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Atrocities Corpses pile up in Tigray as millions flee flies and hunger risking death or worse. Women carry on boney hips and backs scraps of children and home, escape the last house to house cleanse of history swept instead into Sudan’s dusty camps displaced to scratch a living fed turmoil fed atrocity purged of aid not yet culled Click on the file below to listen to the poem: 
 Elizabeth Black is a painter and poet living in Northern Virginia who exhibits and publishes her work widely. She recently retired from 40 years of nursing, many of those years working with the indigenous and subsistent farmers in developing countries. In comments about her relationship to food issues Elizabeth said, "who would guess that nursing would lead me to identify and study nutrient values of foods found the tropics or develop chicken and pig cooperatives? Food is always an issue in health care in poor and wealthy countries.”
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longing for more barebones palette salivating on stale air inhale aromatic memories before cupboards were left bare praying for a meal but a morsel is barely there silent duel with hunger's boastful stare one country wallows in gluttony yet another laments in despair if all men are created equal why is life so unfair incessant gnawing deep in the pit of my pitiful soul longing for sustenance to overflow an empty bowl mocking me, looming large, whither I go trembling hands unmask pain, my desperation grows head tucked low veiling the shame begging for food, oh God, this is insane! the Earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof starvation is a poison, the antidote is love full bellies pass by in quick paste steps failing to see my hour of woe and regret God bless the one who grows his own tilling the ground with hands of his native home villagers pledge to restore the land plant more trees united we stand hunger, a silent pandemic raging out of control millions go hungry, but who keeps tally of the toll swaddled skeletons and emaciated remains hidden 6 feet deep, the world in motion yet unchanged come stand with me, brothers and sisters, let us rise as one act to eradicate hunger until global victory is won Audio reading -- https://watch.screencastify.com/v/1o1aTqq9nu0XAE6HbD5Q  Willeena Booker is an elementary school teacher and a poet. She enjoys writing poetry that touches the heart and challenges the mind. Her work has recently been published by Moonstone Arts Center's Poetry Ink Anthology 2021, Haiku 2021 Anthology, and NonSense Verse Anthology 2021. Poet Project has featured her poem I Matter on their BIPOC poetry page and she was a finalist for the Rise Up Anthology by Oprell Magazine. She lives in Pennsylvania with her husband and 3 daughters.
The Custodians for Agnes Denes While developers mapped lower Manhattan tracts She planted a summer wheatfield amidst rubble. While accountants and bankers sharpened their pencils She planted a mountain with thousands of fir trees. While the West burns, the South floods, and the North ice melts I water a small backyard container garden. This wheat, the trees, the heirloom tomatoes, the beans -- our air, our food, our beauty, our future, our hope. Click on the file below to listen to the poem: 
 Shan Overton’s poems have been published in anthologies, including Virginia Overton: Deluxe and Voices from the Attic, Volumes XXV and XXVI, and her creative nonfiction has been published in The Porch Magazine and elsewhere. She studies creative writing with Madwomen in the Attic and has taken classes with Diane Glancy, Jan Beatty, and Lori Jakiela. In 2017, Overton won the Nashville Reads Writing Contest with an essay subsequently translated for publication in Spain. She is the Director of Pittsburgh Theological Seminary’s Center for Writing and Learning Support and the Faculty Mentor for the Doctor of Ministry program in Creative Writing and Public Theology.
Doughnut Hole She sprawled across the sidewalk disrupting customers’ comfortable stroll from the intersection to the upscale bakery. She held a sign in her lap asking for a dollar to buy some food, less than the dollar twenty-five they’d give for a basic glazed, one third what they’d spend on the crème brûlèe specialty. Patrons awkwardly assembled in a line, outside the entrance, forming around her, encircling her request, averting their eyes. She did not yield to their discomfort, kept her gaze fixed on each departing shopper eager to escape into sweet oblivion. Click on the file below to listen to the poem:
 Eileen Trauth is an author, inclusion advocate and Emeritus Professor at Pennsylvania State University. In addition to poetry, she has published several nonfiction books and an award-winning play. She lives in Cincinnati, Ohio. www.eileentrauth.com
Hunger Visited My Classroom Hunger visited my classroom every morning during my first year as a teacher. Though it feels like forever ago, I never forget his blue eyes Nor his unkempt shaggy, blond hair. He masqueraded as an eight-year-old boy Dressed each day in the same ragged, filthy Power Rangers t-shirt. The rings of dirt around his neck, And the grime hiding deep under his fingernails Were his only companions. His classmates ostracized him, As they called him Pig Pen after the character in Charlie Brown. Malnourishment attempted to hide Behind a mountain of synonyms: Thin, skinny, underweight, boney, scraggy, scrawny, beanpole - The list seems endless Like the hunger creeping continually around this boy’s belly. Hunger tried to stifle me; however, no matter how late his bus arrived, I always made sure he received his bag of breakfast Containing French toast sticks with syrup that never stayed contained As I did my temper toward his constantly sticky desk. I knew I could never defeat hunger as he grinned at me each morning, But I could put a dent in him and Make sure he knew I wasn’t going to take it easy on him. Jolly Ranchers, Life Savers, Sour Balls, and, my personal favorite, Werther’s Original Caramels filled the glass fishbowl on my desk. I never missed an opportunity to reward any positive action or answer. I called upon him at every opportunity to help with mundane tasks: Passing out papers, sweeping the floor, walking papers down the hall to the office. The smile on that boy’s face lite up my heart As he enjoyed whatever treat I gave him. On the last day of school, I gave him an entire bag of Jolly Ranchers, his personal favorites. The following year, Mrs. P, his new teacher, and I greeted Hunger As he tried to slip silently into school on a brisk September morning. I handed him an entire bag of Jolly Ranchers, and his smile nearly broke my heart. As I watched Mrs. P escort him down the hall and into her classroom, I whispered to myself, “Not today, Hunger, not today. Not on my watch.” Link to the video of the poem reading: https://share.icloud.com/photos/0ceSYieXvTc6g0__1phfV52Yw#Lake_Ridge  John L. Dutton II has over twenty years of teaching experience ranging from elementary school to high school. The last fifteen of those years he has taught language arts at the middle school level. Since 2013, John has actively been involved with two writing groups, Write by the Rails (WbtR) and the Prince William Poet Laureate Circle. He is a life member of the Virginia Writers’ Club and the Poetry Society of Virginia. In January 2015, he created Spilled Ink, an open-mic night that meets on the fourth Friday of every month to celebrate the written word.
Plant A Seed I’m hungry, said the child I have nothing, said the mother Feed them, said the Light of the World I’m hungry, said the child We have plenty, said the world We should feed you, said the light in the world I’ll plant a seed in their hearts, said the poet I’ll plant a seed in your funds, said the donor I’ll plant a seed in your ground, said the farmer And from these seeds the mighty trees of life grow Thank you, said the child Thank you, said the mother Thanks you, said the Light of the World Click on the file below to listen to the recording of the poem:
 Theresa Tull McGinnis is a retired Special Education educator in New Jersey. She writes poetry and wants to be a kind of counter-balance to the hate in the world. “If the world is getting meaner, I’m going to be nicer,” is one of her favorite things to say.
Land of Gourmet Popcorn The great Sahara is spreading south like a dry cancer, to Senegal; the wells have deep coughs, the river basins drained of crops, as herders sell their skinny goats. The TV fills with lean faces of the elders and the swollen bellies of children. Soon there will be nothing to sell or salvage but the howling of hunger. We watch the evening news, with fist fulls of flavored popcorn- glazed florescent colors of the day- tutti fruiti, cherry-papaya raspberry-lime passion fruit, fresh from the gourmet popcorn display. “What can we do, what can be done? We give to the church and to charities. Are we to fertilize the parched sands? Can we hold the desert back? Forgive us for the limits of our giving. Forgive us for not crying as you wail, forgive us, forgive us for living well, forgive our shallow hopes and prayers. After the annoying jingles for shampoo, we go on to weather and sports, our mouths occupied with popcorn, to keep those extra pounds off. Click on the file below to listen to the recording:
 Mark Fishbein (poet with Guitar) is a poet musician now living in Chicago. He has several books including the most recent “Reflections in the Time of Trumpius Maximus” (Atmosphere Press). Mark is Chancellor of PGN-Poetry Global Network’s “The Poetry Academy”, a zoom event creator (Planet Poetry 28) and hosts 2 weekly poetry workshops. As a musician, Mark often accompanies his readings with his eclectic classical guitar style. Contact through website : www.poetwithguitar.com
When the Hungry Sleep The hungry rest on tufts of pea green grass beneath a sunset sky of cherry red; evolves to berry blue as time does pass. A mashed potato moon lights nature’s bed. Some meteors streak silver through the night, appear as schools of fish in unison. The hungry gaze in awe for one last bite: Could you, could I provide much more than one? Let’s donate to some food banks, stop food waste, grow healthy food on Mother Earth to eat. Imagine plenty - food for all to taste from nature’s palette plenty – what a feat! The trees would clap when all are satisfied. Please help us spread our message far and wide! Video of the poem: https://youtu.be/yz-fOYXMuxE  Following a three-decade K-8 art teaching career, Linda blogs at https://Linda-M-Wolfe.com. She and her husband thrive in living amongst the rural, open expanses of nature in southwest Iowa, observing and listening for the lessons to be learned.
When / Photo Op When will it become innate instinct Natural reflex, impulse without variation To respond when we see others in need? When does that part of humanity’s DNA Finally say “I will do this Because it’s right Because it’s reprehensible not to?” When will age, race, region or religion No longer be deciding factors? For all the pleas on late night TV, All the bloated bellies, Skeletal shoulders and limbs So graphically portrayed Those piteous scenes Of starving children Who must, at best, Wait until photographers Capture their shots Before they can eat, The point seems To have been missed Or perhaps, it’s more One of marketing choice That starving children Standing, squatting, crying Make more evocative photos Than those of starving children Being fed. Youtube video of the poem: https://youtu.be/WNiQtolQqgM  Sistah Joy is the inaugural Poet Laureate of Prince George's County, Maryland and has served as President of the Poetry Ministry of the Ebenezer A.M.E. Church Poetry Ministry in Fort Washington, Maryland for 18 years. She is the author of 3 collections of poems, Lord I'm Dancin' As Fast As I Can; This Garden Called Life; and From Pain to Empowerment - The Fabric of My Being. She can be reached at her website, https://www.sistahjoy.com.
Spacious Heart for Shirley Ross, 1953-2020, one of the founders and long-time volunteers of the Green and Gold Community Garden It takes a spacious heart to make room for strangers. It takes god-like vision to look at a soggy field and see a garden fruitful enough to nourish their dreams. It takes a well-provisioned mind to cultivate a successful union of hands, of soil and seed, no matter the clay, the rocks earth coughs up after months of freezing, the barnyard grass, the sow thistle, no matter the beetle, the worm, the weather. It takes fearless shoulders to pick up a shovel every spring and lead the troops into the sweetest battle on earth. It takes a gentle tongue. Note about the Poem -- Green and Gold Community Garden is an unusual and heady community of women and men in Edmonton, Canada, which grows and sells produce to support Tubahumurize, in Kigali, Rwanda, a non-profit women’s organization which helps victims of violence and marginalization. Click on the file below to listen to the poem:
 Anna Mioduchowska’s poetry, poetry translations, stories, essays and book reviews have appeared in several anthologies and literary journals, and have aired on the radio. She has published two poetry collections: In-Between Season and Some Souls Do Well in Flowerpots. She lives and writes in Edmonton, Canada, and spends her free time working at the Green and Gold Community Garden.
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AboutThe poems that follow are powerful evidence that Poetry Speaks Back to Hunger! Archives
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