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Showing posts with label youth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label youth. Show all posts

Saturday, March 08, 2025

DOES IT UPSET YOU?

by Mariam Saidan

After Audre Lorde’s “A Woman Speaks”



 
I have been woman
for a long time
youth was fragile
scary at times
most of the times
nonadjustable to 
the shape I was becoming.
Misunderstood I was.
Out of mind, troubled
when I didn’t quite like 
the safety of home, 
control or harassment. 
I died many deaths  
each time returning
with a new survivor in me.
Fear no longer suited me. 
I’ve grown into a 
thousand-year-old tree.
They cut a branch,
take a leaf,
it grows back.
It always grows back.
Try and take the sun out
of day. 
There are birds living in me,
one always sings,
and a fox curled up on the shed
just a stone’s throw away in 
my garden, looks at me.

Under my living room where 
I keep vases in different shapes 
and colours, painted and 
filled with wildflowers, 
there’s a cellar
and below that,
an ocean,
pounding.
With every tide 
I become water.
Offending waves.
Dramatic drops.
Vast freedom.
Bewildering imagination.
There’s no end to this thirst.

I’m not scared of pain,
it makes things interesting.
My eyes sometimes
look into yours,
but no, not asking to be
touched.
I’m here
to live this life
like no one but
the woman I have
become. 
I’m not ashamed to
drown in this sea.


Mariam Saidan is a Specialist Advocate for Women’s Rights and has worked as a Children’s Rights Advocate, studied Human Rights Law at Nottingham University (LLM) and Creative Writing at Kent University. She is Iranian, based in London, and has lived in Iran, France, and the UK. She wrote her first journal at 8 years old while living through the Iran-Iraq war.

Wednesday, October 23, 2024

THE VOICE OF ONE CRYING IN THE WILDERNESS

by Steven Kent


The Guardian, October 19, 2024


In Missouri, one Christian speaks truth

On behalf of some transgendered youth.

A preacher for parity

Out there's quite a rarity;

Elect this good woman, forsooth!



Steven Kent is the poetic alter ego of writer and musician Kent Burnside. His work appears in 251, Asses of Parnassus, Light Poetry Magazine, Lighten Up Online, New Verse News, The Orchards Poetry Journal, Philosophy Now, Pulsebeat Poetry Journal, The Road Not Taken: A Journal of Formal Poetry, Snakeskin, and Well Read. His collection I Tried (And Other Poems, Too) was published in 2023 by Kelsay Books.

Thursday, August 08, 2024

WE THE PEOPLE

 by Anayo Dioha



“Why are Nigerians protesting? Young people were roused by events in Kenya.” —The Guardian, August 3, 2024


You and your peeps pillage the purse of the people;
State proceeds hang beyond the reach of the people.
 
Passing frivolous bills, paying frivolous bills;
A despot’s impunity in full glare of the people.
 
Yesterday, presidential yacht. Today, presidential jet.
What frivolity awaits tomorrow? ponder the people.
 
A new SUV to distinguish a senator. A new 
Minimum wage? Uncalled for; can’t pay the people!
 
In this theatre of independence, the noose of nostalgia
Dares favour the colonist’s over the anthem of the people!
 
And now the streets rage with chants of hunger,
Tell, who can quell the anger of the people.
 
Certainly not those traditional stools that have stood
As stooges. Not those episcopal enemies of the people.
 
Why buy the institutions and become a monopolist
When you could buy hearts and be a man of the people?
 
On where lays your heart, Lord? Where else 
Do your feet stand but on the ground of the people?


Anayo Dioha is a Nigerian and has been previously published in the The New Verse News among other online and print literary journals.

Saturday, July 13, 2024

JULY OF ELECTION YEAR 2024

by Tarn Wilson




This year, if I keep my pace, 

I’ll read over 100 books.

I don’t know if this is a victory 

or a sad state of affairs.

I don’t know if I am in love 

with the world or addicted 

to distraction. Preachers and 

politicians used to call novels 

filthy and frivolous, wanted

us to read only stripped facts 

and sermons on virtue. Now, 


we’re pleased if children read

at all. Everywhere you look

screens hold miniature stories, 

trapdoors and tunnels toward 


truth and illusion. Last week, 

I asked a 24-year-old which 

candidate will win the youth 

vote for president. Biden is 

ridiculous, she explains: all

those gaffes-turned-memes.

Trump, she decides. He’s funnier.

 Funny? I ask. He has wittier 

insults. He says what we all wish 


we could say. Democrats are 

schoolmarms, then? I ask. 

Mothers who make you feel 

ashamed? What about the danger 

to our democracy? Low wages /

high rentsIt’s all the same to us. 


We need more facts and tracts 

on virtues. We need novels, too,

about civil wars and WWII, 

about loss and love and grief 

and trees, anything to help us 

feel, in our bones, what it is 

we have to lose. Actually, she says, 

face lighting, RFK is trending 

on TikTok. His policies are crazy,

I say. He’s doing pull ups, she says. 

He looks strong. People like that.



Tarn Wilson is the author of the memoir The Slow Farm, the memoir-in-essays In Praise of Inadequate Gifts (winner of the Wandering Aengus Book Award), and the craft book: 5-Minute Daily Writing Prompts: 501 Prompts to Unleash Your Creativity and Inspire You to Write. Her essays and poetry have appeared in numerous literary journals, including BrevityHarvard Divinity BulletinRiver TeethRuminateSweet, and The Sun

Sunday, May 14, 2023

OLD MAN IN THE BUNKER

by Robert Darken


Five-year-old Vladimir Putin with his mother, Maria, in July 1958.



You too were once a child.

Learned to lace boots, the rabbit round the tree.

Slung school books in a sack, 

crunched snow underfoot along the river,  

the Neva black enough to swallow dawn.

Rain dripped from the larches.  


There was only you–

your brothers ghosts before you were born.

One died under siege,

a casualty of co-conspirators:

Nazis, starvation, diphtheria.


You learned German, loved the clarity of Marx.

When the many act as one, they are an unstoppable engine.

Be sure to bury dissenters.

The bond of unity is their blood. 

Your grandfather knew who to serve:  

in the scullery, spiraling skin

from potatoes, simmering Stalin’s own soup.  


And now there is you: eyes lidded like hangman’s hoods, 

a smile like razor wire. Fingers that drum 

commands to missiles and men.

There: another apartment block, its insides clawed open.

There: the wet pavement, the body of a mother 

in her bright kerchief,

Beside her the body of a child, 

rain falling on its open hand.



Originally from the Midwest, Robert Darken now resides in Connecticut, where he teaches high-school English. His poems have appeared in One Art, The Orchards, and Red Eft Review.

Friday, February 17, 2023

ARKABUTLA, MISSISSIPPI WITHIN HOURS OF THE SHOOTING ON FEBRUARY 17

by Tricia Knoll


Law enforcement personnel work at the scene of a shooting, Friday, Feb. 17, 2023, in Arkabutla, Miss. Six people were fatally shot Friday in the small town in rural Mississippi near the Tennessee state line, and authorities said they had taken a suspect into custody. —CNN, February 17, 2023


Small town. 300 people.

Unincorporated. 

Six dead in a shooting

around noon. 

Not many details now.

Man with gun 

pulls into driveways.

Shoots six dead.  

Sheriff: we have arrested

the guy who did it. 

No known motive. 

 

On February 24-25

youth age 10 – 15

are invited to join

a night time guided

raccoon hunt 

over uneven 

terrain which will

observe all age-appropriate

hunting regulations. 

Must be accompanied

by an adult. 



Tricia Knoll is a Vermont poet who understands no town is too small to endure gun violence. Her own hometown experienced a mass shooting within the last six months. She recently learned it may require shooting six squirrels to make a meal.

Monday, April 12, 2021

TO THE REPUBLICAN LEGISLATORS OF ARKANSAS

by Pepper Trail





Trying to appeal to your humanity after the actions you have taken, the words you have said, seems as futile an exercise as can be imagined, but still I would like to gather you in a room, let us say the sanctuary of a church, as I am sure you all consider yourselves Good Christians, and introduce you to my son and make you listen as he tells you how going through transition as a teenager saved his life, and have me tell you, no, it was not easy as a parent to understand and to know how best to help and how many talks we had and the tears that we shed and the love that was always in the room and the help and compassion that the doctors gave and what a delicate delicate thing is the soul of a young person going through such an experience and to say

How Dare You

impose your complete ignorance, your unknowing fear, your pathetic insecurity, your contemptible political calculations on these young people, the most vulnerable among us, and to tell you so that you cannot pretend not to know, that your law which makes compassion illegal, which outlaws informed medical care, will without doubt condemn transgender kids to death, will without doubt inflame hate and abuse of these gentle souls who harm no one, who are only seeking to heal themselves, to become whole, which is something that you, as long as you are disfigured by fear, ignorance, and merciless cruelty, can never be.


Pepper Trail is a poet and naturalist based in Ashland, Oregon. His poetry has appeared in Rattle, Atlanta Review, Spillway, Kyoto Journal, Cascadia Review, and other publications, and has been nominated for Pushcart and Best of the Net awards. His collection Cascade-Siskiyou was a finalist for the 2016 Oregon Book Award in Poetry.

Saturday, January 16, 2021

PEOPLE LIKE US AND THE DAY YOU WERE BORN

by John Hodgen




Heading in to the Quickie Mart I can tell right away something’s wrong, 

the kid behind the counter with the plexi-glass wrap-around going at it  

with a customer, giving him a piece of her mind, or more. I think perhaps  

she caught him stealing, or worse, but he’s a business guy, gray suit, gray tie,  

and when I open the door it’s not anger at all, it’s passion I’m hearing,   

passion in a Quickie Mart. She’s just a kid, early 20’s or so, hair pulled back,  

masked, oversized glasses fogged up. She’s saying, …when even we can see  

what’s going on, us average people, people like us, then you know something’s wrong.  

And the man doesn’t speak, just nods and turns away, goes past me  

like a broken ghost, back to the world again. And I turn to her in this  

tiny temple where we all come and go for milk and tickets and cigarettes  

and gas, and ask her what it is that all of us should know, all us average people  

who gas and gulp and come and go. She says, …the Capitol, what those people did. 

And I tell her I agree, it’s a sacred place, that they call it the People’s House, 

that Lincoln ended slavery there with the 13th Amendment in the Capitol,  

that when you’re actually there it feels more like a church. And then I can’t stop.  

I tell her it’s good what you did, speaking up like that. I tell her Siddhartha  

says your birthday isn’t really the day that you’re born. It’s the first time  

you stand up to your parents, to anyone with power over you, and tell them  

the truth. That’s the day when you’re truly born, when you first come alive.  

I want to say she was smiling, gleaming like a newborn held up to the light,  

but she was wearing a mask. I gave her a twenty for pump number five. 



John Hodgen, Writer-in-Residence at Assumption University, won the AWP Prize for Grace (University of Pittsburgh Press). His new book is The Lord of Everywhere (Lynx House/University of Washington Press).

Wednesday, September 23, 2020

THE CREW

by Mark Danowsky




Never enough love
for friends of our youth

some of whom get left behind

or so it feels

Hearing one of us went down
unnatural, too soon

I don’t know what to tell myself  

with each fresh loss
I turn a little more inward  

not ambiguous

layer on layer 

What is it we all wanted for each other back then? 
Glory? Fame? No―

togetherness


Mark Danowsky is a Philadelphia poet, author of the poetry collection As Falls Trees (NightBallet Press), Managing Editor of the Schuylkill Valley Journal, and Editor of ONE ART poetry journal.

Thursday, February 27, 2020

THE IMMIGRANT BOY'S LAMENT

“President Donald T***p wants America to know that his plans to remove government officials deemed insufficiently loyal to him is actually for the country’s own good.” 
Talking Points Memo, February 25, 2020


Photograph by Oleg Ver.



George Salamon entered the USA as a 13-year-old immigrant in 1948, after a decade as a refugee from Austria in Switzerland during World War Two. The first play he saw, in early 1949, was Tennessee Williams's A Streetcar Named Desire.

Monday, January 02, 2017

CHICAGO, OUR KIND OF TOWN

by George Salamon




Two girls, 13 and 14, were shot on the South Side as a violent Christmas weekend came to a close during one of the most violent years in Chicago in decades. A total of 61 people were shot in the city during the holiday weekend, according to data kept by the Tribune.. Seven were killed on Christmas Day alone.   "A Violent Christmas in a Violent Year for Chicago: 11 killed, 50 wounded," Chicago Tribune, December 27, 2016


Chicago, once celebrated by the poet
As the Hog Butcher for America,
Proudly singing to be alive,
You have become
The People Butcher of America,
Killing the brawling laughter of youth.
Why has America abandoned the fight
To keep old Chicago's spirit alive?

That spirit and everything else can go to hell
As long as Wall Street is doing well.
People? Who cares if they survive
As long as corporations thrive.
America, when you wake in the middle of the night
And an inner voice calls your name,
Have you no sense of shame?

George Salamon lives and writes in St. Louis, MO, which boasts of its own All-American murder rate.

Saturday, August 20, 2016

WALT WHITMAN AT THE 2016 OLYMPICS

by Bob Katrin



O for any and each the body correlative and attracting.
Singing the muscular urge and the blending…
the welcome nearness… the sight of the perfect body.

The splendor of the opening ceremony and around the
corner the reeking-of-life favelas monitored by
Praetorian Guards with automatic weapons. Keep out
the riff raff, the plenty persons near but not
the hot, the right ones.

The corruption of city-states, the poor, the beggared,
and the rich, the corporate and the incorporate; the
dopers, tokers, and politicians.

The athletes, lithe, lean, and lovely, and the “bulge.”
Ah! The fit-witless and the bulge of youth, the beauty
anyway and incorruptible discipline and dedication
irrelevanced by “commercials.”

And on Copacabana Beach, “We don’t need a stadium
to play volleyball.”

Oh Latin America, Oh Columbus, Columbanumbus!
The New World screwed screwing itself.

The hungry gnaw that eats me night and day…
I need another glass of cachaca and a plate of feijoada.

Tonight I dance with the dancers and drink with the
drinkers. Everyone is my friend even the crooks
on the Olympic Committee.


Bob Katrin is a writer and poet living in Southern Pines, NC.

Tuesday, March 17, 2015

TO THE NEW REBELS

by Margery Parsons





Inspired by the young demonstrators in Madison, protesting the police killing of Tony Robinson.


Spartacus on a hill
dreaming up at a tapestry of stars
as slaves from a far flung empire
prepared to fight Rome.
What made the ragged minions
with nothing to call their own
except misery
dare to challenge Caesar's throne,
its fearsome weaponry,
legendary battles won,
and all the philosophical sophistry
used to justify its reign?
What gave them the temerity
to defy gods, to tear down
idols, to question
the exalted certainty of the known?
Look into the eyes
of a mother who has lost her son
to a centurion,
a father carrying the remains
of a child slain by drones.
Listen to the cries
of a generation doomed to oblivion
and you will know why you must rise
as they have done.


Margery Parsons is an activist and poet; she lives in Chicago, works for an arts organization, loves movies and music.

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

REBEL RECRUITS

by Charles Frederickson & Saknarin Chinayote




Vulnerable youth conceived in poverty
Prime target uncivil war combatants
Desperate underage struggle too easily
Manipulated brainwashed drugged forced submission

Hungry for attention affection acceptance
Needing sense of belonging diversion
Exploited as sex slaves spies
Human shields cooks pregnant wives

Unwanted offspring rescued from abortion
        To be sacrificial misbegotten martyrs
Both innocent victims guilty perpetrators
Carrying out barbaric violent acts

Indoctrinated to commit atrocities without
Flinching first kill your family
Relatives neighbors never to return
Crybabies humiliated emotional outburst taboo

Conditioned response demonstrating fearless bravado
Nevertheless dying as helpless kids
Uneducated unable undone unanswered prayers
Resurrected displaced lives forever stigmatized

Our global eradication goal to
Eliminate poverty provide educational options
From evolution to unforgettable revolution
Restoring former child’s damaged psyche


No Holds Bard Dr. Charles Frederickson and Mr. Saknarin Chinayote proudly present YouTube mini-movies @ YouTube – CharlesThai1