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Showing posts from September 12, 2010

The Concrete Racket (18th September Song)

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On the sidewalks, where breathing marches, humans gather together and sleep on concrete mattresses, frantic life whistles by, gadgets jangling like side arms. Men, dressed in their Sunday best, women swaying, clicking about like gunfire down an alleyway, children making night sounds with their sneakers...

A man stands on the corner holding a cardboard sign- “Repent! The end is near!” scribbled in marker the size of madness. He proselytizes at the top of his lungs, he points his index finger to the sky, the same finger he used to pull the trigger in Nam- oiled the barrel of his rifle with more affection than he ever showed another human being, blasted the gooks to smithereens, split their chests open like firewood, stacked them four feet by eight feet; a rick of red and yellow lumber.

This finger, that now points to the sky and rumbles of God, found its mark long ago stained in blood. Following orders, seeking salvation in the air, above the busy sidewalk, the din of malnourished wor…

When It's All Said and Done (17th September Song)

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(Credit: Liam Hysjulien ofAs It Ought To Be)

Greg Plotkin: ...The unfortunate reality is that we produce many, many times the amount of food to adequately feed the entire country, but have been unable to direct this excess to hungry stomachs. Expanding federal food assistance programs and developing regional food systems would go a long way towards correcting this mismatch... (read the complete article)



When we’re finished, withered neatly away, eyes, sunken as the cheeks of ready cadavers prone on the coroner’s table, mouths drawn tight and dried up like a sailor’s knot, as if our lips had nothing more to say, hands firmly at our sides like doors closed tightly in the rush to feel safe, the wish to remain innocent, as if a war torn wall had shifted and the support beams moved forcefully together.

Living we seem to stand the same way, yet with mouths open, hands clinched in fists, unwilling to give, to love, to offer our open arms for strangers to enter so we might nourish them. We gri…

Never Hungry (The 16th September Song)

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Knowing it won’t find us seems a nervous half-truth as we can’t begin to imagine or even grasp the weight of it, a pang so low it easily slips inside our bellies unnoticed, a nest of baby bird’s mouths yawning their silent cries, peeking inside our certainty of ‘never’ and ‘impossible’. Sidling up next to our confidence, emptiness bridges the gaping doubt, bit by tiny bit, until the pang seizes our awareness with the pounding of famine.

Never. ...Impossible.

Never. ...Impossible.

Never…


© 2010 by mark prime

Click to Give @ The Hunger Site


Walk to the End (The 15th September Song)

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(The Emergency Food-shelf Network) (Shouldn't everyone who has the resources strive toward this goal?)
Walk to End Hunger
WHAT:Walk to End Hunger is a Twin Cities Hunger Initiative developed to raise awareness and funds to end hunger in the nine-county metro area of Minnesota. The event will include a Phone-A-Thon during the Walk to raise awareness and funding for the initiative, a Food Drive to collect non-perishable food items to be distributed to local Minnesota food shelves, and a family-friendly Walk on Thanksgiving morning that offers the community an opportunity to participate together and contribute to this important and worthy cause.

WHY:One in ten of our neighbors don’t know where their next meal is coming from and are not readily identified. Organizations that work with people on an emergency food basis see the escalating trends and the critical issues around hunger, a condition that is intolerable, but solvable, and one that must be addressed.

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We're blasting humans t…

Love Affair with Starvation (The 14th September Song of 2010)

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(Gunaars Miezis)
All the way through to the trough of dust, all that moving color and flesh. Some bone, the color of rice, the same shade as the beam in a lover’s eyes.

A young man, riding the streets of cardboard, bones and hands outstretched, looks for some balance to keep from falling off the ride.

I pitch him some coins, a pittance- Damn it! Why do I even bother? The thinning man smiles and then I remember…


© 2010 by mark prime
Gunaars Miezis (artwork)

Dying Symphony (The 13th September Song of 2010)

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If you click the above photo you will be redirected to an odd site, I certainly hope it's an oddity or, at the least, a parody of an oddity. It claims to be America's Leading Christian pro-family news-source, either way, it is sure to get the blood boiling. I stumbled upon it when I was looking for "hunger" photos to go along with the poem. The post is from 2006 and it may well be tongue in cheek, but these days it is hard to tell. Whatever it is, or pretends to be, it is inspiration for today's hunger poem.

Here's a mere taste of what you'll run into if you click the above photo...
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Shelley The Republican:
-Hunger in Africa : So what? This is what happens when you reject God and don’t work!-

-Helping Africa? Never again! If you like to learn more about Africa, I suggest you watch the movie “Black Hawk Down“, it will be an eye opener! It was for me!-

-These young Africans look like criminals to me! Why should we feed potentialterrorist killers???-

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When …

A.M. After Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying About Terrorism and Love Humanity

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(Ben Heine - Art - The Blog)
PRESIDENT MERKIN MUFFLEY: ...You can't fight in here! This is the War Room.

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This is the hour of madness. This is the thirst that waits without minutes. This is the hour of thirst and hunger and madness. This is the jackal that paces in the hour of thirst and hunger and madness.

This is our maddening choice. This is the selection on our maddening time-pieces. This is the moment of occasional sanity, the flies on the child’s face, the hour of our madness.

This is the lanced beast and the whimper of freedom, the cry of whales, the laughter of maddened swine, the grief of hours, days and years.

This is the waste of affection’s reach, the death, if you will, of this second, this minute, this day, this year, this time of madness in the world, like the previous, that erupted in howling, hands around the neck like a buoy snarled in razor-sharp hooks left behind by the hunters, those earlier inheritors without breath or reason.

This is the waiting, the grey ha…