Give us poetry that pushes the envelope, that makes people think, that has edge and heart--and is about important societal issues. Sorry, this ain't the page for poetry about you, your sex life, or how much you drank last night. This page is for poetry about 9/11, Katrina, Iraq, Global Warming, Religious Extremism, Corporate Control. You know the issues--hell, these days even our pets are not safe!
Left wing, right wing, chicken wing...it doesn’t matter. What does matter is passion, anger, and wanting to change this world for the better!
What are we looking for?New: it should be previously unpublished on paper by someone else (websites and self-publishing, send it in).Length?: does size really matter--isn’t it what you do with it?Content: must be about a major public issue (no naval gazing, we don’t care about you or your little dog either!).Submit: by email, with the text of your poems in the body of the email.NO MORE THAN THREE POEMS AT A TIME.Submit to: Victor Schwartzman ( \n victors@mts.netThis e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it ) or through the link to Victor at the top of the Review page.Do you get paid: I don't know, do you? Can you lend me some money?
Submitters retain all copyrights, apart from us being able to post their work, and with an option to put the poems into a book.
Bring it on! Mission (soon, maybe, eventually) accomplished!
Zach King-Smith is nineteen years old and currently resides outside of New Haven CT. He grew up impoverished after both parents died before he reached adolescence. His poetic endeavors began three short years ago when he first read the work of Allen Ginsberg. Zach is currently working on his first collection of poetry entitled"Before You Die Tell Me That You Love Me".--Influences include Jack Kerouac/Charles Bukowski/ William S. Burroughs/ Allen Ginsberg/ Hunter S. Thompson/ Bob Dylan/Raymond Carver/ Arthur Rimbaud and Charles Baudelaire.
I dreamt that the earth lost her tolerance for humanity and decided to rid herself of the plague which she pledged to protect millions of years ago but she became enraged and disgusted with what she saw around her and parted her lips and opened her mouth which I imagined looked like a broken fault in the concrete of Los Angeles that would engulf hundreds of business men and their brief cases and the cars which crowded the streets and filled her lungs with a smog as thick as it is in Newark and in Newark waves would crash down from the atlantic and wash away the pestilence in the crack and whore houses which line the thousands of streets in anywhere USA. She opened her eyes on New York and wept for it compassionately as the rain which fell from her eyes swept up everyone on the streets and cleansed them too as she did in Newark. No one was safe. Paris had been devoured in the mouth and Tangiers was burned in her fury. I had seen the purging of humanity everywhere and became jealous because I will never rid myself of this disease
I was blown away not only by the high energy of the band and Natasha's singing, but also by her lyrics. This song comes straight outta the rave scene, and those of you who have taken Ecstasy or know someone who has will know how true these lyrics are. I've known people who've thought like this:
Yep, Victor runs this page here, finally is some of his own stuff in the Agit Prop mold:
This one was accepted by Pemmican Press, a great political poetry site, but they don't seem to be online since accepting the poem...I think it's a curse, and I wanna find out why Lord Voldemort hates me!
Breathing 9/11
On 9/11 I was at work
did not see the planes hit
but sure heard and felt them
my whole world shook
Later I was outside for an early lunch
when the first building collapsed
a white cloud raced towards me
white death dust covered me
The next day the government said
we should all go back to work
we were told the air is healthy
the economy had to stay healthy too
So I returned to work
did my part for the economy
but breathing was a mistake
I’d have been okay if I hadn’t breathed
Now I have lung cancer
breathing is hard
if I had breath I’d scream
at the terrorists I voted for
Now I buy medicine
to stay alive
costs me a lot
but I’m keeping the economy healthy
Victor Schwartzman
Want a few more? Click "read more". You were (not) warned!
Some great imagery, and some heartfelt thoughts, from John G. Hall:
The Orange Snake of Burma I swim to soaking wet the sun sets me on fire shoes walk to my step the machinery of a cornfield leaps into my breakfast bowl and the deep ocean drinks down the skies deep breath the bounce holds onto the ball while rivers pierce mountain sides holy waters cup my profane hands
and the monks of Burma are one big orange skinned snake hissing peace through the olive green streets and though batons make broken bones and bullets follow one finger's orders the orange snake of Buddha covers the young soldiers in pink love bites
and though they purge the road of prayers the red venom of revolt slips its pulse into them until one day soon their hard hats quake open, burst with rivers of orange silk and pink kisses, holy tongues shaking down skull apples from the prison walls of their souls
love spitting on their ammunitions,peace pissing on their hand grenades, revolt fellatio's their electric batons, until the whole of Burma becomes one gigantic orange and pink dragon, its breath a hurricane of apple blossom,
until then the young Burmese monks coil in their prison cells, holding pink love bites in their mouths of Om, a thirty thousand headed orange snake burning in the forests of labour camps, no tourist snaps this way, by the road side young girls sell glowing orange snake eggs for tourists to take with them, for all peoples revolutions everywhere begin at home.
Click below to learn more about OW's first book and the winner of the Jack Micheline Memorial Award.
About OW!
Outsider Writers have been distributing chapbooks in dark subterranean caverns for too long. The corporate presses and literary institutions have no vision. The media is irrelevant. It's time to rise into the sun!
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Agit Prop 101 
