100 Thousand Poets for Change: An Anthology


The 100 Thousand Poets for Change Anthology on the Poets’ Corner: Editors, Obododimma Oha and Anny Ballardini.



This is the text of the original call for submissions:


(Ed. Anny Ballardini & Obododimma Oha, in collaboration with MICHAEL ROTHENBERG)

Obododimma Oha and Anny Ballardini, in collaboration with Michael Rothenberg’s event, will edit and feature outstanding poetic compositions for the 100 THOUSAND POETS FOR CHANGE on Fieralingue’s  Poets’ Corner.Visual artwork, poems, poetic fiction, poetic nonfiction, and photographs to be submitted for consideration should go beyond the simple and gratuitous statement that ‘a change is needed.’

Visual works and photographs for submission are to be saved in JPEG format, while texts, which should not have rigid formatting, are to be in Word. All submissions should be emailed to the editorsanny.ballardini@gmail.comand obodooha@gmail.com by September 1, 2011 with “100 THOUSAND POETS FOR CHANGE” in the Subject line.

Best wishes,
Obododimma Oha
Anny Ballardini


100 Thousand Poets for Change: An Anthology — 17 Comments

  1. i think this is a very wonderful project supporting and marketing world poets , putting together an anthology of poets , its a good start for projects that have a reliable resource people like Michael and i will be marketing the idea of 1000 poets for change in Zimbabwe and also i would like to be part of the anthology.

  2. The word cannot be pinned downed, bottled or put in a cage once it is released into the air. It will infect and persuade, challenge and enrage, but it will not go away.

  3. This is an event where poets speak universal languages that spring from their hearts:they too are responsible to make the earth worthy of living, not with any executive plans but with poised languages to which the world has to listen.

  4. Greetings with my new poem

    Freedom, with power for change

    See what Freedom means
    being in the presence of boundless curiosity,
    to witness our spiritual intimidate
    within that life offers us.
    I believe that often we say the same thing
    in different ways – in different forms,
    with a different tone –
    For so is the life
    one sees the colors of others-not
    a thrush spreads wings over the orchid,
    another was torn down with head injuries.
    Fly like leaves
    flying to save the freedom to live …
    I can give light where there is shadow
    enter the orbit of momentum and hope
    to never stopped driving force,
    always in the marathon of life,
    with power for change,
    with freedom to remain in the illuminated compass
    that never errs.

    In the morning
    when things come easy
    I listen to the wind
    never underestimate the size
    of the day
    things blosome and change
    with the light
    such Joy
    down the godrays
    all my life is sweet
    child like
    even work is a laugh

    let it go
    There is nothing like

  6. Not Who I Seem

    When people look at me they see a loser,
    When I look at them I see a bunch of posers.
    They see a perfect angel with a halo over my head,
    I see satan’s minions ripping me to shreds.
    They’re staring at what they think is an empty suit,
    But in reality, I’m a guy with something to prove.
    I try to fit in, be in the “in” croud,
    They push me out but I don’t make a sound.
    I extend an olive branch, but they snap it in two.
    Tell me…what did I ever do to you???
    They shun me, shove me, make me want to scream,
    I’m sick of being a jaded teen!
    I need to tell the world that I’m not what I seem.

  7. TO : Derek Walcott

    La mujer ,el amor ,la revolution .
    El Tridente , Poseidon , el mar .
    Esto ve el poeta
    dentro de las estrellas conchas asirenadas
    y la matriz de los versos :
    soles femeninos y lunas masculinas
    dioses blancos y negros
    y a la bandera de Barbados
    con el Tridente de sus ojos
    sobre la brisa marina
    y dentro de la profunidad de la historia
    Caribe Estoy Aqui .

  8. It looks like I missed the deadline for submitting for the anthology, so I’ll just post my submission here for all to see.

    May 4 Memorial, Kent State University by J. R. Simons

    We mark the day with a square
    on the calendar grid
    and every year the tale is told
    of how tensions rose
    between the student body and
    the body politic;

    How the Governor ordered tanks and troops
    to take over the town
    and the students responded with
    flags and flowers,
    yet somehow the war of words became
    a battle of bullets.

    Sixty-seven rounds in just under
    thirteen seconds
    fired into the unshielded crowd
    by expert marksmen
    and when the smoke and dust were cleared
    four were dead in Kent, Ohio.

    Today we mark the spots where they fell
    with squares of lighted
    steel bollards around parking spaces
    and with a memorial garden.
    We walk up the hill to the sculpture,
    place a finger in a bullet hole.

  9. Apocalypse, Etc.



    I am tired of your self-centered

    Bullshit & whining ways

    Stop this train, stop it now.

    For we shall all remain… Dream.


    Into this life,

    Or the next.

    An ode to the dead world that is poetry, lost and faraway.

    The ancient soul of Sappho gone and golden days.

    Tear these words, voices away. Now only left with memories.

    Let the prophets burn,

    And create the visions of what shall be

    Under the currents and beyond the sleep of the icons reach…

    Let us

    Speak of that which is human,

    Love …this eternal dream

    Forget the fools, the mundane

    Apocalypse, Etc.

    A wild ride,

    An action packed extravaganza

    With spooky, scary thrills

    Coming soon to an idiot near you.

    Fuck it… Fuck them.

    I’m going out

    For a drink &

    Kiss my wife & kids


    Love thy neighbor

    Love thy friends

    For this life

    Is all too short

    To waste.


    R.M. Engelhardt 2011

  10. Hello! Greetings to everyone. It seems that I as well missed the deadline!

    It was one evening
    a child was in love
    with my grandmother
    inside my eyes the stars were
    landing on the mudbrick roof top
    we were loved and laid
    then multiplied
    When the seed falls to the ground
    When you touch my skin
    in between us
    should come out
    let it blossom in my heart
    in this village houses were made of mudbrick
    at the threshing place
    children were playing with tractor tyres
    letters do not come
    I don’t have an address
    Day is unnecessary white
    My child
    I’m cold
    I know it’s not green
    your eyes are brown.

    Günsel Djemal Elüstün 27/08/2014

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