Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By Hieu Minh NguyenIf things happen
the way they are supposed to
my mother will die before me.
By Joseph RossWhen you walk past Klans-
men, smiling at you
on your way into the court
house, wondering how
By Rigoberto GonzálezRigoberto González performs the poem "In the Village of Missing Sons" at the 2016 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
By Marcos L. MartínezThere are immeasurable ways to count days: on the median the sunflower tracks UV streams: east to west then sleep; an acorn gets weeded out of the common area ‘til another live oak drobs a bomb then sprouts till, yanked away again;
By Jee Leong KohMy grandfather said life was better under the British.
He was a man who begrudged his words but he did say this.
I was born after the British left
an alphabet in my house, the same book they left in school.
By Rigoberto GonzálezFulgencio's silver crown--when he snores
the moon, coin of Judas, glaring
at the smaller metals we call stars
my buckle
By Charlie BondhusAt the mirror I heft
elbows, belly, cock,
say hematocrit—44.3; hemoglobin—15.2;
neutrophils—62; monocytes—5.
By Eduardo C. CorralEduardo C. Corral reads "In Colorado My Father Scoured and Stacked Dishes" at the 2014 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
