Here are a few of my own poems, written in moments of nostalgia, sadness, and anger. -Tamara Pearson A well-contained crossness she was so silencedher broken glass ragewas sandsitting as little hillsin the landscapes of her feetshe stayed a mother and wifewell after the man and children were goneunable to pronounceher needsNo one, no place,... Continue Reading →
And you kicked... Just as the applause for the NHS workers began to rise Pitter patters Accompanying the fireworks in the sky And you kicked In the middle of a global pandemic As sanctions crushed the earth which dreamt you into existence As healthcare workers battled to save lives & workers walked out factory gates,... Continue Reading →
The following three poems are hard and liberating. Read them out loud and with one fist clenched. Laura Passin is a writer and scholar specialising in contemporary US poetry and gender studies. I am not old - by Samantha Reynolds I am not old, she said I am rare I am the standing ovation at... Continue Reading →
Farrah Akbik is a British-Syrian poet based in London who writes to raise awareness of the hardships Syria and Syrian refugees are going through. Al Sham (*another name for Damascus) I want to lay my head in the lap of Ghouta, Dull my senses with pomegranate wine. Drift like Ophelia down the river Barada, Lose... Continue Reading →
Like cream in guitars Like jealousy stains Like the things that calm down hurricanes Like impotent roses Like wrinkles in the sun and goosebumps on the moon Like dreaming elephants and crying tigers Like trains without rails Like bottled meat and smurfed love Like the sound of him painting colourful skeletons Like the colour of... Continue Reading →
Miguel M. Morales grew up in Texas, in the US. He worked there as a child laborer and migrant or seasonal farmworker. He wrote this poem - by a migrant, about migrants. This Is a Migrant Poem This is a migrant poem a farmworking poem, a poem that covers itself in long sleeves to avoid... Continue Reading →
This poem, originally posted on RedWedge, is a creative, cutting look at US Black confidence and desire amidst struggle by Crystal Stella Becerril i. black on black on Black on Timbs; an interruption – no, an intervention. a reminder to the Columbus-ing ass fuckboys (and girls) that they still here. reminder to the survivors, the... Continue Reading →
I dreamt I saw an eye, a pretty eye, In your hands, Glittering, wet and sickening; Like a dull onyx set in a crown of thorns, I did not know you were dead when you dropped it in my lap. what horrors of human sacrifice Have you seen, executioner? What agonies of tortured men Who... Continue Reading →
There's something super intimate - politically intimate- about watching people speak their own poems, seeing the face and feelings that go with the piece of soul and struggle contained in the words. Beck Cooper - Alone in a Bathroom Vernell Bristow - Kalgo Tree Jenesis Fonseca - "The Way to a Woman's Heart"
I am sorry this world could not keep you safe..
Past sick sadistic tyrants made each victim dig their grave, Mowed them down without mercy, in wave after wave. But now heat is the trigger set for the many by the few Will you be ready when the climate comes for you? In Karachi they’ll be ready when the tide of death rolls in When... Continue Reading →
Some Palestinians take grenades and use them as flower pots or for seedlings. Sudanese torture survivors have become councilors for other survivors. How do we recover from suffering? We name it and transform it into its opposite: We fill the craters left by the bombs And once again we sing And once again we sow... Continue Reading →
So while the petty EU squabbles over how many thousands of refugees each country will take, millions in Syria have been killed, internally displaced, and forced to flee their homeland and lives - with no small thanks to US spurring on civil war there for its own selfish reasons. Because poems are humanising, below are... Continue Reading →
death becomes exciting tolls, pictures, videos tweeting carnage instagramming collapse hearts racing to break 24-hour entertainment every glimpse, splinter and particle of pain jammed into torsos and cheekbones loved ones want to sit for a minute and cry quietly no words, no poetry before Internet and dialed-up emotions before black and white ideologies before a... Continue Reading →