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PeaceTimes »

[3 Apr 2012 | 8 Comments | ]
Alaha Ahrar: Poetry from the Place Where God Exists

- by Mary Liepold
  Editor in Chief
After graduating from secondary school, working for several international organizations, and earning a reputation as a poet and media personality in her native Afghanistan, Alaha Ahrar won a scholarship to Virginia’s Mary Washington University in 2008. People in Afghanistan who are opposed to the education of women sent emails to the program to stop her from coming to the US  to study. Alaha gathered her courage and came nonetheless. She started classes and made the adjustment to a new culture while fearing for the safety …

PeaceTimes »

[2 Apr 2012 | 4 Comments | ]
Peace Poetry: Affiliated to Humanity

-by Mary Liepold
Editor in Chief

As my dear friend the artist Huong would say, I’m a lucky ducky. I get to write about poetry for peace. Yippee! Only . . . where to begin?
So many cultures, so many poets, such a huge, abiding longing for peace down through the ages! I’ll have to focus mostly on the moderns, those I know best. But since I referred in my editor’s note to the ancient Greeks, who we regard as the fountainhead of Western culture, I must also pay homage to my own …

Voices from the Frontlines »

[24 Oct 2011 | No Comment | ]
The Poem Ends in Murder

Danielle Mackey
El Salvador
“We are all living a constant becoming…We act on information we’ve gathered from our lived experiences, which makes perceptions understandable, even if they’re absolutely deplorable at their worst.”
It began with a poetry game. The Salvadoran teenagers, ranging in age from 13 to 17, sat in my classroom number 202 for Conversational English. The air conditioning was on full-blast and the desks were in five rows of five and we were all pretty giggly. Each student jotted down her line and jetted it backward to the student seated directly …

Voices from the Frontlines »

[20 Oct 2011 | No Comment | ]
How much difference does one poem make?

Kyi May Kaung
“We are not to be shattered because of one authoritarian oppression.”
About a month ago I was fortunate to attend a poetry reading by Martin Espada at the Writers’ Center in Bethesda, MD.  My friend J., who has had a child in intensive care for several months now, reserved the tickets and made dinner arrangements.
I can’t remember when Espada’s poetry first came to my attention.  It must have been when an editor who published one of my poems went to Chile, the home of the great, late Pablo Neruda.  …