World Food Day Poetry Competition Winners Express Powerful Views on Zero Hunger
16/10/2019 WASHINGTON, DC – From the UNFAO North America Office announcement:
"The FAO North America Office and Poetry X Hunger are proud to announce the winners of the 2019 World Food Day Poetry Competition. Taking center stage as the first-place winner is “The Fruits of Famine” by Henry Crawford of Montgomery County, MD. Receiving the second-place award is “A Child’s Prayer in Today’s World” by Sharon Ingram (Prince George’s County, MD). “Over-Abundance,” by Anne Harding Woodworth from Washington, DC won third prize. The winners will be recognized at a special World Food Day gathering on Capitol on October 22."
Check out the memories from the event: https://twitter.com/i/moments/1187127288674050049
The 2019 World Food Day Poetry Competition Winners after they received their awards at the October 22, 2019 World Food Day Gathering in the Russell Senate Office Building in Washington, DC (from left to right):
Anne Harding Woodworth (3rd place), Henry Crawford (1st place), Sharon Ingram (2nd place)
First Place: The Fruits of Famine by Henry Crawford
On those nights we traced
the shapes of fruit until the dark
became our eyes.
On those nights we left our fields
unhearing the crack of broken roots,
the silence of dying ground.
On those nights, twilight filled the deserts
of our crossing with the vermillion breath
of watermelon.
On those nights, the stars seeded the skies
above the camp. Jackfruit guards
stood still as celery stalks.
On those nights we dreamed like you
of strawberry days on porcelain plates.
On those nights I made an apple out of sand
and watched it blow away.
Link to the video where Henry is reading his poem: https://youtu.be/Sd1InI8guzM
Henry Crawford
Henry Crawford is a poet living and writing in the Washington, DC area. His work has appeared in several journals and online publications including Boulevard, Copper Nickel, Folio, Borderline Press and The Offbeat. His first collection of poetry, American Software, was released in May of 2017 by WordTech Communications through its imprint, CW Books. http://henrycrawfordpoetry.com/
Second Place: Sharon Ingram
A Child’s Prayer in Today’s World
(Prayer 1)
by Sharon Ingram (Prince George’s County)
Dear God, Jesus Christ and the (Friendly) Ghost, I like the most!
Please make my Mom heal, she can’t get up to fix breakfast anymore
And sometimes we find her sick or sleep on the floor
Because she’s sick; and our stamps gone – til next month, she say,
I’m scared to cook again; cause, I got burned with hot water when (when)
I tried to fix Oodles of Noodles for me and my brother Malcolm!
God my arm and hand still hurt and at school kids call me “Crispy”!
But my Mom said I can “grow up and be a Plastic Doctor and fix it myself!
God, my Mom not home when we get out of school, I try to get food
Clean up and read to Malcolm – but my stomach hurts and makes loud Noises;
I just cry and go to bed! I hope she brings us some food or stamps so I can go to the store,
Again, and get some cereal, milk, peanut butter, jelly, applesauce, hotdogs, potato fries,
Donuts and pop tarts -- cause I’m smart!
God heal my Mom so she can take care of us like long, long, time ago! She fixed breakfast, Walked us to school, home, fixed dinner, and helped with homework. We had clothes then, Now; no!
God, my Mom says when my Dad gets out of jail things will be fine and all good;
Until then she can’t take no more and every day she got her backwoods --
Smoking, drinking and feeling fine! God can she feel fine and be sick on the floor,
Cry and Sleep all day?
My Mom used to read the bible to us about God, Jesus Christ and the (Friendly) Ghost,
I like the most; she don’t’ no more though; she say “I ain’t got time for that, get away;
Shut up and sit down”!
God, let my Dad out of jail so we can be fine and heal my Mom to take care of us before the School’s people take us away my Mom say!
Thank you God! Can you send us some food from da sky or on High; so Malcolm
Can get strong?
Hurry, PLEASE, please; Please, Amen!
Here's a video of Sharon Ingram reading another powerful poem, "My Hunger Plea: Please Don't Posthumously Poster Child Me": https://youtu.be/nq2jr5VzEIM
(Prayer 1)
by Sharon Ingram (Prince George’s County)
Dear God, Jesus Christ and the (Friendly) Ghost, I like the most!
Please make my Mom heal, she can’t get up to fix breakfast anymore
And sometimes we find her sick or sleep on the floor
Because she’s sick; and our stamps gone – til next month, she say,
I’m scared to cook again; cause, I got burned with hot water when (when)
I tried to fix Oodles of Noodles for me and my brother Malcolm!
God my arm and hand still hurt and at school kids call me “Crispy”!
But my Mom said I can “grow up and be a Plastic Doctor and fix it myself!
God, my Mom not home when we get out of school, I try to get food
Clean up and read to Malcolm – but my stomach hurts and makes loud Noises;
I just cry and go to bed! I hope she brings us some food or stamps so I can go to the store,
Again, and get some cereal, milk, peanut butter, jelly, applesauce, hotdogs, potato fries,
Donuts and pop tarts -- cause I’m smart!
God heal my Mom so she can take care of us like long, long, time ago! She fixed breakfast, Walked us to school, home, fixed dinner, and helped with homework. We had clothes then, Now; no!
God, my Mom says when my Dad gets out of jail things will be fine and all good;
Until then she can’t take no more and every day she got her backwoods --
Smoking, drinking and feeling fine! God can she feel fine and be sick on the floor,
Cry and Sleep all day?
My Mom used to read the bible to us about God, Jesus Christ and the (Friendly) Ghost,
I like the most; she don’t’ no more though; she say “I ain’t got time for that, get away;
Shut up and sit down”!
God, let my Dad out of jail so we can be fine and heal my Mom to take care of us before the School’s people take us away my Mom say!
Thank you God! Can you send us some food from da sky or on High; so Malcolm
Can get strong?
Hurry, PLEASE, please; Please, Amen!
Here's a video of Sharon Ingram reading another powerful poem, "My Hunger Plea: Please Don't Posthumously Poster Child Me": https://youtu.be/nq2jr5VzEIM
Sharon Ingram
Sharon Y. Ingram (Sistah Fire) is a native Washingtonian and has been writing poetry for 30+ years. She's a poet, playwright, event facilitator as well as a member of the Anointed Poets Empowered to Nurture Souls (P.E.N.S.) Poetry Ministry of Ebenezer A.M.E. Church.
Sharon Y. Ingram (Sistah Fire) is a native Washingtonian and has been writing poetry for 30+ years. She's a poet, playwright, event facilitator as well as a member of the Anointed Poets Empowered to Nurture Souls (P.E.N.S.) Poetry Ministry of Ebenezer A.M.E. Church.
Third Place: Over-Abundance by Anne Harding Woodworth
remembering the woman who said, “I’ve been on a few diets
because I can’t get enough to eat on just one.”
They can’t stop themselves.
Daily they take twice as much
as what will do them. And they go global--
India, Italy, China, Greece, Uganda, France,
and myriad other cuisines.
(Burmese villagers asked them,
“What do you eat that’s made you so big?”)
It was never rice and a few leaves.
No, not for them. They don’t remember
subsistence. They need more than
twice as much, thrice maybe,
and they talk of food as if it’s
a designer dress, a private jet. Food
is a swimming pool. Food is a country club,
a diamond ring, sparkly humor
laughter at all the wrong things.
Food is arranged, photographed,
the image shared with the famished world.
They can’t stop themselves.
because I can’t get enough to eat on just one.”
They can’t stop themselves.
Daily they take twice as much
as what will do them. And they go global--
India, Italy, China, Greece, Uganda, France,
and myriad other cuisines.
(Burmese villagers asked them,
“What do you eat that’s made you so big?”)
It was never rice and a few leaves.
No, not for them. They don’t remember
subsistence. They need more than
twice as much, thrice maybe,
and they talk of food as if it’s
a designer dress, a private jet. Food
is a swimming pool. Food is a country club,
a diamond ring, sparkly humor
laughter at all the wrong things.
Food is arranged, photographed,
the image shared with the famished world.
They can’t stop themselves.
Anne Harding Woodworth
Anne Harding Woodworth is the author of six books of poetry and four chapbooks. Her seventh book will appear in late 2020. Her work is widely published at home and abroad, in print and on line. She is a member of the Poetry Board at the Folger Shakespeare Library and of the Board of Governors at the Emily Dickinson Museum.
Anne Harding Woodworth is the author of six books of poetry and four chapbooks. Her seventh book will appear in late 2020. Her work is widely published at home and abroad, in print and on line. She is a member of the Poetry Board at the Folger Shakespeare Library and of the Board of Governors at the Emily Dickinson Museum.
Emile Bryant (Fairfax County, VA), Sally Zakariya (Arlington County, VA), Mike Ratcliffe (Howard County, MD) and Susan Okie (Montgomery County, MD) each received an Honorable Mention in the 2019 World Food Day Poetry Competition. Here are their winning poems...
Fundamentals by Emille Bryant
Air.
Soil.
Skies.
Food.
Love.
Water.
Energy.
Clothes.
All clean. All good, for all.
How do we get there?
We leap. Together.
Into the unknown.
All clean. All good, for all.
Community.
Expression.
Education.
Family.
Safety.
Work.
Play.
Life.
From the mind and heart of Emille Bryant
Air.
Soil.
Skies.
Food.
Love.
Water.
Energy.
Clothes.
All clean. All good, for all.
How do we get there?
We leap. Together.
Into the unknown.
All clean. All good, for all.
Community.
Expression.
Education.
Family.
Safety.
Work.
Play.
Life.
From the mind and heart of Emille Bryant
Emille Bryant is a multi-talented creator, author and speaker. He lives with his feet planted on terra firma but with his head in the wisps of imagination. Daily, he looks for ways to help others, in business and in life. Based in the Washington, DC area, he loves good music, good writing and good food, not always in that order. You can find him most days thinking big thoughts.
Shelter Supper by Sally Zakaria
Afterwards I thought I should
have taken more pains –
my chili was a slapdash affair
ground beef, spices, beans
and, yes, tomatoes cooked quickly
in my biggest pan
Another church lady made sandwiches
thin pairings of pale bologna
with bread bought cheap
at the bakery outlet
There were apples and bananas
and day-old cupcakes
but I don’t recall a salad
What I recall was
yes please ma’am
thank you kindly ma’am
when really what did I do
what did I do but the least
I could do when my turn came round
Afterwards I thought I should
have taken more pains –
my chili was a slapdash affair
ground beef, spices, beans
and, yes, tomatoes cooked quickly
in my biggest pan
Another church lady made sandwiches
thin pairings of pale bologna
with bread bought cheap
at the bakery outlet
There were apples and bananas
and day-old cupcakes
but I don’t recall a salad
What I recall was
yes please ma’am
thank you kindly ma’am
when really what did I do
what did I do but the least
I could do when my turn came round
Sally Zakariya’s poetry has appeared in some 75 print and online journals and been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Her most recent publication is Muslim Wife (Blue Lyra Press, 2019). She is also the author of The Unknowable Mystery of Other People, Personal Astronomy, When You Escape, Insectomania, and Arithmetic and other verses, as well as the editor of a poetry anthology, Joys of the Table. Zakariya blogs at www.butdoesitrhyme.com.
We Grow the Revolution by Mike Ratcliffe
The revolution grows
in the empty lots
and reclaimed spaces
where we plant the seeds
of neighborhoods sustained,
independence sown
in rows of beans and squash,
collards and corn,
in soil nurtured and worked
by our own hands,
freed from corporate ag
and capital that alienates
us from the land,
sustenance measured
in profits and futures.
In small patches and raised beds,
in communal gardens--
wherever anyone turns the soil
and plants a seed--
the revolution grows.
The revolution grows.
The revolution grows
in the empty lots
and reclaimed spaces
where we plant the seeds
of neighborhoods sustained,
independence sown
in rows of beans and squash,
collards and corn,
in soil nurtured and worked
by our own hands,
freed from corporate ag
and capital that alienates
us from the land,
sustenance measured
in profits and futures.
In small patches and raised beds,
in communal gardens--
wherever anyone turns the soil
and plants a seed--
the revolution grows.
The revolution grows.
Michael Ratcliffe is a geographer and poet who lives in North Laurel, Maryland, where he also
tends a backyard garden in which he grows beans, squash, okra, lettuce, kale, tomatoes, and
grapes. His poetry has appeared in a variety of print and on-line journals, and can be found at
michaelratcliffespoetry.wordpress.com.
tends a backyard garden in which he grows beans, squash, okra, lettuce, kale, tomatoes, and
grapes. His poetry has appeared in a variety of print and on-line journals, and can be found at
michaelratcliffespoetry.wordpress.com.
Hunger Mind by Susan Okie
In western Kenya, the mangos swell like green bombs.
They turn sunset colors, drop from the branch into your hand.
On your tongue, the flesh liquefies to nectar.
But to the north, the land dries, turns to dust, blows away.
The desert eats farms, shrubs, grass, expands its empire.
The rains fail, the corn leaves wither, no kernels form
on stunted cobs. Cows and people die.
Sayeed has never tasted a mango. He knows the sweetness
of orange Fanta soda, or the red, hard candy he’d get
from a shop in his village, before shop and village, disappeared.
He dreams of soup with rich globs of fat,
pieces of tender goat meat.
In the camp, he eats corn porridge thinned with water,
one small bowl morning and night. At first,
his stomach refused it. His skin hung from his bones.
They fed him peanut paste with vitamins.
His tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth.
He’s stronger now. All day, his mouth waters
as he thinks about the next meal. Tonight,
will there be a little meat?
He’d like to drink an orange Fanta again.
In western Kenya, the mangos swell like green bombs.
They turn sunset colors, drop from the branch into your hand.
On your tongue, the flesh liquefies to nectar.
But to the north, the land dries, turns to dust, blows away.
The desert eats farms, shrubs, grass, expands its empire.
The rains fail, the corn leaves wither, no kernels form
on stunted cobs. Cows and people die.
Sayeed has never tasted a mango. He knows the sweetness
of orange Fanta soda, or the red, hard candy he’d get
from a shop in his village, before shop and village, disappeared.
He dreams of soup with rich globs of fat,
pieces of tender goat meat.
In the camp, he eats corn porridge thinned with water,
one small bowl morning and night. At first,
his stomach refused it. His skin hung from his bones.
They fed him peanut paste with vitamins.
His tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth.
He’s stronger now. All day, his mouth waters
as he thinks about the next meal. Tonight,
will there be a little meat?
He’d like to drink an orange Fanta again.
Susan Okie is a doctor, a poet and a former Washington Post medical reporter who
lives in Bethesda, Md. Her poems have appeared in numerous literary journals, and her
poetry chapbook, Let You Fly, was published by Finishing Line Press in 2018. Her
family lived in Kisumu, Kenya, for three years during the early 1990s.
lives in Bethesda, Md. Her poems have appeared in numerous literary journals, and her
poetry chapbook, Let You Fly, was published by Finishing Line Press in 2018. Her
family lived in Kisumu, Kenya, for three years during the early 1990s.