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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.
 

Poem by Gail Esterman

9/20/2023

0 Comments

 
​Naomi and Ruth

Ruth is hungry.
Ten years married
Without child.
Created by the Lord
Without a womb.

Her stomach empty. Famine.
She wants bread,
A baby.
For Naomi to love her.
She longs to consume Naomi whole.

Naomi tastes bitter
Ruth spits her out
And moves in;
Wherever you lodge, I will lodge.
Reaping the gleaned grain.

Oh, the modesty.
Her cloak a shroud.
Behold the faithfulness --
Ruth takes only what she is entitled to.

Six measures of barley,
Not five or seven.
On the piece of land belonging to Boaz.

One sandal traded for Ruth and Naomi
At the gate with the ten elders.

At night, Ruth dreams her mother laughing
At the circus in Moab
Throwing up her skirts,
Head back,
Howling with hunger,
Unmistakable.

​Boaz dies on his wedding night.
The Lord issues a baby to Ruth
And Naomi.

I claw my way through these twisty lines
The land, the men,
Planted, full.
The women sacrificed,
Hungry.
Picture
I have recently returned to writing poetry after many years of writing block.

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Poem by Rick C. Christiansen

9/13/2023

1 Comment

 
FISHSTICKS

Nobody talks about the anger.

Hungry?
Take what you need.
Grab what you want.
Kids laugh at the white paper lunch sack
filled with pilfered snacks from the liquor store.
Slim Jim’s…Beef Jerky…Hostess Apple Pie.
“I brought my lunch teacher,
I made it myself.”

Nobody talks about the anger.

It was a picnic, wherever they were staying.
The meal arrayed in her lap.
Cold torn bits of sliced wiener
stuck to saltines or sourdough heels.
The children circle her chair
as her chicken hand
dispenses each bite.
Gaping mouths.
Chomp.
Chew.
Swallow.
Take a sip of her Tab cola.

Nobody talks about the anger.

Crash the birthday party in the park.
Blend in--
“I know him from school.”
“I forgot to bring my present.”
“Is the vegetable platter just for the grownups?”
“Will there be cake?“
“Can I take a piece to my brother?”
Nobody talks about the anger.

At the Dairy Queen--
At the end of the night--
Leftovers go into the dumpster--
It’s all still warm--
Sometimes they throw it away in bags--
That makes it easier--

Nobody talks about the anger.

Four Sea King fishsticks--
One slice of Kraft cheese--
A bun if you are lucky--
A packet of tartar sauce--
Snatched from the condiment rack--
At the Seven Eleven--
Taste this Filet-O-Fish--

​Nobody talks about the anger.

Rather be hungry than have to be grateful.
Sad doe eyes of observant adults.
Their pity swimming as they try to not feel superior.
Three years old, and I might snatch something off of your plate,
even if I don’t know you.
Picture
Rick Christiansen is a former corporate executive, stand-up comedian, actor and director. His poem “BONE FRAGMENTS’ is being included in the 2023 New Generational Beats Anthology from the National Beat Poetry Foundation. He has been recently nominated for a Touchstone Award. He is the co-host of SpoFest, a member of The Writer’s Place and a member of The St. Louis Writers Guild. He lives in Missouri near his eight grandchildren. rickchristiansen.com

1 Comment

Poem by C. John Graham

9/12/2023

0 Comments

 
SALT

The field is not well seen from within the field.
Emerson


I’m in the kitchen at midnight again. Less than hungry but
craving salt, I snatch a handful of chips from the pantry.
Stacks of travel albums occupy the corner table, reminding me
of that Vietnamese farmer in his ox-tilled field. Does he,

craving salt, grab a handful of chips from the pantry?
Though sated by a candlelit repast, I can’t forget
that farmer in his ox-tilled field. Does he
still turn earth under a torrid noon? Can he

sit sated at a candlelit repast? I can’t forget
the heft of yellow peaches in the orchard and
earth turned fragrant by an unspent afternoon,
because hunger feeds the human. I need to feel

the heft of yellow peaches in the orchard
illumined by a burgeoning moon. I know I’ll forget
his sodden footfalls because hunger feeds the human. I feel
the sinless earth on my hands, but everything is just salt

under a burgeoning moon. I know I’ll forget
the heat of the kitchen with each handful
of sinless earth, so I throw salt over my shoulder.
Is earth just dirt under a midnight sky?

First appeared in Prelude 2016
Picture
C. John Graham’s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in The Laurel Review, Birmingham Poetry Review, Blue Mesa Review, Painted Bride Quarterly, Taos Journal of Poetry and Art, The Inflectionist Review, and the anthology Off Channel, among other publications. He lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and until retirement, worked at Los Alamos National Laboratory’s particle accelerator facility. He now volunteers as a search and rescue pilot, owns an aerobatic aircraft, and continues a lifelong spiritual inquiry. sites.google.com/site/cjohngraham/home/poetry

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Poems by Bruce E. Whitacre

9/4/2023

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Cinnamon and Famine

After forty years of badges, cubicles and 401 (k)’s
all that one does and all that is done to one
your privilege is ground fresh beans and yogurt
cold boiled eggs in a sunny window.
Bills and sick calls crowd your plate.
But under the placemat bleeding mouths
seep their crises onto the table
aroma of cinnamon and famine.

​The kitchen floats in migrant waters.
Juice is the red of the shot boy’s blood.
How not to starve when every meal is stolen?
How to fill the cruel void of thoughts and prayers?
Surrender and the paralysis seizes you

Plums and the Boy from Syria
Villanelle

The chroniclers agree it came from ancient Syria,
That tart staple of jam and pie, the Damson plum.
It blooms by the roadside, same time as wisteria.

The chroniclers record how my son fled from quaking Syria.
He wound up a lifeless little boy afloat in the scum,
Drowned after boarding a sinking raft of diphtheria.

All he sought were the roadsides bordered with wisteria,
A land of bread and plums, where he could overcome
That gnawing void of his belly, or murder by bacteria.

The chroniclers agree he had to leave burning Syria.
Strafing and round-ups, bombed-out home, worse to come:
Parents shot, family gone, terror beyond all criteria.

Down the roadsides blooming with wisteria
Drive the ministers, the committees, all aplomb,
To meet and decree, again, an end to this hysteria.

​The rescuers sweep our bodies from the area.
We parents and our kids drown fleeing a gone home.
The chroniclers shrug or push the blame onto Syria.
Bitter plums dot the roadside, among the wisteria.
Picture
The Elk in the Glade: The World of Pioneer and Painter Jennie Hicks is a 2022 Publishers Weekly Editors Pick and won 2nd Place at TheBookFest 23. Good Housekeeping is forthcoming in 2024. Publications: The American Journal of Poetry, World Literature Today and more. Anthologies: I Wanna be Loved by You: Poems on Marilyn Monroe (Eric Hoffer Honorable Mention), The Wonders of Winter, and The Strategic Poet craft book. More at www.brucewhitacre.com.

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Poem by Grace Cavalieri

8/30/2023

0 Comments

 
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.
Picture
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."

0 Comments

Poem by Lee Allane

8/30/2023

0 Comments

 
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.
0 Comments

Poem by Sheila Conticello

8/24/2023

0 Comments

 
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?
Picture
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.

0 Comments

Poem by Cathy Warner

8/12/2023

1 Comment

 
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.
Picture
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.

1 Comment

Poem by Sharon Waller Knutson

8/8/2023

0 Comments

 
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.)
Picture
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.

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Poems by Gary D. Grossman

8/3/2023

0 Comments

 
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
Picture
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 todaysecologicalsolutions@gmail.com. Website: www.garygrossman.net

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  • Home
  • About
    • About the Initiative
    • Initiative Founder
    • Advisory Board
  • Hunger Poetry
    • Hunger Poems
    • World Food Day Poetry Competition >
      • 2021
      • 2020
      • 2019
      • 2018
    • Maryland Poets
    • International Poets
  • ART
  • 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