CONFESSION ZERO

I see a world of starvation stooping down to the machine, then rising to the sound of clocks ticking of riches, material nourishment. I see a world in anguish, bowing to war and accepting disorder as if peace were dead and buried, useless as an unexploded shell. I see a globe filling up with the least of man, the plague of man seeping into her veins from the lowest reaches, into our worship. Starvation has many faces. Let us begin at the edges of our own and erect a visage worthy of a smiling peace, of devotion. © 2010 by mark prime Starvation.net

“Our lives are to be used and thus to be lived as fully as possible, and truly it seems that we are never so alive as when we concern ourselves with other people.” _Harry Chapin ~ It seems new but it’s the same. I am seeing them on the street corners and in my dreams. I’m surrounded by them; shells of flesh leaning on bone. They are smiling, these great empty mouths with love oozing into the gray stream of childhood. Time is man’s creation, shaped to hold the air away from love, made to shroud the mother’s goodness and mask reality in minutes. I am sitting on the porch in awe of the wind lifting the leaves away from summer’s shade that retreats with the birds calling down from the heavens. The hungry are nearing them with each painful smile, each uneaten meal and shattered heart. I am among them. I breathe near their crisis, near enough to glimpse the crimson ache, yet far enough away to remain unscathed. The world is drying up from man’s refuse, sympathy curdling with ...

Faces in the trees, the portrait of man in the long shadows, grumbling of eternity. 1.3 lbs per person, per day discarded by the feeding machine, landfills of barrenness groaning failure like God. Faces in the trees, the portrait of man in the long shadows, grumbling of eternity. 474.5 lbs per person, per year eaten by the teeth of squander, disposal at its core, unfilled mouths. Faces in the trees, the portrait of man in the long shadows, grumbling of eternity. 21.4 million cubic yds of landfill, methane rising to greet our lips pursed upon tombs built from forests. Faces in the trees, the portrait of man in the long shadows, grumbling of eternity. © 2010 by mark prime Rising Food Prices

Famine. Famine. Famine. Famine. Famine. Famine. Famine. We forget that we don't know hunger. Occasionally we stop thinking about the sun tucked behind the clouds, death, only a whispering wind cupped in our unbending hands. Starving children aren’t front page news, their mother before them went unwritten. We sense the famine folding near us, motionless, an army standing at the ready. It hurts to imagine, so we don’t as we sit for another meal, minds numb to the stars, eyes closed to famine. O! What a world we’ve made! © 2010 by mark prime Toon Pool

Do not cry, dear children of today. The hunger vein rests near your lips, moving down to the hands as you sleep. When you wake you'll feel its teeth gnashing at your sides, hands of suffering pushing inward to knead the emptiness… Hunger has ascended above the choir, punctured the stomach, emptied the fields and flooded nakedness with the scratching of death. (War and murder can’t compete.) What are we to do with you, now that you’ve grown up and you’re still hungry, still moaning, weeping, breathing? Your arms are lovely, flailing in the water. Your wet skin looks stunning. How long can you hold your breath? © 2010 by mark prime The Hunger Site Bread For The World Action Against Hunger

Dry mouths tear up the ground. Little remains to scream. The toxic beast has devoured the dove, the hungry winds are sopping them up with tongues as rough as death. They've shred the money into plastic leaving charity without clothes. Sounds like the end of them, faces without names or use, concrete beasts as far as the eye can see. Used to be easier to tell when hunger reared its head, with each growl the sight that was old looked familiar, shrunken, tattered and mad, even angels have turned away from our mess. The hordes look sad, torn feathers line the streets, picture frames of a human family, dove’s blood smearing the glass. Used to shock us, numb our eyes to the suffering, caused us to shudder, wince, scream and ache. Used to shock our bodies, these careworn faces now mirroring ours and twisting their bent limbs down like a song made of wire. © 2010 by mark pr...

This month (September), like last year on Confession Zero, will be dedicated to Hunger Action . There's more than one path to starvation, perhaps none seem as cruel as the empty belly, but they are cruel nonetheless. Willful ignorance breeds contempt, yet it’s seeds cannot feed the hungry.  Lies, when repeated, are believed to be truth, yet not a single bloom opens as a result. The path remains open to us. We boil our wits in the fatty waters. The ancient hearts decay and the rising truth draws near with the laughter of invention. Where is our creation in this, our swamp? When might we begin? At whose behest if not our own? Why have we not thought of the human invention? The warring of knowledge- Fear of our tenure of creation- Come! Let us begin! Let us feast on truth alone, the rest will follow. © 2010 by mark prime Hunger Action Month This is the first poem in the month-long series of daily poems,   September Songs , posted for th...