Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By Hakim BellamyNo one woke up, that Saturday, mourning. / No one woke up that Saturday morning with intentions of becoming a back to school vigil. / No one woke up not expecting to finish out a sophomore year...that had barely be- // gun.
By Matt DalyEverywhere I go, people are shouting
at one another, people are shaking
their fists at one another. Everywhere
I go, I see someone knapping
an edge to a stone.
By Sherwin BitsuiFather's dying ceased
when he refunded this ours
for fused hands plaster-coated
By Camille T. DungyIs it difficult to get away from it all once you've had a child?
I am swaying in the galley — working
to appease this infant who is not
fussing but will be fussing if I don't move —
By Lauren CampThe soup cooks for an hour while vultures and buzzards pluck the market.
My father wipes his forehead with a white cloth.
Once, each day began with khubz and samoon
By Linda HoganI thank the eagle and Old Mother for this prayer
I send to earth and sky
and the sacred waters. I thank Old Mother
and the golden eagle, the two who taught me to pray
By Dominique ChristinaDominique Christina performs the poem "Mothers of Murdered Sons" at the 2016 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
By Veronica GolosHave I stepped back in time, or forward?
A graveled road, hovering flags, the sound
of waves against chunk rock -- and
voices billow into birds,
By Pamela AlexanderWe didn’t waste them. We used the trees
to build, to burn. Some jungles
got in our way, and animals, especially bears.
By Linda HoganThis is the word that is always bleeding.
You didn't think this
until you country changes and when it thunders
you search your own body