poetry,
Spain and diversity,
spanish youth
8:42 PM
Patrocinado por el Instituto Internacional:
Escribir en lengua inglesa no debería asustar o intimidar a ningún estudiante. Esta afirmación es
especialmente cierta para quienes participen en el Spring Writing Contest - Concurso de
Primavera de Escritura del Instituto Internacional, pensado para animar y premiar a los
estudiantes en su esfuerzo por lanzarse a escribir en inglés.
• Los participantes solo competirán con otros estudiantes de su misma edad.
• Los ganadores serán premiados con un libro en inglés y todos los participantes
recibirán un certificado de participación expedido por el Instituto Internacional.
• Los autores pueden elegir la modalidad - poema, párrafo descriptivo, ensayo corto (de
una página), etc.
• Plazo de presentación de los originales: hasta el 7 de junio .
Los premios se entregarán en el transcurso de The Annual Talent Show del Instituto
Internacional a finales de junio.
¡Participa de la actividad y Anima a los jóvenes a escribir!
Contactos:
Mary Barker (mbarker@iie.es)
Maria Hegarty (mhegarty@iie.es)
poetry,
rain in spain series
10:00 AM
Galileo Galilei and me were born on the same day, of the same rock
you coming in, you the Sun Kings.the kind who would deliver a briefcase full of self-help books and power bars
Fur of a lion cub linted on your coat.
the natural instinct to make a promise without knowing how to meet it...
and impose, like a proud beast
you of heliolight and conquest, of bellicose brow and golden tongue
you suns around whom you know all revolves.
your welcoming, though ceding: a Roman welcome in peripheral lands
the spite spilt dries on the rocks.
poetry,
the staring night series
10:54 PM
Posting a little late
A 14 February heart
a pulse into the 15th
propeller of birthdays
mechanism inducing age
push slinky "what
walks downstairs
alone or in pairs"
momentum of the years
collapse, coil,
collect deep at 11:59 pm
& expand out at 12:00 am
the birthday compression between
the force and the flick of the hands
poetry,
the staring night series
7:35 PM
days of shouts delivered in casual emission
visual and accidental puffs like cold days' exhalations
days of shouts hanging desperately to teeth
days of locked doors and eaten keys
a smirking contemplation hiding under the bed
days locked in the first rainfall the Fall met
poetry,
the staring night series,
travels
7:27 PM
We never stepped on the plane
that trip handed over to parallel what-if rifts
a boarding pass jammed up a gumball machine dispenser
murmurs of the potential and hypothetical
boiled down to a syrup, matted sticky congeal
we still have each other; a flat weekend vacuum-sucked
a bottled best regards catching the dust of the inert
poetry,
the staring night series
8:35 AM
She was plentiful and sacrifice
gave everything to us
She ripped out her hair
as wailing mothers do.
Each stiff strand fell strong
into wheat stalks.
The milky tears hardened to rice.
the anguish matured into our grain.
Running her eyes over us
in one last time ritual
pinnacle of maternality.
She plucked them out of her head
pressed them in her palms
and released two dried dates.
One to fill each of our hands
before reaching within herself
pulling from her warm cavity
a glistening swollen honey pear.
pulsating where she no longer did.
our last taste of what created us
overindulged without reverence
and with too many hands at once.
the last bites' mouthfuls
a fraction of the first
but outlasting memory's deceit.
We try hard to remember her
as left, bereft children do.
A maintenance of impressions
and anxiety that her face
will become blurry
even if we close our eyes
and press them shut hard.
globalization,
labor rights in the Gulf,
poetry
11:07 AM
For some, globalization swallowed their lives, a big baleen whale that gulped in their entire ocean.
These men dressed in sandals and dust, scaling the construction scaffolds riskily under the desert sun
They are the tiniest capillaries of the economic crisis— they were always the smallest units of the chain.
big men who left their nowhere villages through a network of transnational agents passing them off.
The migrant labor to the GCC countries became the great baton race of the global economy
but they are truly the voiceless, not a genocide, not a humanitarian crisis, not anything spilling over to our edge.
The poetry in their story requires a squinting of the eyes, ears to the pavement, holding in a breath
to hear the muffled lifesong left behind in the trunks of the abandoned cars at the airport,
to feel the bodyache bad posture of the old luggage slumped on the sidewalk,
to see the loanshark lurking behind each eye inside each man made redundant
their wishes caught in wet concrete or pacing the construction cranes like stray cats unable to climb down
these little ants unload an unfinished skyscraper off their backs, clutching a plane ticket stub as they exit
for some, globalization is a about the wait—waiting for us to recognize them in these modern wonders
financial crisis and development,
globalization,
poetry
2:14 PM
Global Policy Innovations announces the Spring 2009 Poetry Contest.
Theme: Spring is a time of renewal, something that is clearly needed in the global economy in 2009. Carnegie Council'sPolicy Innovations invites you to write a poem that captures this time of growth and send it to us. What do innovations, ethics, and globalization mean to you personally? Paint a moment of emotion—an instant of transformation, personal or political—illustrating humanitarian heroics or global solidarity. We will select a handful of winning poems and publish them in a special issue later this spring. Feel free to send us your poem through email, as Twitter #haiku, or viaFacebook.
Deadline: April 15, 2009
Length: 10 lines or less
Original Work: All work must be original and unpublished reflections on the contest theme.
Publishing: The winning submissions will be published under a Creative Commons license on the Policy Innovations website.
Prize: Literary fame! Policy Innovations is a nonprofit, noncommercial global commons for ideas on crafting a fairer globalization. As such we run no advertisements and rely on thoughtful and generous readers and writers such as you.
Contact: info@policyinnovations.org
poetry
3:51 PM
it was a storm of the ages
a tiny god genuflecting inside each water drop
deities self-contained water pomegranate seeds
through the fall
their hushed desires reverberating upon impact
a fall from grace rippling accross the pools
these radial telegraphs ending at the water edge
and tiny births accumulating in the sidewalk puddles
poetry,
the staring night series
10:15 AM
as I look out through my bedroom window
at the city lights' multicolored glow
tinkling like Christmas lights smiling at me
but they are not that. they are other things.
MacDonalds sign, red hospital crescent
lights of the crane over the apartment
decorating all the highway networks
perched mistletoe on the construction work
cranes like candy canes, neon holy light?
the glow trespasses on the silent night.
Bethlehem some hundreds of miles away
Falluja-closer-in the other way
and here is where the tides forgot to come
a place that loses itself to become-
the most desolate of my Decembers.
poetry,
the staring night series
8:52 PM
all night I passed the seconds, turning the pages of a sleep skimmed through, rest ill-read
not quite understanding my condition
in the morning the glass rod clacking against my teeth as the mercury hovered in
yesterday I wore a wet dress for too long, thin as filo dough, but a strong sail to catch the winds
in the water I stepped on a hard metal something that the rescinding tide revealed to be a rusty oil barrel
an oversized soda can beached on the sand and fixed discarded garbage thrown down by the Gods
inside its damp, salt-rust belly, my fever, incubating darkly from the inside.
poetry,
the staring night series
9:22 PM
camel travels along
like smog - softly,lightly steps
a wisp, a stir, a spit - softly gone
poetry,
the staring night series
2:15 PM
i have always been so sloppy brushing my teeth
foaming, rabid fluoridish froth dropping down the sink
splattering flat snowflake designs that
ornament around the drain uncontrollably
like tea leaf patterns at the bottom of a porcelain china cup
the fate of my future drooling loosely from my slack mouth
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