(U.S. Election 2020: Night 3).
by Nic Masangkay
When I had dating apps (when I used to date),
I considered including in my profiles that I hate roller coasters.
I thought “true love” was powered by the
Gut-tickling high-speed swoops from high to low.
Now, I’m more interested in the in-between momentum.
Continue reading POETRY: I am learning to let love be boring
by Valentina Warner
Terrifying drought, fires, and suffocating smoke.
I could feel it, a deep knowing in my bones, that our number was up next.
Then the rain came.
Continue reading Poetry: It Rained
by Art Gomez and Melanie Reed
Nowhere to go but another hole,
another alley, another pole,
another spread, another pitch,
just more dirty sons a bitch
caught in a sweep to push us out
some show sympathy, some sow doubt.
Exterminate this Shantytown,
lives dismantled, tents torn down,
ground impounded, trash swept clean
it’s as if we’ve never been.
We’re so easy to revile,
the Jungle is our domicile.
No Favala, no Hooverville.
Home is where
the heart beats still.
Continue reading POETRY: (S)Weep Us
by Nakeya Isabell
Many people talk about the struggle
But I wonder if they know the story of pain
How our ancestors journeyed through the terror and the rain
See Harriet Tubman said she freed a thousands slaves
But could have freed a 1,000 more if only they knew they were slaves………
See, If we knew we were trained to be modern-day slaves, would we really choose to live?
What would happen if we acknowledged our reality and made steps towards change?
If we as people could recognize our identity, with a propensity to embrace our strengths, we could change this world
Continue reading POETRY: FREE
by Beverly Aarons
Does this poem bring you joy? Does it move through and speak to your body? Does it make you think and feel something deeply? Arianne True, a Choctaw and Chickasaw Nations poet and experiential educator, has important questions for all poets, both young and old, but especially for the middle-school students at Hugo House’s Scribes summer writing camp. How can the experience of poetry shape how you see yourself and history?
Continue reading Does This Poem Bring You Joy? A Conversation With Arianne True
by Cecilia Erin Walsh
daily burials without memorial. selective testing.
Continue reading POETRY: The streets are crying.
arrogance and stupidity passing for leadership.
seclusion. isolation. hunger. masks on every face.
furtive movements across the city. essential travel only.
certain scarcity. overcrowded hospitals.
layoffs. domestic violence and suicide rise.
mental health crisis phone lines ring incessantly.
by Matt Aspin
We’ve always worn masks to survive. Now they’re just more visible.
They cover so much but they hide so little.
Since we can’t seem to look past our differences …
What if we just extend our masks of cover?
Instead of my mouth, why not cover my eyes? And my hair? And my skin?
Continue reading POETRY: Masks
by Kayla Blau
There is nothing powerful about trespassing for 400-odd years
But here we are,
Writing words on mistreated trees and calling them true
Tagging broad stripes and bright stars on purloined fabric
Directing lives, fancying ourselves unsung heroes,
Bruised egos and bellies full of shame.
There is nothing brave here.
Include in us our pasts –
Which of course, include your pasts too,
All of them lined up like precarious dominoes
Leading you right here,
Leading me right here,
Leading us to believe whatever truths we can stomach
To absolve ourselves of the truest truth –
“Es completamente injusto,”
The mother told me.
Continue reading POETRY: Power
by Neve Kamilah Mazique-Bianco
I never played violin
but I did feel the bow run over my strings.
Plucked from the air, gravity claimed me
for the earth. Now
whenever the music plays,
my veins light up.
My nerves dance.
My chest sprouts wings.
Celestial, though I’m feared.
viruses have always been clever,
transmittable, and people do get cleverer
with time sure but what about the people
we lose right now. I don’t know what to do
with my body. I’m writing. I’m riding this wave
Continue reading POETRY: Persephonic Poetry Numbers 3, 8 and 16