our anthology with poems of witness
This anthology is inspired by Against Forgetting (1993), edited by Carolyn Forché. In response to current world events mediated through sterile news coverage, each of us wrote one poem. Our aim was to narrate the same events, but with emotion. With humanity. These 34 poems are the result.
What the forest saw
The morning sun shining through the forest canopy.
Flickering light with every movement.
His eyes were sparkling with life,
but not for much longer.
They called it abduction.
But he called it home.
A father building castles from kindling and fear,
with bedtime stories thick as smoke
and eyes always on watching for the worst.
What is law to a man
who has already lost?
In the hush of the bush,
he taught them how to catch rain,
how to read the stars
as if they were verdicts.
He taught them silence
how it shields and suffocates in equal parts.
They grew,
barefoot and brilliant in the wilderness,
half-wild themselves.
Dreaming of two worlds
they could never hold at once.
When the stomachs were roaring
there was no other choice.
A motor growling through the dark.
The child on the back,
clutching tight,
small hands around his waist wishing for security.
the forest stayed behind,
watching.
The shots came not like thunder,
but like punctuation
in a story no one knew how to end.
They said he fired first.
They always say he fired first.
But who could read his eyes
in that moment,
eyes that had once held
fear,
life
and love.
Let the record show:
He was not a monster.
He was a man
who stepped over the line.
And in that final dawn,
as blue lights flickered through the mist,
he held no flag,
no final word,
only the weight of what he had carried
too long,
too far,
too alone.
Written by Alex Berger
Based on the article New Zealand dad shot dead by police after years on the run with children, BBC news.
The world is feeling closer
then it ever have before
The suffering is here now
there's fighting at the shore
The fairness we were promised
the safety we were sworn
is getting farther everyday
its hard to now restore
Our friends were lost in hope of peace
in violence and in blood
But as our numbers takes the
street then peace we might soon reach
The only choice, the only turn is fighting evermore.
At least 19 dead in Nepal after Gen Z protests at corruption and social media ban
So I have some extra context for you as well. I picked this article before the larger political uprising in Nepal. Technically my poem is inspired by just the original protest against the regime's social media ban. Although as I've been up to date on the events in Nepal the larger revolution has obviously seeped into the poem a bit.
Written by Eden Mattsson
Baby of brain-dead woman delivered in Georgia, woman's mother says
The moment after
The smell of wet asphalt
and muddy park benches
a scent of coal or cigars
His hands are empty, but feel full
full of lines to trace through
of care and sensitivity
of all of its availability
How could you say no to such an opportunity
To choose chance
The world started moving backwards
and it stopped when the cries started
Waves stopped crashing
The wind halted
His feet halted
The cold air reached his lungs
And the exhale came out in coughing patterns
The moment after
The screams and cries
An overwhelming change
A few sobs and sniffles
A steadier inhale
idea 1: Weeds & Flowers
Retired Gardener
Keep tending
How do we grow
How do we choose
When a flower is a weed
Or when a weed is a flower
It grows differently
The soil dies
It dies
Keep tending
Give it all the sun
All the water
All the attention
As it grows
Keep tending because
You need to tend to your flower
You need to speak to it
Create a stable routine for it
Keep tending to it
The soil is just there
Attached to it
Tied to it
Tend to it
Harvesting is done
Once the soil has given enough
Choosing Chance
Dear Chance
It uncrumbles into a huge sheet
Wrinkled, cutup with small words
the risks listed in a classic font
sign here
or dont
leave here
or dont
leave her
or dont
Some lines are completely crossed out
Destroyed
Banned
Now illegal
You can’t choose that
She says
They say
The law says
So choose
what you can choose
Choose chance
Written by Elizabeth Ntege
NEPAL PROTESTS
Created, doubted, accepted
Created, doubted, rallied
What are we, compared to It?
The people, the uprising, I feel ashamed.
Neglected, yet hope drives
Hope drives, yet common sense is neglected.
It is motivated, but expresses will as violence.
As hatred, as anger, as disgust.
The future is dull, or is bright, or something in between.
The future is in limbo, It decides what the outcome will be.
Should this be a standard? Is there another way?
It happened for a reason, It is inevitable.
What we know about Nepal anti-corruption protests as PM resigns
Written by Vilmer Fransson
Man has burned for progress since ancient times.
Under the name of the greater good,
a rivulet of blood for a few dimes.
The temples of old warned against such greed
But what is conjured divinity in front of nature.
Laughs around a hearty campfire spread cheers through the town.
I spat, and then roasted a piece of meat above the fire.
A lone ember landed in fields of wheat.
A festival was held.
A god was shining their light upon the crops.
The ember multiplied, no one cared.
The field went from golden wheat to blazing flame.
My pair of perpetually dreary eyes
stood near the fire, roasting a piece of meat.
The lands burned, the villagers retreated.
It was a one time thing.
Progress must succeed.
The factories rose, the villagers laboured.
The fire spread.
One day, during the autumn festival, a man,
embraced by the wings of success, held a speech.
It did not take long until his proud words melted into smoke
choked by the very fire he praised.
I knew it.
Written by Andreas von Pfaler
Carlisle and Barrow-in-Furness train hits van on level crossing
I saw it
I saw the van stuck on the track,
The train was coming, like a shark ready to attack.
The closer it got, the more I felt fright.
Time was ticking, the shark was about to bite.
Then came the crash, metal pieces everywhere,
glass exploding, and piercing through the air.
People shouting, running, scared,
and I just stood, I only stared.
Those involved escaped, still alive and well.
But the fear of “what if” is hard to quell.
The dust has settled, but I still know,
I saw it happen, I can’t let go.
Written by Mehmet Güclüer
Screw, nail clipper
tainted red by pain, rusted in betrayal
one more screw, one more nailclipper
note written in vengeance
another screw, no more nailclippers
I hold her hand as she screams
no further objects, now simply an empty womb.
As a woman and doctor I cannot not let “men” do as they please with the bodies of other women.
Screws, notes and nailclippers belong in drawers in closets,
hidden from the guests only visible to those in the home,
but the womb is a holy place meant for life
not for destruction.
Written by Veronica Lopez Ngouali
Carlisle and Barrow-in-Furness train hits van on level crossing
I saw it
I saw the van stuck on the track,
The train was coming, like a shark ready to attack.
The closer it got, the more I felt fright.
Time was ticking, the shark was about to bite.
Then came the crash, metal pieces everywhere,
glass exploding, and piercing through the air.
People shouting, running, scared,
and I just stood, I only stared.
Those involved escaped, still alive and well.
But the fear of “what if” is hard to quell.
The dust has settled, but I still know,
I saw it happen, I can’t let go.
Written by Mehmet Güclüer
Climate Anxiety Is Taking Its Toll on Young People | TIME
The land is dry and broken
rivers are small and weak
young people are scared
the future feels heavy
The news shows fire and water
ice is melting fast
homes are lost to storms
promises feel gone
Still, sadness speaks loud
we remember what is hurt
and in the dark of fear
a little hope can grow
Written by Eno Femenias Gruau
Genocide is declared once more in Sudan. How did the country get here? | CNN
Scrolling Past
I hold the war in the palm of my hand,
lit by the glow of a cracked screen.
Thirty seconds
a child covered in dust,
mouth open but no sound escapes.
The clip ends,
the next video loads
someone dances, someone laughs.
My thumb hesitates.
I almost let it slide past.
In another room, someone is cooking,
someone is kissing,
someone is pouring wine.
But here
bodies lie in shallow earth,
their names scattered like ash,
their voices drowned beneath
our playlists and ads.
I whisper an apology
to faces I cannot touch,
to hands reaching through the pixels.
What good is sorrow
when I cannot feed them?
What good is my silence
when the world scrolls on?
Tell me, reader
when you see a child’s body flicker and vanish,
do you feel the weight in your chest?
Or do you swipe past,
like closing a window
to keep out the smoke?
I am no savior,
only a witness
haunted by the echo of eyes
that ask nothing of me
and still ask everything.
Drones join battle against eight-toothed beetle threatening forests
For centuries I've been watching over this land.
I've witnessed it empty.
I've witnessed my siblings sprout up beside me.
I’ve witnessed love hiding from the rays in the shade I create,
and I’ve proudly shielded whatever life I could from both rain and hail.
But now, I am barely able to shield myself.
This land, that was once blossoming, as if the air itself were alive, seems to
be returning to the wasteland it once was.
I can no longer breathe within these four walls of fence,
and the sound of laughter and bird chirps seems but a distant memory.
It seems my time of departure is near,
but I fear my siblings won’t be far after me.
Written by Jingjia Qian
Million-Dollar Child
He once played for joy, not for pay
In too small shoes, on fields of clay
He whispered in my ear, “One day you’ll see
I’m going to play and they all will cheer for me
He dreamt of glory, not of gold
But dreams of sports, are bought and sold
The agent smiled, the paper signed
My little boy, don’t lose your mind
Written by Tilde Ekberg
Gavin Newsom Trolls Donald Trump’s Beef Blunder: ‘This Aged Well’?
The Orange Man made it expensive, its the orange mans fault
For who loves the feeling of meat in mouth, may no longer enjoy, instead, experience drought.
The tears of many fill the street, because we can’t eat meat
The roaring of bellies echo in the air, like seagulls from Brunnsparken
Oh why lord?
What have we done to deserve such a cruel fate?
30 dollar tacos that no one ate
The tyrant does as he pleases
In his white castle unbothered, fuck you Donald
How long will this suffering last?
For 6 or 7 years?
Stop this madness, we’re tired of all the tears
Written by Logan Cwyl
Iraq Yazidis: The 'forgotten' people of an unforgettable story
Circle of Life
Some hope to make it to the bus, we hope to make it at all
Some hope to feel alive, we hope to survive
You have trapped us
You have haunted us
Yet have rendered us voiceless, helpless, lifeless
Where we see individuality
you see the enemy
Something that doesn’t seem pleasing to you,
you turn into our suffering
But there is no our, no we, no us
There is just me now
But as tears evaporate off my fragile skin
I let go of mother’s hand
I close father’s eyes
Because when grief boils for too long, it finally reaches the edge of the pot
It boils over
The one thing that will keep me sane from now on, whether it be days, hours, minutes,
for as long as I am breathing
Is the fact that every eye of those you have sent away will be on you on the day of judgement
Every hand that you think you were entitled to,
will drag and push you down to the fiery pits where you can no longer pester anyone
Every scream you hear, will be the screams you make
Written by Nova Kadir
‘Everything is gone’: Punjabi farmers suffer worst floods in three decades | India | The Guardian
On The Roof, We Wait
I saw the fields sink
rice stalks bending beneath the brown tide,
cotton scattered like corpses.
I heard the cattle cry once,
then nothing.
Their bells silenced in the swirl of mud.
We climbed to the roof.
The walls shuddered,
doors gave way.
Children pressed their faces to me,
asking if the house would hold.
The river tore fences,
devoured the line
between soil and survival.
Seven acres,
seven years of sweat and seed,
gone in a night.
I swallowed the taste of loss,
and knew debt had entered my blood.
They had warnings, maps, numbers.
But when the water rose,
no one came.
The smell lingers
death, silence.
The children stare, as their world dissolves.
If this land cannot feed us,
cannot shelter us,
what will keep my children alive?
What roof will hold them,
when the rising comes again?
Written by Joy Eklund
Dazed by fire
A fire
A light
A bloom of life
Until a gust of wind
Turn the tides
Turn the eyes away
Let her fade away
Else you might go astray
I want to run
I want to bleed
I want to freeze
I want something to blame
But my cowardly heart
Written by Dag Lönnberg
Nigeria blasphemy: Mob burns woman to death for allegedly blaspheming against Prophet Muhammad
(article: Tsunami 2004 Thailand The BBC)
I perceive its black shape even though the remains are mostly blue,
I cry a river and I can’t move,
I feel the sunbeds scraping my frozen bones beneath,
Again I can’t breathe.
I search a maze with chains of heavy lead in search of a boy,
I recall his name but the water steals my only voice,
I pray the damp air, desperate for relief,
Again I can’t breathe.
I still smell seaweed and blood even though there is more to come,
I call for my only child but the silence is still numb,
I can only pray in gods deserved test,
I only have one more breath.
Written by Emrik Karlsson
As the burning man begins to glow, a pool of blood starts to show.
The crowd goes quiet as the sky turns black, the wind blows soft, he wont come back.
Rain brought death in twenty-three, fire swallowed a man in seventeen.
Yes, strange things have happened here before, who knows what waits behind the door.
Written by Alice Lindström
As the burning man begins to glow, a pool of blood starts to show.
The crowd goes quiet as the sky turns black, the wind blows soft, he wont come back.
Rain brought death in twenty-three, fire swallowed a man in seventeen.
Yes, strange things have happened here before, who knows what waits behind the door.
Written by Alice Lindström