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:
100 THOUSAND POETS FOR CHANGE: An Anthology
(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 email@example.com firstname.lastname@example.org by September 1, 2011 with “100 THOUSAND POETS FOR CHANGE” in the Subject line.
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.
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.
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.
Obododimma Oha, Anny Ballardini, and Michael Rothenberg—I will share information about this with our poets and other creative artists. Thanks for compiling the anthology.
D.B. Pacini, A Starry Night Poetry Series
great idea! will send poems read at Bowery Poetry Club: “Jazzoetry for Imagination” organized by Valery Oisteanu!
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
down the godrays
all my life is sweet
even work is a laugh
let it go
There is nothing like
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.
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 .
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
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.
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…
Speak of that which is human,
Love …this eternal dream
Forget the fools, the mundane
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
R.M. Engelhardt 2011
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! I did not see this before!!!!
I am sure there will be other anthologies, this was an independent project. I will post notice of other collections!
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
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
I know it’s not green
your eyes are brown.
Günsel Djemal Elüstün 27/08/2014