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Articles by Frank Paino
American Digress
Here’s how hot it was when Noor came to town. Kids didn’t ride their bikes in the street, even though it was summer and we were poor. Frogs died by the dozen on the blacktop, their feet sticking up from the tar like little broken kites. The tall grass turned to brown dust in our hands. People fried eggs on their truck hoods, then left them there to crisp and blacken when they realized they’d forgotten butter. The river was dried up.
PIETÁ-a poetry chapbook review
PIETÁ by Frank Paino Jacar Press, 2023 reviewed by Bethany Reid Winner of the Jacar Press Chapbook Prize, 2023, chosen by Saddiq Dzukogi, author of Your Crib, My Qibla Pietá is Frank Paino’s fourth book, and it is easy to understand why it was awarded the Jacar Press Chapbook Prize.
Terrain.org and Spring Creek Project Launch Limited-Run Climate Stories in Action Series
By some research estimates, 98 percent of climate and environmental reporting is negative. Climate stories tend to focus on the overall issue and impact by explaining climate science or consequences. Very few focus on action or offer examples of what successful and inspiring collective climate action looks like. Psychologists have been studying how stories about climate change affect people.
Center for Literary Publishing
Book Review Obscura Poetry By Frank Paino Reviewed By Daniel Lassell Orison Books (2020) 84 pages $16.00 Buy this book In Frank Paino’s long-awaited poetry collection, Obscura, readers are treated to a feast of visceral and utterly haunting poems that interact with each other as artifacts in a museum whose collections span centuries and topics. These poems all have an eye on the oddity of life, the larger story at the heart of ourselves that continually haunts us.
The Cries For Revolution
#EndSARS By Odebode Tayo on November 9, 2020 in Focus, Poetry The Cries For Revolution In an ocean of peril Nigeria’s boat topples ceaselessly Smoke of voices of anguishes Assailed the holes of her children’s ears. In spate of floods of homicides Carcasses of developing seeds Torrent of innocent blood gushes Pockmarked the air of my Mother’s land.
Esther Okekwuo: Two Poems
#EndSARS By Esther Okekwuo on November 7, 2020 in Focus, OUR WORLD, Poetry Poem 1 Hi… Hello, How are you Esther? Sometimes, you act like a jester! What’s all these I hear in Nigeria? I hear the police is now a molester? Sometimes dressed in an unknown attire To extort, arrest, kill or even pester. I heard at toll gate where you all gathered To make your voices heard for better There you Sòrò Sóké’d for a New Nigeria. But tragedy struck like the flash from a photographer.
Frank Paino: Three Poems
Selected by Alexis Rhone Fancher, Poetry Editor By Frank Paino on November 4, 2020 in Main Posts, Poetry Where There’s Smoke (for Tony) Smoke means the way you looked the last time I ever saw you, back pressed against the scuffed bridge rail, bare-chested above the Bay’s ragged thunder, scars so bright it seemed you were already burning.
The Monster You Made
#EndSARS By Abuchi Onyema on November 4, 2020 in Focus, Poetry The Monster You Made While I sat on my past deflection Reflecting whilst a collateral damage A future bamboozled by authority Junk of institutions blazing our safety Animal kingdom of politicos conjugation Who wet our smiles with sadness Clinching on our rights and freedom * Bend in my precarious abode Where I gain or lose nothing Sipping the fermented sap From a tree of unfruitful kind Groaning and gasping for help But death...
The Lion Charge | AHG
As a young kid growing up in Brooklyn, I always longed to be outdoors. I had a quiet life and I was always looking for activity. When I was about twelve years old, the movies Th e Snows of Kilimanjaro and King Solomon’s Mines came out. I thought they were great movies on Africa, but I never imagined I would go there. The closest I got to an outdoor lifestyle as a kid was going upstate in the summertime.
“Taxonomy,” by Frank Paino
After a while, the glitter began to fade, the way a bright star, regarded full-on, becomes the ghost of itself behind the shuttered eye. After a while, he couldn’t look past the next in line, couldn’t bear the beastly swizzle that curved beyond the perfect sluice of sun that gilded the perfect pasture in perfect shades of umber. Horse. Cow. Rat. Elephant. Monkey. Mole. And this was merely shorthand before the dizzy permutations . . . family, genus, species. After a while, the man named himself Adam.
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