go to a food bank, 
receiving blocks of cheese and sacks
of oatmeal. At home they feed
the oatmeal to their rabbits. They breed
the rabbits for meat. They know Hunger,
he is a cousin, he breeds resignation and despair.
The youngest child is five. 
 When asked about her dreams,
innocent wide eyes query,
“What is a dream?”
Hunger is greedy. 
He leaves no room for dreams. 

My name is Hunger.
I live on the streets.
I live in cars.
I live under bridges.

I live in the North.
The wrenching cry of loons
is challenged by the wailing of dogs
forced to eat their brothers. 
They mourn the disaster of being born.
They mourn the skeletal humans 
unable to provide sustenance.
They mourn the heroics and 
loyalty they have rendered.

Isaiah tells me he once would feed
his whole family for a week, on one swan. 

Then, the white man came, 
bringing senseless death to 
hundreds of thousands
for their bloodstained feathers.
Now, the swans are protected. 

My children are named Hunger, says Isaiah.
They live in the alleys.
They live in the jails.
They live in the brothels.

In the cities, young and old emaciated
citizens with pinpoint opioid pupils 
are the offspring of pharma greed.
The offspring of Hunger.

A thin young man with 
outstretched claw approaches,
he says don’t you know me? 
My name is Hunger and I am your son.

I live In Seattle 
and in Brooklyn
in Huston and in Detroit.
I live on the streets.
I live on the reservations.
I live in the ghettos.
I live in the suburbs.
I live in factories and on farms.

I am your child, your parent
your tomorrow.
Click on the file to listen to Theresa read her poem:
hunger_rec4.m4a
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Picture
Theresa Richard retired from a career as an editor to live in Ireland and embrace life as a
writer of poetry and short stories. She worked for Breakwater Books in Newfoundland;
Fitzhenry and Whiteside, Toronto; the Canadian Government, Mobile Oil, and the Daily
Journal (US Appellate Court Cases), she was the Editorial Director at the Center for Civic
Education in Los Angeles, editing law-related education text books. Born and raised in NYC,
she has also lived and worked in Alaska, Newfoundland, Montreal, and briefly in Ecuador, places that provide landscapes for her creative writing.

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Poem by Michael Minassian

9/17/2020

1 Comment

 
​REMEMBER THE STARVING ARMENIANS

In my mother’s kitchen 
food was weaponized
plates piled high with pilaf
tomatoes, chicken, and lamb.

Remember the starving Armenians,
my mother said.

History sat down at the table with us;
our lost family kept alive 
half a century later 
In Northern New Jersey,
Long Island, and the Bronx.

During the First Genocide
of the Twentieth Century,
America sent ships full 
of food, nurses, and nuns 
to the Mediterranean;
posters hung in town squares
and full-page ads appeared
in the New York Times:

Remember the starving Armenians

A million and a half dead,
another million scattered 
around the world.

But I had to finish my dinner
no matter how full I felt
and if any scraps 
remained on our plates
my mother stood 
at the kitchen sink
and licked each one clean –

our kitchen at least 
one place on earth
we ate for the empty places
we ate for the dead.
remember_the_starving_armenians_-minassian_.mp3
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MICHAEL MINASSIAN is a Contributing Editor for Verse-Virtual, an online magazine. His chapbooks include  The Arboriculturist (2010) and Around the Bend (2017). His poetry collection, Time is Not a River, (2020) is available on Amazon. A second poetry collection entitled Morning Calm and a chapbook Jack Pays a Visit are also forthcoming in 2020. For more information: https://michaelminassian.com

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Diane Wilbon Parks on Hunger

9/15/2020

0 Comments

 
Here is a video of Diane Wilbon Parks who expresses her concerns about the state of hunger. Click here to watch it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fJXsVnDqXvw
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  • Home
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    • World Food Day Poetry Competition >
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      • 2019
      • 2018
    • Maryland Poets
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  • About
    • About the Initiative
    • Initiative Founder
    • Advisory Board
  • 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 & Donations >
      • Global resources
      • US resources
      • Maryland resources