NOURISH
Poetry
NOURISH’S mission is to showcase talent in the field of poetry, and to inspire amateur and experienced poets, both
young and old, to express themselves to poetry enthusiasts in the newest poetry publication, Nourish-Poetry.
Staff
Editorial
Editorial Director
Editor
Production Editor
Internet Marketing Director
Chris Slaughter
Nathaniel Wyllie
Analiza Ash
Corporate Officer
Publisher
W. Wayne Lin
Poems
Don’t Push the Button America
by Juan Felipe Herrera
Just don't understand why so many want you to push the button
don’t push it please don’t push it
you are making me nervous I am slouching toward nowhere
art is not enough
performance is not enough
something is missing don’t push it to fill the vacuum
it is something that has not been done before it is that simple
you must find that achieve that it is not too late
the button of course is not the answer of course
it provides an ounce or two of arousal
similar to the walls of Patrols on the border
similar to the 30 billion dollar aircraft carrier you just set out
into the metal oceans
do not push it I am nervous something is off-kilter
it is beyond words beyond poetry beyond Milton and Sappho
it is beyond Paz and Ko Un it is beyond all the African drummers
of Ghana it is closer to the ashes of South Sudan and the green skulls
of a Mexican State I cannot mention and
the massacres the massacres so many massacres in plain sight
do not push it
we will fall leaves or snow it is that simple we will not have to wait
for 3 billion more years to perish
as the solar orb dissolves and cuts the forces that hold us
do not push do not listen to the war provosts beside you
come here where we sit
in this annex between that walls of a nondescript house
we were shudder & read Anne Frank
were we write and string the guitar the quiet bones we
spin on the floor do not push it
from unpublished ms., America Stop Deporting Us
SHORE RIGHTS, NIGHT LIGHTS
by Roald Hoffman
The dark
privileged by the hour,
rolls up the variegated
green of fields,
for a spell . . .
and while
you, focusing on a hedge,
try to see how it's managed it, it,
the dark,
marches the road,
by day a beige and graveled stretch, off
to a street light,
under a tire.
Water
comes out at dusk,
it's time for reflection,
a pressing of the sunny sparseness
of island spruce and rock
to a twin-jagged
black palisade.
On a dock
jutting into the bay
a man skipping stones at night
has the power to shatter,
arc of shards,
the quarter moon.
TIANANMEN
by William Marr
as a grand plaza
of heavenly peace
it must somehow attract
flocks of pigeons
from the sky
and let them walk leisurely in the square
let them peck food out of tourists' hands
let them coo coo
and shit all over the heads and shoulders of the statues
without any fear
butterfly
wherever the wind goes
Point B
by Christopher Herold