Po' Poets Project/Poetas POBRES Proyecto


Po' Poets Project

Jovenes, Adultos, Ancianos, luchando para sobrevivir y prosperar apesar de la opression racista y economica, usando nuestras voces, nuestra poesia, nuestros cuentos, nuestra arte para crear cambio localmente y atravez del mundo.

Youth, Adults, Elders struggling to stay alive and thrive through race and class oppression using our voices, our poetry, our stories, our art, to create change for poor folks locally and globally.

Still

April 28, 2015

Numeral: 400

As in 400

Parts per million

Carbon dioxide
We release
Into the atmosphere,
Among other gases.
Chemical
Warning signs in the sky
We still ignore.
We can't take
The heat
Rising below the clouds.

Watchdog

April 28, 2015

WHAT DID YOU PUT IN YOUR POCKET?

It occurs everyday in this natural food holler:
Something looks suspicious, somewhat askew.
Doesn't look like a Yuppie, probably don't have a dollar.
Any Black man, any poor brother will do.

Like a solid shadow, the watchdog follows his steps
Through neat, crowded aisles of health:
Past free-range chicken, organic kale, turn left
Tailing a brother, walking by himself.

ARE YOU SHOPPING AT OUR STORE? OR STEALING?

The Other Conquest

Image: Welcome to Mission Dolores, by David Yu  https://www.flickr.com/photos/davidyuweb/4350186868/
 
 
THE OTHER CONQUEST

Rest In Poetry Mama Maya - POOR Magazine family Honors Ancestor Warrior Poet Maya Angelou

"We may encounter many defeats but we must not be defeated." ..Maya Angelou The Art of Fiction No. 119, the Paris Review

Invisible/Reflections

March 25, 2014

Since you never recognized me even when in the closest contact with me, and since you doubt, You hardly believe that I exist. Why should I now become visible...When everything I see is brown, yet invisible to you at the moment.
It’s better that way as I ease my way up the social ladder, from lower class
Stratisfied, to revitalized, oppressed, suppressed to vital progress.

My Ghost Will Haunt This Place Forever

Until the bulldozer scrapes the landscape of this plantation,
I'll remain.
My phantasm in residence
Long after my body is unchained.

Strange to think I ever see
That day from where I'm sitting now.

But that's the illusion they want me to believe in--
That I'm never getting out.

I know better at some level
That I consciously keep submerged and hidden.
Lest the overseer see it in my eye,
And decide to kick my shit in.

PNN RADIO

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