Poetry X Hunger
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Now More Than Ever:
Submitted Poems

Poem by Martin Chivaku

4/26/2020

0 Comments

 
Hunger attraction

“Stay! Keep a distance_”
 
A talk to set people free
For a slave master arrived_
Descended and made self at home
In the East_ thus had to spread
To the West, North and South
Like the wings of a bird
Ready to migrate...
 
“Isolate! Keep in quarantine_”
 
An innocent directive lifting guilty
Repercussions to! summon the less
And even the used-to-be privileged_
Into the shelter of insufficiency.
 
“Listen to live_ to die!”
 
The best option there is_ there was
And there will be...because it feels better
To live and die_ than to die at first glance
Without a face mask and clean gloves.
 
The world wrestles dirt and entirely
Becomes cleaner than a whistle_
 
But when the referee blows the whistle
The bellies carry cleanliness more than the food,
It was just but supposed to carry in the,
 
Pre-virus period -- hence godliness becomes
Easier as the wholeness died of
Hunger and thirst.
 
No more brother’s keepers as the brother
Lies on a deathbed coughing, sneezing,
So feverous and in dire need to provide
Food for his other brother but...
 
The virus took the muscle back to the gym
And watched weakness, panic and fear
Awash the land with destruction.
 
Where did the virus come from?
Why did the virus come at a time of this?
 
The aftermath and the present-math
Is a world full of hunger and what’s_ there for us
When the end just comes to an end?

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Martin Chivaku is a poet from Zimbabwe. You can find Martin on Twitter here: Chivaku Martin

0 Comments

Poem by Linda Ankrah-Dove

4/23/2020

1 Comment

 
​My Pantry
 
Big jars full of quinoa, brown rice, millet, even teff and couscous.
 
A poor flat world—Bolivia, Bengal, Zambia, Ethiopia, Morocco--
has given me here in the Shenandoah Valley these exotic food gifts.
 
Countries trade staple foods for milk condensed and gushed into cans
from the teats of cows overgrazing our western prairies.
 
The rich flat world desires ever more, whatever grows over the horizon.
But we need some hills to see over. So, tariffs and custom controls.
 
Now the voracious virus has jumped the man-made walls.
The entire flat world flips over like an omelette missing the pan.
 
Village farmers in Bolivia, Bengal, Zambia, Ethiopia, Morocco,
can no longer tread the feeder roads to haul their crops to market.
 
Families in war zones—Yemen, Sudan, Ecuador—have no safe moist soil
for food. Humans there waste with hunger. Starvation soon.
 
I watch the news and close my eyes at swollen bellies,
infant eyes enormous, arms and legs like the shift sticks on our farm trucks.
 
Not in my back yard, though.
 
I have learned what inanition does to school-age children
with supurating sores, mothers with breasts like emptied sandwich bags
and black eyes when frustrated fathers rage with their hands.
 
And now the food banks in my home town are short of basics
for the long lines of hungry here in this rich agricultural valley.
 
And this season, I plan to grow in my own back yard
potatoes, cabbage, onions, beets and maybe sunflowers as a luxury.
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Linda Ankrah-Dove has done aid work in many food-insecure countries. She now trusts poetry to touch hearts and motivate us to change the world into a healthy paradise for all.

1 Comment

Poem by Paul Guenette

4/19/2020

3 Comments

 
This Virus Knows No Boundaries
 
Farmers turn the dirt
My uncles in rural Michigan sure did
My birth certificate says occupation father: farmer
With borrowed tractor and harrows strong
Corn, vegetables, dairy, and beef
My big sisters helped, could name all the tools
We put up vegetables to eat all winter
 
Farmers turn the dirt
In rural Senegal my uncles farmed too
My host tribe so gentle and generous, and poor
With hand tools from branches and backs bent strong
Millet and sorghum in the rainy season
My little sisters hauled water, prepared our food
Fight the birds and rats, make it last all year

To see the video of  Paul reading his poem, click on the button below - it will open and start playing in a new window:

poetryguenettep.mp4
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Paul Guenette is a recently retired economic development manager with expertise in international agribusiness. Mr. Guenette designed and managed development programs in a career spanning 45 years and 90 countries. 

3 Comments

Poem by Richard Littlebear

4/15/2020

1 Comment

 
Inspired by a Cheyenne story
W/editing assistance by Wayne Leman

​
TSESSOHPETANENĖSTOVE TSEXHOTOVANATO: hetsėtseahe
LIVING THROUGH DIFFICULT TIMES: an analogy of today.

Mo’aenevėhanehe. Mo’ȯseetonetȯhanehe.
It was winter time. It was very cold.
Hesta’se mohma’xėhovėsetsevanȯhehe.
Snow was piled everywhere.
Kȧhamaxėstse tseohkėho’ėšeme moma’seohtsehanehe.
Camp firewood was being used up.
He’nostonėšemȧhanevȯse moxheomėsėhaahpe’eenoo'ehanehe.
No one could go after firewood because the snow was too deep.
He’nostonėšenȧho’ȯhtsevȧhtsevȯhtse.
They could not even visit each other.
Hestamevo mohno’easema’seohtsehanetsehe
Their food was dwindling.
Menȯhtse naa honovohko mo’asemȧheestȧhenovohe.
Berries and dried meat were being depleted.
He’nostonėšeeve’tomo’evȯhtse.
It was difficult to go to another teepee to get some food.
Heseeotȯtse, hetanevano’ėstse, šeštoto’e mo’asema’seohtsehanevotse.
Medicinal herbs, man sage, cedar and other healing plants were vanishing also.
He’nostonėševestȧhemovȯse tsehaomohtȧhetsese.
It was difficult to heal those who were sick.
Otaxa mohxaehe’kėto’omoehevohe heveenotsevotse
The only thing people could do was to stay in their teepees.
Kȧsovaaheho naa hetaneo’o tseešėhaa’ehahese mohtaohkėheemȯhenėhevohe, hovahno he’nohkeme’ovovȯse; otaxa mo’ȯhkeevȧho’ėho’ȯhtsevo.
Young boys and older men went hunting, they could not find any animals; they came back empty-handed.
“Nahko’e, neseemȧhehaeanama, natao'sėhenȯhtsevoomoo’e hotovao’o naa heva vaotsevahno,” heške moxhetȯhevohe.
“Mother, we are all so hungry. I’m going to look for buffalo or deer,” he told his mother.
Mo’exovee’ėsanėhehe.  “O’haetanoo’e” heške moxhetaehevohe. Mȧhtohto hohtȧhnaesohto aenamėhehe mohnėhestȯheaenamȧhehe.
He dressed warmly. “Be very careful,” his mother said. He was only 16 years old.
Nešee'ėše mo’eohtsėhehe. Moxho’oxeohtaanėhehe tohtoo’e. Naohkeva’neaestomenestovoo’e Esevone moxhešėtanȯhehe.
He wandered for two days. He decided to stay out one more night. He thought he could hear the rumbling of buffalo somewhere.
Tsehtšėšeepėhevevoo’ȯhtse na’ėstse hotova’e moso’hovenehoveoeotsėhehe. Mohma’xeoeveohtsėhehe. Nėseehaesto esevone moso’hovenehoveoehevohe.
Once he was settled and warm, he prayed to Ma’heo’o, asking for guidance for himself and food for his people. Then, finished, he looked around. There a distance from him, a buffalo suddenly stood up and shook the snow off.  Soon, there were many buffalo standing up, shaking off the snow, and beginning to graze as only buffalo knew how.
 
Mohva’neahto’heenȧhevohe.
They had just been buried in the deep snow.
 
Nehe hetaneka’ėškone mostaevėhenėhetȯhevohe hevo’ėstanemo.
That young boy went to tell his people what he had seen and where.
Tse’ešeevama’seanehnevȯse naa tse’ešeevamȧhena’so’enȯhevȯhtse mo’oesevehohevohe nehe hetaneka’ėškone. Hotovao’ȯhme’ovȯhtse.
When the meat was butchered and all were fed, a name was ceremoniously given to the young boy: The one who finds the buffalo.

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Dr. Richard E. Littlebear is President and Interim Dean of Cultural Affairs at Chief Dull Knife College located on the Northern Cheyenne Reservation in Montana.  He actively promotes bilingualism, advocating for bilingual education on a local, state, national and international level.  He encourages the continued oral, written and reading usage of the Cheyenne language specifically, and of all indigenous languages generally.  He considers learning to read and write the Cheyenne language -- his first language -- as his greatest academic achievement.  

1 Comment

Poem by Judith Robinson

4/15/2020

0 Comments

 
Questions
 

What do I know of hunger?
They say the starving dream of food.
I heard Depression era stories
My mother’s painful account: days with nothing to eat.
I confused her with Cinderella.
What do I know of hunger?
They say the starving dream of food.
There were childhood commandments
My father’s admonition: please finish everything on the plate.
There were children in Europe with nothing.
What do I know of hunger?
In dreams I see old lovers, old cities,
I fall from trees and mountains,
Forget exams, speeches, names of others.
They say the starving dream of food.
What is the difference between hunger
And starvation?
A few days, a week or so?
A difference in dreams, perhaps?


Here is a video of Judith reading her poem.
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Judith R. Robinson is a poet and visual artist from Pittsburgh, Pa.

0 Comments

Poem by Michael Ratcliffe

4/12/2020

0 Comments

 
WHERE DOES THE CHILD SLEEP TONIGHT?
  
Where does the old man sleep tonight?
In his stately home on a quiet street,
away from the city’s noise,
and the stress of governing,
of calculating returns on investments,
profit margins, and collateral damage.
 
Where does the young girl sleep tonight?
In her mother’s arms in the desert night.
In the squalor of a camp or a fetid slum.
On the side of a Mexican road,
fleeing the violence that grows
from corporate greed
and trickle-down fantasies--
surplus for Empire to count
and cast aside.
 
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Michael Ratcliffe is a geographer and poet who lives and writes between Baltimore and Washington. When he is not writing poetry, he manages geographic programs and teaches population geography.

0 Comments

Poem by Nina Padolf

4/12/2020

0 Comments

 
More Than Just Food For Thought
  
Hunger has no borders, it impacts all ages in many places.
Besides many living from paycheck to paycheck
or who may have not yet to received unemployment, whatever the reason,
hunger is a reality for many.
Let’s stop dividing each other into categories.
This is not the time to argue over basic human needs.
Humanity doesn’t ask why, rather it asks us to share
and provide food without questions.

Here is the link to Nina reading her poem on Youtube: 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KcmgUT2m-Kc&feature=youtu.be
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Nina Padolf, EdD. co-edited: Nasty Women and Bad Hombres Poetry Anthology, (Lascaux Editions, 2017);Is It Hot In Here Or Is it Just Me?: Women Over Forty Write on Aging, (Social Justice Anthologies, Amazon, 2019) and poetry has appeared in various journals such as Chiron’s Review and Ekphrastic Review. She is currently working on a memoir which explores growing up adopted, overcoming difficulty in school, and the unfortunate murder of her sister. 

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Poem by Sue Budin

4/12/2020

0 Comments

 
​Rescuers
 
Rescuers on fork-lifts bring us boxes
Filled with peanut butter, tuna, rice.
 
Rescuers answer phones, say
thank you to those who bring bags
To the warehouse door.
 
Rescuers drive trucks to churches,
Safe houses, community centers,
Places where the poor are given
Food, a smile, and a promise of more.
 
Rescuers stand on cold December days
Outside of grocery stores,
Asking for donations—a can
Or a dollar, while music from a local station
Warms them with golden oldies.
 
Rescuers bring healthy snacks to children
In summer where after basketball or
Puppet-making, their sweet bellies growl.
 
We are all
rescuers and rescued.
Kindness is an antidote to fear.
Hot soup, a sandwich fills us,
Both the giver and the given
With gratitude.
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Sue Budin is a retired librarian who volunteers with Food Gatherers, a food rescue program in Ann Arbor, Michigan.  She also works with English as a Second Language students, and is a docent for children at the University of Michigan Art Museum.

0 Comments

Poem by Billye Okera

4/12/2020

0 Comments

 
FOUR WALLS CAN'T HOLD ME TONIGHT

Four Walls can’t hold me tonight
Of course, they never have:
A slab of stone hardly a salve
For lone hands reaching into trash
 For a pitiable stash of food
Enough to make it through
  Unfettered and unchained
Called out of name for just wanting
A drink, a touch, and not much else prerequisite.
 
Four walls can’t hold me tonight
My flight in air
A safer fare for folk
Anxious for a place to just lay down
And not found sullied by morning.
  And Not found blighted by morning
 By man-contrived live viruses
Eschewing the virtue of open space
Lacing homeless man
  With menace-mangled death. 
 
It is because I’m homeless
It is because I hunger
It is because my clothes hang about me
  In shreds.  And the dread you’d feel
Stepping into my shoes
Crying my blues
And losing a piece of yourself
  To call me friend.
 
Four walls can’t hold me tonight
  And won’t
As the earth decries the sight
Of me, loosely sheltered under K-Street Bridge
And you safely snuggled under coverlet
  Of your feather bed. 


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Billye Okera has been writing poetry since the age of seventeen.  Considering herself a Folk-Performance Poets, she is the author of two books The Mourners’ Bench, and The Days of Me and God.  At seventy, she has several other projects for publication within the next year.  She is the mother of three, and grandmother of eight.  She resides in Ft. Washington, MD.

0 Comments

Poem by Chantal Do

4/5/2020

1 Comment

 
To aid or not to aid: that is the question: 
Whether ‘tis better for others to suffer 
The baskets of maize from lands of foreign, 
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 
And by giving end them. To listen: to dictate; 
No more; and by dead aid to say we end 
The malnutrition, and the thousand natural shocks 
That the lands are bound to, ‘tis a consummation 
Devoutly to be evaded. To listen, to dictate; 
To listen: perchance to care: ay there's the rub; 
For in that aid, corruption arises,  
When we’ve extracted all resources, 
Must give us pause; there’s the alliance 
That grants access to exploitation;  
For who would bear the prosperity and not the graves. 

The poem is modelled on Mr. Shakespeare's famous lines form Hamlet.  
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Chantal Do is a second-year student at UC Davis majoring in International Agricultural Development (with an emphasis on Economics & Trade). Chantal hopes to make a change in the world so that less people have to suffer. 

1 Comment
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    Now more than ever

    These poems have been submitted to the call for poetry "Now more than ever" 

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  • 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 >
      • West Side Campaign Against Hunger
    • 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