Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By Tala KhanmalekOn a table in the corner of Lollipop Shoppe, I face the crowd and dance. I look toward a circle of new friends by the bar. Most of us just met six days ago yet we share, I think, the sole familiar between strangers: brutality. I listen with my hands. Arms overhead, conjuring.
By GoldenAs in homonym,
humming with the cedars,
spitting spring
to claim a stasis, a season.
By JoAnn BalingitThere’s no usurping her pain
now the baby’s head is crowning
mom mom mom mom mom
no panting I say
take deep breaths through your nose
By Ajanaé Dawkinswhat is it ‘bout the river that makes even spirits sing? we hear a laugh & don’t know if its ours or our momma’s; our sister’s or otherworld kin. what current of possibilities. we could splash, laugh, water-dance. hell, we could baptize somebody. wash the wet of us they said would stay dirty our whole lives.
By Malcolm FriendWe work.
We are sometimes on time.
We are sometimes late.
We are sometimes
coming up with the excuses
for why we can’t make it
even as we know we have to.
Some of us are trying to be American
and some of us are trying to be boricua
and some of us are trying.
By Taylor Alyson Lewisthere once was an island love or magic resurrected
where they could go to rest and look at
each other plainly and hold one another’s
hands and play music in their cars so that
the bass reverberated through the mountains
and down into the ocean and live.
By Dorsía Smith SilvaSurvival occupies us with our blank shopping carts
next to blank shelves. We grow desperate because spaces
are blank. A hurricane that leaves a bitter taste
as stores carry bare wrappers and blank sympathy.
By Jalynn HarrisAt the entrance, six copper pillars stand tall as a wave
as once did six-fingered Lucille. She lived here, too–
The light alone enough to fill the lake. I walk the park
because I’m weak. All flesh and fur needing
to get out my bark. My rough squeeze of please please
A red bird. Another mile. My feet eat the concrete.
By Tanaya Winderi.
we've entered a New World
Order on words, days
of economic deprivation
where only one percent thrives.
time is dictated by greediness
and fear, days when books
are banned by the belief
consumed.
By Jasmine Reidi spread at my touch & clit
contemplating my beauty this Monday i live
the pleasure of my fingers
how i am in-the-making by hand
by pill by needle i am the perfect girl
professor, in fact, Chemical X is my love
in gradients of acidity i am
milkless except by oats, by meal made of itself