Never have I needed,
to worry about food.
I always find a nibble,
when I am in the mood.
We have turkey at Thanksgiving
and again on Christmas Day.
I give it not a second thought,
this simply is our way.
My tummy sometimes grumbles,
but I quickly find a fix.
I grab some bread and butter
and add things to the mix.
I’ve never been so hungry,
that I’d eat most anything.
I am amongst the lucky ones,
I’ve never felt the sting.
When I was just a youngster,
of the hungry I knew not.
Of people living on the street,
I gave no second thought.
When I reached my teenage years,
I saw them while downtown.
Arm stretched out and begging,
on their face the saddest frown.
That frown it would turn upright,
when a quarter I would give.
They knew that with a few more,
they’d find a place to live.
A humble place to hang their hat
and food to fill their gut.
If even for a short time,
they have escaped their rut.
Now food banks for the many,
soup kitchens left and right.
People sharing...people caring,
to relieve the hunger’s might.
I hail from North Bay, Ontario, Canada. I first started writing poems somewhat seriously shortly after Covid hit in 2020. I discovered this site when a friend of mine posted one of his poems here. His name is Don Hamaliuk.
I feel like my back is breaking
cracking like a mountain
whacked by a comet
slapped with lightning
my veins are fire
thoughts running a mile a minute
like a suicidal freight train
piloted by an AI
that can't figure out the trolley problem
that shreds all my darlings
with its wheels of progress
leaving my demons alive
being gnawed from the inside out
seeing everything I held sacred
lost, torn, broken or scattered to the wind
Jobless, homeless, penniless
starving for food, purpose and affection equally
not getting anything
staring at my empty plate, nibbling on empty promises
with broken teeth
my shattered hopes and dreams
my knife and fork
bent and broken
as useless and aimless as me…
where do I go from here
in these torn shoes and blistered feet
I hear a messiah is giving a sermon on a mountain
in a strange land
I'll close my eyes and send my ghost over
perhaps in my next life, I'll have a purpose then
and be able to feed my heart, my stomach and my soul
I just hope the earth isn't salted and barren
where my ghost takes seed
for an aimless eternity is better
than an aimless life to me.
Waqas Rabbani is a former Content Head at an advertising agency. He is a geek and loves all things techy. His work has appeared on many platforms, including New London Writers, Nation, Eye On Life Magazine, Green Ink Poetry, Clay Literary and NayaDaur.
A piece of steak,
a prostitute, the penthouse
Dystopia, polluted planet, hunger
Soylent green is people.
Feeding at its most macabre
Click to hear the poet read the poem.
I am a physician in San Diego, CA, spent my career dedicated to HIV. To bring compassion and caring, and listening into my medical practice, I am using poetry with my patients and their families. I have traveled over 60 years to 6 contients. These experiences inspire prose and poetry that I am starting to submit to publish.
young girl with a thousand names
stands in the doorways of Yemen
long skirt billows in the breeze
young girl stands in the jaws
of war and hunger
no rain but bombs fall from the sky
she clutches her headscarf
confronts the camera level-eyed
one eye steeled in the pugnacity of life
the other convulsed in horror
the roofs fall on the uncles
the walls crash onto cribs
the ground erupts in blisters
under the shrapnel sky
the young girl is our grandmothers
hands past and future clasped
together in a star-lit continuum
a long procession of endurance
loss and love
Argos MacCallum has published two chapbooks of poetry-- She Loved Gravity and Would Fall Down Exquisitely Anywhere (Synergetic Press, 1987), and Sleeping Woman Mountain (Kelsay Books, 2022). His poems have appeared in Malpais Review, :Lummox Anthology, and PoetryXHunger. He lives in Santa Fe, NM.
The poems that follow are powerful evidence that Poetry Speaks Back to Hunger!