Tag: 2020s Poetry

Read 2020s Poetry written by slam poets, cowboy poets, and literary giants inspired by the state of Arizona on AZpoetry.com!

Land Alive by David Chorlton

April 15, 2025

“Land Alive” by David Chorlton

The land isn’t empty, it’s thinking.
What will it become when
the clouds disappear and rocks take their place?
Where will the roads lead

when they reach the edge of human thought
and turn into philosophy
where the compass needle bends
and points toward itself?
How much history
can a lizard carry on its back
when it moves at the speed of a reflection

that waits for no one?
It’s as dark as dreams in the canyon
where shadows conspire
to climb the red walls
and fly, as questions do when

they outgrow any answers
that would have bound them
to the Earth.

Originally published online on September 3, 2024 by Lothlorien Poetry Journal, where you can visit to read Land Alive and four more poems.

About the poem Land Alive by David Chorlton

Discover the poem’s philosophical layers and explore the Arizona desert through Chorlton’s lens.

In “Land Alive,” Arizona poet David Chorlton challenges the notion of the desert as a barren, lifeless expanse. Instead, he breathes consciousness into the land, describing it as a force that thinks, reflects, and questions. The poem opens with a striking declaration—”The land isn’t empty, it’s thinking”—and from this premise, Chorlton invites readers to consider the Sonoran Desert not as a backdrop for human activity, but as a living, sentient presence.

The poem flows like a dream, moving from questions about geography and thought to surreal images of lizards carrying history and shadows conspiring to climb canyon walls. The language is both reflective and elusive, packed with metaphor and subtle philosophical questioning. What does it mean for a road to “reach the edge of human thought” or a compass to “point toward itself”? These images suggest a journey inward as much as outward, where the landscape provokes self-reflection and existential inquiry.

Chorlton, a longtime Phoenix resident and visual artist, brings an abstract sensibility to his desert poetry. “Land Alive” feels at home in his broader body of work, which often fuses nature, art, and meditations on place. The desert isn’t just scenery—it’s a character, an entity with memory and imagination. The lizard, a frequent figure in Southwestern imagery, is transformed into a metaphor for time, memory, and motion—“moving at the speed of a reflection / that waits for no one.”

The poem culminates in a moment of mystery and release, as questions “outgrow any answers / that would have bound them / to the Earth.” In this sense, “Land Alive” celebrates not just the land’s physical resilience, but its capacity to outlive and outthink human limitations.

Themes and Style

Philosophy of Place: The poem explores the mind-like quality of the land, raising questions about its future, history, and consciousness.
Nature as a Living Entity: The desert is not empty but active—filled with thought, movement, and ancient stories.
Metaphor and Surrealism: Chorlton’s imagery blends the real and the abstract, painting a landscape that is both physical and metaphysical.
Existential Tone: There’s an underlying sense of mystery and questioning, with no easy answers—only poetic observations.

Why It Belongs in Arizona’s Literary Canon

David Chorlton has lived in Phoenix since the late 1970s, and his poetry is deeply rooted in the desert Southwest. In “Land Alive,” his knowledge of the Sonoran landscape and his background in visual art converge to create a unique lyrical experience. This poem is not just about Arizona—it thinks like Arizona: expansive, enigmatic, and quietly profound.

Discover more about David Chorlton, his poetic vision, and his connection to Arizona’s desert landscapes by visiting his poet bio page on AZPoetry.com.

Running In A Red State poem by Cymelle Leah Edwards AZpoetry.com

Running in a Red State by Cymelle Leah Edwards

April 12, 2025

“Running in a Red State” by Cymelle Leah Edwards

Don’t be political.

Sinclair Wash Trail:

Anger is that which your body recognizes as alien; that which has been whittled nonexistent; you temper that emotion at the age of eight when you indulge it and learn that your angry is angrier because it’s also darker; when you serve a man who says he’ll take his coffee like you; standing phone-to-ear at the bus stop when a woman nearby interrupts to say, you have great diction; when he lets his dogs off their leashes as you jog past; in your sleep when this all happens again; you forget what it’s like to be angry until your larynx stiffens from singed resistance; from charred light curdling in the back of your throat.

Don’t sit on a fence.

Woody Mt. Road:

I tried to be both; tried to cinephile-file roles; tried to balance our budget; tried to sleep in my own bed; tried to re-create memories; to be in two places at once; to protract the hours in a day; tried to be honest anyway; tried to sit on my hands so they wouldn’t reach for her; tried to spell without vowels; tried to circumnavigate her body; tried to sorrel our walls; tried to pray it away; to run it away; tried to away; this is when I learned to splinter.

Saying nothing is saying something.

Fat Man’s Loop:

The dogs are off their leashes again, moments before I meet his path. I say to myself, don’t move over this time, let them move over. Let them disrupt their own PRs, mess up their own stride. Close enough to feel heat radiating off his jogging fluorescents, I inch to my right.

I can’t hear you.

Been dreaming about grandma lately, about running into her house after school and watching her rescue the princess on Nintendo classic. She was really good at being Mario, at moving through different worlds, at saving. I’d ask with my small voice can I play? She’d look at my school uniform covered in grass stains, my fingers sticky with the remnants of a pb&j. It’s hot right now, let the machine cool down. I’d wait thirty or so minutes which felt like hours, return to the living room, remove the cartridge and blow.

I could never make it through the underwater theme.

Not choosing is also a choice.

Buffalo Park:

They ride their bikes close so dirt kicks into my nostrils, they look back to watch me cough.

Silence speaks.

Walnut Canyon Ranch:

I learn to give her alfalfa pellets, to stretch my hand out flat, to pet her crest and say, that’s a good girl. I learn to stand parallel with her legs when removing her coat, to pat her bum before I unclip the left hook, to not bother with getting her to like me, she will never like me. I learn that naming a horse is an art. That it took Susan over a year to come up with “Yankee” and that she’s fine with it. I learn their names can’t be more than eighteencharacters, that I’ll never own Ubiquitouuuuuuuuus. I see the rope hanging in their front yard, chalk it up to a game for their grandkids, a tool to swing on. It is the noose at the end that makes me wonder if I should ever return to feed the horses. To find another subset of winona acreage to run through.

Say it, I dare you.

Downtown:

Sometimes, when we experience trauma, we build a boundary of invincibility. We think, the worst has already happened and I survived. At least, this is what I did and still try to fake. I was assaulted last August, seven days after moving to a new town. I knew the guy; we went to high school together. Erring-on-the-side-of-caution was fleeting. I relied on a mutually established sense of trust over four years old. I wrote poems about it, some of which are in the ether right now, being traipsed by cursors and sponged with the fingertips of a stranger. After this event, this uncanny eventuality, I stopped running. This had always been my way of shedding; through perspiration and escapism, I let trees and trail markers lead me through unnerving, undoing, and misremembering. Like most of the runners on my high school track team and those I met while briefly a part of a collegiate team in Seattle, it is our sustenance, theoretically as important as air itself. This, if you couldn’t tell, is written in the vein of writing’s most repudiated word, passion. Back then I was a sprinter, I hadn’t learned to appreciate great distances, pacing, stride, or breath. Sealed-off from the outside world with chain-link barriers, I also didn’t know what it was like to run without the protection of synthetic rubber keeping me from traversing a world unknown.

Forget about how hot it is. I don’t think about it. Running in Arizona is what it is. Hydrate, you’ll be fine. There are other dangers that lurk besides hyperthermia. Suburbs of Phoenix, like Gilbert or Casa Grande (maybe its own town and not a suburb), are mostly white communities. I grew up on the east side of Casa Grande. I built speed being chased by loose dogs in the neighborhood while walking to and from the bus stop. Apoplectic though they may have been, we understood we were helping one another out – me with learning to accelerate, them with their daily exercise. Is this what men with confederate flags billowing from the back of their F-150s believe too?

Who is this little black girl, and what is she running from?

Winning:

Winning a race used to involve medals, ribbons, clout.

Winning means punching code into my garage’s keypad, getting back. Winning is protracting, is living longer than yesterday.

About the poet Cymelle Leah Edwards

Summary and Analysis of “Running in a Red State” by Cymelle Leah Edwards

In “Running in a Red State”, Arizona-based poet Cymelle Leah Edwards crafts a poetic essay that powerfully intertwines personal memory, cultural identity, trauma, and resistance—both literal and figurative. The poem functions as a hybrid narrative, blending free verse, social commentary, and prose poetry with rich specificity of place, capturing scenes from Northern Arizona’s rugged trails to the subtle violence of everyday life in a politically conservative environment.

Structured as a series of meditations mapped across familiar trails like Sinclair Wash, Woody Mt. Road, Fat Man’s Loop, Buffalo Park, and Walnut Canyon Ranch, Edwards navigates what it means to run through a landscape that is at once physically beautiful and symbolically fraught. These trails aren’t merely places for physical movement—they become spaces of reflection, confrontation, survival, and reckoning.

Navigating Rage and Race

The poem opens with the assertion “Don’t be political”, only to dismantle that notion line by line. Edwards presents a litany of moments in which her Blackness is othered: a man making a racialized joke while ordering coffee, a woman praising her “diction” as if surprised, dogs unleashed in spaces where she runs, and the self-awareness that even anger—when expressed through a Black body—is perceived as more threatening. The poet confronts these aggressions with grace and measured defiance, describing them as embers, singed resistance, and “charred light curdling in the back of [her] throat.”

Queer Identity and Duality

On Woody Mt. Road, Edwards explores a layered identity with lines like, “tried to spell without vowels; tried to circumnavigate her body…” Here, she probes queer desire, the constraints of binary expectations, and the impossibility of fitting into a system that doesn’t accommodate complexity. In trying to “be both,” she introduces the metaphor of splitting—learning to “splinter”—and thus illustrates the emotional cost of existing in intersectional spaces that demand singularity.

The Silence of Compliance

At Fat Man’s Loop, the silence becomes palpable. The refusal to yield space—“don’t move over this time”—is itself a radical act. It represents a reclaiming of bodily autonomy and public space. The references to her grandmother playing Mario and saving princesses offer a tender respite from the poem’s heavier subjects. Yet even this nostalgic moment underscores her longing for safety, for someone to “rescue” her.

Violence, Trauma, and Recovery

In one of the most visceral sections—Downtown—Edwards speaks directly to her own trauma. “I was assaulted last August, seven days after moving to a new town.” With brave vulnerability, she recounts the emotional aftermath of sexual violence and the way it disrupted her sense of freedom. Running, once her method of release and healing, became unsafe. Here, Edwards captures the weight of trauma—how it rewires the body’s instincts, maps new caution into muscle memory, and alters a runner’s stride.

Running as Resistance

Despite these dangers, Edwards continues to run. She catalogs the subtle racism of white suburban Arizona—F-150s waving confederate flags, sideways glances, dirt kicked into her nostrils—and continues to find her rhythm.

“Winning is protracting, is living longer than yesterday.”

In this closing line, she redefines survival as success. Her poem is not just about running; it is about reclaiming space, healing, and moving forward through pain, oppression, and silence.

“Running in a Red State” is a poignant testimony to the lived experiences of a Black woman in Arizona, navigating identity, systemic racism, and resilience. Cymelle Leah Edwards’ voice is essential, powerful, and unflinching. Her ability to pair physical movement with emotional evolution makes this poem a landmark piece of Arizona literature.

👉 Learn more about Cymelle Leah Edwards on her AZPoetry.com poet bio page.

Bob Frost

April 11, 2025

Scottsdale’s First Official Poet Laureate and Cowboy Wordsmith

From Marine Corps to Master of Metaphor

Born to share a name with one of the most celebrated poets in American history, Bob Frost of Scottsdale, Arizona, found his own poetic path through life’s winding roads. His journey into poetry began with a high school English assignment, and over the years, his pen never stopped moving. Even during his time in the U.S. Marine Corps and throughout a successful professional career, Frost continued to write verse—capturing his experiences, observations, and reflections on life in rhythmic form.

After retiring in 1997, Frost revisited the growing collection of poetry he had amassed over decades. That decision culminated in the release of his debut book, A Sweet Place to Play, marking the start of his public journey as a poet.

A Cowboy Poet in the West’s Most Western Town

Frost’s poetic voice deepened after joining the Verde Vaqueros, a charitable riding group supporting the Boys and Girls Clubs of Greater Scottsdale. Inspired by the traditions of the American West, Frost began writing cowboy poetry—an art form rich in humor, grit, and heart. One of his poems won a cowboy poetry contest in Tombstone, Arizona, prompting the publication of his second book, Cowboy Poems about the Old West and New, in 2009.

Noticing that Scottsdale—branded “The West’s Most Western Town”—lacked an official cowboy poet, Frost approached then-Mayor Jim Lane with a proposal: to become the city’s poet laureate. Though the initial request didn’t yield an immediate response, Frost continued to build bridges with Scottsdale’s cultural community by reading poetry at city council meetings and public events.

After reading his poem A Cowboy’s Lament at a memorial for Councilman Tony Nelssen, the mayor responded. In that moment, Bob Frost officially became Scottsdale’s first poet laureate, a position he would hold with distinction for more than a decade.

Championing Poetry in the Community

During his 11-year tenure, Bob Frost made it his mission to bring poetry into everyday life in Scottsdale. He worked closely with the Scottsdale Center for the Arts and Scottsdale Public Library to organize workshops, literary events, and public readings. He also hosted several episodes of a poetry-themed show on Scottsdale’s municipal television channel, broadening his reach to residents throughout the valley.

One of his most beloved contributions was the Poetry Hike, held in the Phoenix Mountains Preserve. Participants hiked scenic desert trails, pausing every few hundred feet to share and reflect on poetry—blending physical activity with literary appreciation in a uniquely Arizonan fashion.

Frost was not just a poet but a facilitator of creative dialogue. He encouraged readers and writers of all ages to engage with poetry, leading by example with his generous spirit and relatable storytelling.

Poet Laureate Emeritus

In 2024, Frost stepped down from the role of Scottsdale Poet Laureate, passing the torch to the next voice in the city’s growing poetry legacy. He was honored with the title Poet Laureate Emeritus and invited to serve on the selection committee for the city’s new laureate.

Though no longer the official voice of poetry for Scottsdale, Frost continues to inspire through his published works, community involvement, and dedication to keeping the spirit of the West alive in verse.

Cymelle Edwards Flagstaff Poet AZpoetry.com

Cymelle Leah Edwards

April 10, 2025

Flagstaff-Based Poet and Editor with National Recognition

Cymelle Leah Edwards is a rising literary voice from Flagstaff, Arizona, whose work echoes across page and stage. A Pushcart Prize nominee and recipient of the prestigious Diana Gabaldon Creative Writing Award, Edwards is quickly earning a place among the most vital poets in the Southwest. With a strong commitment to both craft and community, she balances creative output with leadership roles in Arizona’s vibrant literary scene.

Academic Excellence and Literary Leadership

Edwards holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Northern Arizona University, where her passion for poetry blossomed into a broader commitment to publishing and editing. She formerly served as the Poetry Editor for Thin Air Magazine, NAU’s long-running literary journal. Her editorial insight also extends as an editor at Kelp Journal, where she cultivated voices across genres.

Community Organizer and Advocate for the Arts

Cymelle is not only a powerful writer, but also a champion of literary culture in Northern Arizona. She served as a board member for the Northern Arizona Book Festival, helping to organize and support one of the state’s most important annual literary events. Her work as an organizer underscores her dedication to amplifying diverse voices and creating inclusive platforms for poets and writers throughout the region.

Publishing Credits and Performance Poetry

Her written work has been published in respected literary journals such as Elm Leaves Journal, Contra Viento, and Ghost City Press. Beyond the page, Cymelle has made waves in Arizona’s spoken word scene, winning the Phoenix Poetry Slam at the downtown art venue Megaphone PHX, a hub for poetic performance and creative experimentation.

GCU Roots and the Arizona Connection

Before pursuing her MFA, Cymelle attended Grand Canyon University, an institution known for producing talented artists and thinkers. Her creative trajectory remains deeply tied to Arizona—from the desert landscape to the mountain views of Flagstaff—and her poetry often reflects the natural, cultural, and emotional terrain of the Southwest.

A Voice to Watch in Contemporary Poetry

Cymelle Leah Edwards represents the best of contemporary Arizona poetry: talented, thoughtful, and unafraid to confront personal and political truths. Whether through her haunting verse, her curatorial insight, or her work behind the scenes in the literary community, Edwards is a vital part of Arizona’s poetic identity and an emerging force on the national literary stage. She currently lives in Indianapolis, Indiana.

Fine White Powder by Naughty A. Mouse

April 7, 2025

“Fine White Powder” by Naughty A. Mouse

sugar is a fine white powder let me say
that a little louder sugar is a fine
white powder let me say that a little
louder sugar is a fine white powder and
just like crack and smack it’s all
wrapped up in money and power see Coke
comes from leaves and opium from flowers
but the granddaddy of the fine white
powders is made from beets and Cane
people hear the word drugs they usually
think of gangs they think of
cold-blooded Killers with Latin last
names selling PCP LSD and Mary Jane are
moving Mac ecstasy and crack cocaine
people hear the word drugs they think
shackles jails and chains they think
suffering and pain they think Blood
Money backstabbing and innocent slain
but there is no such stigma attached to
sugar cane yeah there ain’t no shame
affix to the sticks of even little kids
get lit they sit and take hits
off of their pixie sticks getting ripped
and no one sees a problem with this
because this is a fix that we all crave
and we are not ashamed although we know
it was built on the backs of black
slaves so I tell y’all sugar is a fine
white powder and I want it to ring in
your brains a little bit louder because
its story is the same as what’s shot in
the veins a shot up the nose to get
straight at the brain I’m talking Blood
Money backstabbing innocent slain I’m
talking suffering and pain shackles
jails and chains headlessness remembered
remains Little Women and Children
backing up the product and Counting out
the change and The Killers deranged who
ran the whole game and who teach kids to
kill for material gain the saddest thing
about it is all of these facts are
already in your brain they’ve just been
sanitized like blood stains washed down
shower drains so only the cold and
boring facts remain
you all sat in little rows frustrated
but so well trained and normalized this
[ __ ] with the phrase triangle trade
sugar for rum for slaves Europeans ruled
the waves and got money in power off a
little grains of white powder so I’m
asking y’all help me make this louder
sugar is a fine white powder come on
y’all louder sugar is a fine white
powder come on y’all louder sugar is the
fine white powder come on y’all louder
the foundation of our nation the
independence Declaration was sung by
kingpins who ran drug plantations so
fast forward just a few generations to
the days when radio stations still sing
the Praises of criminal organizations
but the biggest drug dealers are legally
chartered corporations and on both sides
of the law it’s all about location
location
it doesn’t matter if the battles are
fought in courts over end caps instead
of blocks or if the people that pack the
gats are called cops it’s still cash
crops to define the line between the
hives and the have-nots and I think
we’re all just too high on sugar to call
them crimes when they’re committed by
the Criminal Minds on top so I came out
to tell y’all that sugar is a fine white
powder and I’m asking you spread the
word because knowledge is power

Transcribed from the video Fine White Powder by Ghost Poetry Show and Naughty A Mouse.

Watch the Video “Fine White Powder” by Naughty A Mouse on YouTube

About the poet Naughty A Mouse

Naughty A Mouse’s powerful spoken word poem “Fine White Powder” is a lyrical indictment of sugar—yes, sugar—as a historically overlooked but deeply entwined player in the legacy of colonialism, slavery, capitalism, and addiction. Delivered with rhythmic urgency and a call-and-response refrain—“sugar is a fine white powder”—this poem blurs the lines between drug culture, economic power structures, and normalized consumption, ultimately inviting readers to reconsider the social and historical contexts of everyday commodities.

Summary

At its surface, “Fine White Powder” compares sugar to illegal drugs like crack, smack (heroin), cocaine, and ecstasy. But this isn’t just a metaphor for sweetness and dependency—the poem traces sugar’s origins as a commodity rooted in slavery, colonialism, and racial exploitation.

Naughty A Mouse challenges the audience to recognize how sugar—like narcotics—is a fine white substance entangled in systems of money and power. He critiques how society vilifies some drugs while ignoring others that share similar histories of violence and control, especially when profit motives sanitize or legitimize their use.

Children “take hits / off of their pixie sticks” and society sees no problem, but the poet points out the dark legacy behind the treat: “built on the backs of black slaves.” The speaker makes a strong case for sugar as the original addictive substance of empire, tied directly to the transatlantic slave trade—”sugar for rum for slaves.” He links this to modern corporate and legal institutions that profit from “drug-like” products, drawing attention to the hypocrisy of how some harmful industries are socially accepted or legally protected.

Analysis

“Fine White Powder” is more than a history lesson—it’s an urgent political poem, calling for deeper awareness of systemic injustice. Naughty A Mouse’s use of repetition (“sugar is a fine white powder”) becomes a chant, a rallying cry, and an indictment. The rhythm mirrors spoken word and hip-hop influences, pushing the message past poetic beauty into the realm of protest art.

The poet subverts the idea of what a “drug” is, taking it out of alleyways and placing it on the kitchen table, in the classroom, and on supermarket shelves. He draws attention to the way society separates “legal” and “illegal” substances not by harm but by who profits from them. The “location, location” line points to how geography, race, and class determine what is considered criminal versus what is considered commerce.

Lines like “the foundation of our nation… was sung by kingpins who ran drug plantations” push the reader to reevaluate sanitized historical narratives, including the American Revolution, and recognize their economic foundations in slavery and drug-like agriculture. This is a poem of unmasking and recontextualization—pushing listeners to see the institutional legacy of sugar and question what they’ve been taught.

Call to Action

By the end, the poet isn’t just making a point—he’s building a movement. He directly addresses the audience, asking them to join in spreading awareness:

“I came out to tell y’all that sugar is a fine white powder / and I’m asking you spread the word because knowledge is power.”

In doing so, Naughty A Mouse merges art and activism, using poetic storytelling to unveil how oppression hides in plain sight—in something as seemingly innocent as a spoonful of sugar.

➡️ Learn more about Naughty A Mouse and explore his poet bio page on AZPoetry.com

Valerie Martínez

April 2, 2025

Valerie Martínez: Poet, Educator, and Advocate for Art, History, and Healing

Valerie Martínez is a celebrated American poet, writer, educator, translator, and arts administrator whose work transcends the boundaries of genre and discipline. Born and raised in Santa Fe, New Mexico, Martínez’s poetry is deeply rooted in the cultural, historical, and ecological landscape of the American Southwest. A descendant of both Spanish colonizers and Indigenous peoples, she brings a rich ancestral perspective to her writing—an intersection of memory, identity, and place.

From Santa Fe to the World: Life, Education, and Travel

Valerie Martínez left Santa Fe in 1979 to attend Vassar College, earning her A.B. in English and American Literature. She later pursued an MFA in Creative Writing/Poetry at the University of Arizona. Her life and poetry have been shaped by extensive travels across the United States and around the globe—including long stays in Swaziland (now Eswatini), Israel, Japan, South Africa, and Latin America.

Martínez’s time abroad, especially her years teaching English in Southern Africa, gave her a broad cultural perspective that informs the themes of empathy, environmental stewardship, and social justice that permeate her work.

A Distinguished Career in Education and Literary Arts

Before returning to New Mexico permanently in 2003, Martínez served as a college professor for more than 23 years, teaching courses in poetry, American literature, women’s literature, Latino/a literature, and Native American literature. From 2018 to 2021, she served as Director of History and Literary Arts at the National Hispanic Cultural Center in Albuquerque.

Her dedication to the intersection of art and community also led her to co-found Littleglobe, Inc., and later, the nonprofit arts and social change organization Artful Life. Most recently, she led the groundbreaking CHART project (Culture, History, Art, Reconciliation, and Truth), facilitating a year-long community engagement process addressing the complex cultural history of Santa Fe through inclusive storytelling and healing.

A Legacy of Poetry That Speaks to the World

Valerie Martínez is the author of six poetry collections, two chapbooks, and a book of translations. Her groundbreaking poetry blends lyricism with political and ecological awareness, giving voice to the voiceless and illuminating histories too often overlooked.

Notable Poetry Collections:

Count (University of Arizona Press, 2021)
A hybrid book-length poem that examines climate change through myth, personal memory, environmental data, and global storytelling. Count was adapted into a choral composition titled As the Waters Began to Rise by composer Peter Gilbert.
Each and Her (University of Arizona Press, 2010)
A powerful meditation on femicide and violence against women, particularly the murdered and disappeared women of Juárez, Mexico. The book was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize and received the 2011 Arizona Book Award.
Absence, Luminescent (Four Way Books, 1999; reissued 2010)
Her debut collection, which won the Larry Levis Prize and a Greenwall Grant from the Academy of American Poets. Jean Valentine praised it as “expansive, surprising, intelligent… filled with compassion.”
World to World (University of Arizona Press, 2004)
A collection that continues Martínez’s exploration of identity, ancestry, and spiritual inheritance.
And They Called it Horizon (Sunstone Press, 2010)
Written during her tenure as Poet Laureate of Santa Fe, this collection reflects her deep connection to place and community.

Publications, Honors, and Influence

Martínez’s poetry has been widely published in esteemed literary journals such as Poetry, American Poetry Review, AGNI, The Colorado Review, and Mandorla. Her work also appears in more than 30 anthologies including The Best American Poetry.

A frequent guest speaker and reader at national literary festivals and universities, Martínez continues to inspire a new generation of poets with her genre-blending work and community-focused approach to art.

Her poem “Bowl” was featured in the PBS/Poetry Foundation “Poetry Everywhere” series and was also set to music by composer Glen Roven and performed by soprano Talise Trevigne. Another poem, “September, 2001,” was featured in The Washington Post‘s “Poet’s Choice” column.

Poetry as Artful Action

What sets Valerie Martínez apart is her unwavering belief in the power of poetry as a tool for transformation—not just personal, but communal and ecological. Her work invites readers to bear witness, to reflect, and to act.

Whether she’s writing about climate change, cultural memory, femicide, or the beauty of New Mexico’s landscape, her poems ask us to reconsider the stories we tell and the silences we keep.

Stephen Chaffee

April 1, 2025

Stephen Chaffee: Poet of the Arizona Trail

Stephen Chaffee is an acclaimed American poet and retired national park ranger whose deep love for nature and exploration has shaped his literary works. His poetry captures the beauty of the wilderness and the transformative power of outdoor travel.

From National Park Ranger to Acclaimed Poet

Before becoming a published poet, Chaffee led a diverse career. He worked as a national park ranger and pursued academic studies, earning degrees from the University of Delaware and the University of Amsterdam. His background in engineering and literary studies provided a unique perspective that influences his poetry today.

Exploring the Arizona Trail: A 1,600-Mile Journey in Poetry

Chaffee is best known for his poetry collection, The Arizona Trail: Passages in Poetry, which was inspired by his two-time completion of the Arizona Trail—a journey of over 1,600 miles. His book contains 43 poems, each dedicated to a specific passage along the trail, bringing the landscape, history, and people he encountered to life.

What Makes Chaffee’s Poetry Unique?

Chaffee’s work stands out for its ability to blend vivid imagery, historical context, and deep personal reflection. His poetry not only celebrates the natural beauty of the Arizona Trail but also invites readers to embark on their own journeys of exploration and self-discovery.

Published Works and Contributions to Nature Poetry

Aside from The Arizona Trail: Passages in Poetry, Chaffee’s poetry has been featured in journals like The Avocet Journal of Nature Poetry and showcased in outdoor poetry events such as Poetry of the Wild. He actively contributes to community poetry initiatives, encouraging a deeper appreciation for both literature and the environment.

Final Thoughts: The Legacy of Stephen N. Chaffee

Stephen N. Chaffee’s poetry serves as an enduring testament to the bond between nature and human expression. His work continues to inspire adventurers, poets, and nature lovers alike.

56 by Robert FlipSide Daniels

March 28, 2025

“56” by Robert FlipSide Daniels

there is a fine line between
heroism
and martyrdom and on march 3rd 1991
i watched a man nearly cross it swing
56 blows led to this king’s ransom swing
56 blows set off a chain of events some
still have yet to recover from
swing swing rodney’s life and
construction helps us understand why
building bridges of compassion was more
important
than his destructive past swing swing
swing taser this is 56 times i watched
in horror
not believing what was clear as glass in
front of my
barely 18 year old eyes swing
my mind muddied by my belief that this
is unbelievable
is this a nightmare wake up this is
happening
swing swing he was a big man he must
have deserved it
swing swing swing kick driving way too
fast for much too long swing really
rodney
100 miles per hour in a hyundai
swing he had two passengers and too much
to drink
swing swing allegedly two drugs course
through his veins
swing swing swing perhaps he was too
black
or too big in black to deserve dignity
swing
too slow to pull over too intoxicated to
realize he was being
beaten swing swing i can only imagine
what george holliday was thinking as he
recorded this historic moment
swing swing swing kick a moment that
changed my trust in who
upholds the law swing cube spoke to it
in his
fictionalized art gangsters can’t be
trusted so why should i believe these
[ _ ] with attitude swing swing
it’s hard to know what was said
but i would imagine a taser speaks volumes
swing swing swing five batons
constantly attracted to one fallen body
swing the racial slurs begin
led ironically by a man named [ _ ]
swing swing more firepower than an old
western saloon
swing swing swing kick so i guess we
should be happy they didn’t just shoot
him
swing though they did break his skull
and leg to show they mean business
swing swing truth is he was a criminal
on probation for armed robbery swing
swing swing
but did he deserve to have his criminal
mind concussed
in a savage beating swing by police
later acquitted of charges
swing swing judge declared the blow that
broke king’s leg
was not excessive swing swing
wait what hey [ __ ] stop moving
swing kick tasers they told him
not to move while hitting him repeatedly
swing
maybe he thought the police were trying
to kill him
swing swing but i’m sure action spoke
louder that night
swing hard to imagine it takes 56 baton
blows
six kicks and two tasers to subdue one
man
swing 30 years later
i’m still not over it swing
30 years later one question still
resonates
kick can’t we all just get along
you

Transcribed from the video “56” by Robert Flipside Daniels

Watch “56” by Robert FlipSide Daniels on YouTube

About the poet Robert FlipSide Daniels

In “56”, Robert FlipSide Daniels delivers a haunting and powerful reflection on the brutal beating of Rodney King at the hands of the LAPD on March 3, 1991. The poem’s title refers to the 56 baton blows that rained down on King’s body—a harrowing number that sets the tone for this piece, which is both an indictment of police brutality and a meditation on justice, race, and American history.

The repetitive “swing” motif acts as a relentless drumbeat, mirroring the vicious attack itself. Each “swing” serves as a visceral reminder of every hit, every act of dehumanization, and every moment of disbelief the poet felt as he witnessed this atrocity unfold at just 18 years old. The poem shifts between historical facts, societal commentary, and personal reflection, questioning not only the actions of law enforcement but also the system that allowed them to walk free.

FlipSide does not ignore King’s past—his criminal record, his intoxication, his reckless speeding—but he forces the reader to ask: Did any of that justify what happened to him? He juxtaposes Rodney King’s flaws with the sheer excessive force and racial injustice he suffered, highlighting how Blackness itself often becomes a justification for violence in America.

The poem also critiques the media’s portrayal and public reaction to the event. References to Ice Cube and N.W.A. emphasize the deep distrust in law enforcement that existed long before King’s beating, while the line about George Holliday, the man who recorded the attack, underscores the power of video evidence in exposing systemic abuse. And yet—even with undeniable footage—the officers were acquitted, leading to the 1992 Los Angeles Riots.

The final 30 years later refrain reminds us that the pain, trauma, and unanswered questions still linger. The poem ends with King’s own plea for unity—“Can’t we all just get along?”—a heartbreaking echo of a man who, despite being brutally beaten, still sought peace.

FlipSide’s “56” is not just a poem—it is a call to remember, to question, and to demand accountability. It serves as a chilling reminder that justice, even when caught on camera, is far from guaranteed.

To learn more about FlipSide’s poetry and powerful storytelling, visit his poet bio page here.

Ritchie Valens poem by Myrlin Hepworth AZpoetry.com

Ritchie Valens by Myrlin Hepworth

March 26, 2025

“Ritchie Valens” by Myrlin Hepworth

you were the child of R&B and jump Blues
flamingo guitar and Mariachi
Richard Valenzuela
they called you Ritchie said
Valenzuela was too much for a Gringo’s tongue
said it would taste bad in their mouths
if they said it so they cut your name
in half to Valens and you swallowed
that taste down stood tall like a bacho
and sign that contract
Rich was always about music
you felt it tumble inside your chest as a boy
playing a guitar with only two strings
and when your neighbor caught you
you thought he’d be angry over your racket
instead he helped you repair the
instrument and taught you how to grip it
correctly and you left-handed boy
playing a right-handed guitar repay him
by making the notes fly you could play
and sing at 17 you was signed at Del five
records of America, wanted to pass you
off as Italian, but you did not have old
blue eyes, no yours were young and brown,
brown like the dirt in the San Fernando
Valley, brown like the hands of your tias
who worked in the fields for
pennies, died inside Cantinas with broken
hearts, California’s hands were filled
with hate back then leading white and
brown master and slave and there you
were, in the midst of it all, young chicano
kid from the barrio, an American band stand
shredding guitar strings while Dick
Clark watched, I swear Ritchie, when I
listen I can hear it all
I can hear the screams from the zoot suit
riots, I can hear the young gringo
hipsters swarming you after a concert,
how you made them laugh and dance in
their ballrooms, the children sitting on
the bleachers of your middle school.
swaying to your rhythm and blues, the old
men in your neighborhoods watching you
play ranas when they shout it out
much how you made them all smile
Ritchie in a nation at war with it self, ashamed of
the blood on his hands, you were never
ashamed of who you were, took an old folk
song from B Cruz, la bamba swung that afro
Mexican rhythm into rock and roll
and sang all Spanish lyrics at a time when
speaking Spanish came with a wooden
paddle punishment, you played live at the
Apollo with Chuck Berry and rocked,
you were a legend and Rich before
that night before you boarded that plane,
before you tumbled from the sky like it
caled me in before your 19th birthday
your body frozen near that Lake in
Wisconsin the phrase what if still sits
on our tongues and America is still
trying to shape you into Hollywood still
trying to bleach the memory of your skin
wrote a movie and said you never spoke
Spanish when you understood each cadino
your mother placed in your ears as a
child chocked her death up to
Superstition and Mexican hoopla there
are myths scattered in your legacy but I
know Ritchie we know it was always about
your music and that cannot be disfigured
it plays forever in our hearts it is
trapped inside Carlos Santana’s fingertips
it drifts through alleys and walkways
plays on television during commercials
rides up elevators drifts into backyards
where there is some boy brown and dusty
desperately trying to play a guitar with
only two strings

Watch Myrlin Hepworth perform Ritchie Valens on YouTube

About the poet Myrlin Hepwroth

Myrlin Hepworth’s poem “Ritchie Valens” is a moving tribute to the young Chicano rock and roll legend Ritchie Valens—born Richard Valenzuela—who revolutionized American music before his tragic death at just 17 years old. The poem vividly recounts Valens’ meteoric rise, from his humble beginnings in the San Fernando Valley to becoming a star, all while battling the racial prejudice and cultural erasure that sought to strip him of his Mexican identity.

Hepworth crafts an evocative narrative, painting Valens as more than just a musician but as a symbol of resilience and cultural pride. The poem highlights the systemic pressures that forced Valens to change his name, downplaying his heritage to fit a white-dominated industry. However, despite the attempts to whitewash his identity, Valens’ Chicano roots remained embedded in his music, most notably in La Bamba, a Spanish-language hit that defied the mainstream aversion to bilingualism at the time.

Hepworth’s lyrical and rhythmic style mirrors the energy of Valens’ music, blending historical context with an almost spoken-word urgency. The poem seamlessly weaves together Valens’ personal story with broader themes of racial tension, cultural assimilation, and artistic defiance. It acknowledges the ways America has attempted to reshape Valens’ legacy while emphasizing the power of his music, which continues to inspire generations.

The final lines leave us with a powerful image: a young, brown-skinned boy struggling with a two-string guitar, much like Valens once did. It is a reminder that Ritchie’s influence is eternal, resonating in the lives of future musicians and dreamers.

To learn more about Myrlin Hepworth’s poetry and his contributions to spoken word and Chicano storytelling, visit his poet bio page here.

Revolution by Ed Mabrey

March 7, 2025

“Revolution” by Ed Mabrey

there’s a revolution. it spins like the
world on its axis, so fast it carries no
sound, no image, not even a vibration and
if you run fast, like a child, and come to
a sudden stop in your sprint, close your
eyes quick, and hold your breath. you’ll
feel it, you’ll hear it just say seconds
behind, or a lifetime ahead. right now,
there’s a Vietnamese boy running through
a field with a pair of Nikes tucked
under his arm, dodging bullets like
raindrops, his blistered feet barely
touching the grass, racing across the mud,
racing against consumerism. the shoes are
not for him, but for his grandmother so
that the time in the field can be
gentler in its monotony. right now, a
boy’s just found a stone, he checks his
weight for strength, it’s grooves for
accuracy, then darts off with his fist
held high, signaling to the other that
the stick ball game was officially on,
never knowing that the the rock he holds
is the last reigning piece to a church
bomb years ago in Selma, Alabama and the
sound he hears played after, when he
cracks a home run, is not the tinkling of
broken glass from Miss Johnson’s window,
but four little black angels crying
tears of joy, cheering him as his feet
hit every base. right now, in the Soviet
Union, where the red curtain might be
tatted, but its’ blood stained glow still
cast over the eyes of everyone living
there, and names like Stalin and Lenin
bring shivers colder than the Hudson in
December, and names like optimism, freedom,
and democracy can get you shot, killed if
you’re lucky. there was a girl sticking
her hand into a military bonfire
ignoring the pain and crackling of her
own skin, she takes out a book half charred,
which reads Three Sisters by Chekov
and tucks it underneath the shirt, not
for warmth, but salvation. right now, a
crackhead had waited 10 minutes longer than
he did yesterday, before going in the cop
and tells himself tomorrow I’ll shoot
for 20. a raced girl with bags underneath
her eyes, and in beneath the legs which
both by now her age stands, on the corner
Main & Champion, and when some Tide
State worker comes by flashing crisp $20
bills she gets on the bus and heads home
for the first time in months. can you
hear me now right now? a boy just ran for
his life to go to school today, some girl
got caught and smacked to some
piece of car, leaving her purse
behind, but not a virginity. can you hear
me now? right now, a man just cut off his
TV and actually had a conversation with
his kids. there is a revolution happening
around us every moment, of every day, and
it is not black power, nor white power, it
is not scary, not tyrannical, it is not
Hitler nor Gandhi, Martin or Malcolm, Mama,
no Nora. it is a young couple’s kiss
behind the bleachers and the old couple
holding hands in the mall, it is loving someone
intensely for 5 minutes, then letting go
when the song ends. it is your misfiring
synapses, your unfit high, your seemingly
miserable existence that still keeps
beating in your chest like some Drummer
Boy hellbent on getting through a
spiritual desert, it is writing a poem or
hearing one. it is your inhale and exhale.
right now, there’s a revolution being
fought right around us. look at the
person next to you. see the battle being
fought in their eyes and recognize it is
just a reflection of the same war being
fought inside you. it’s but the effort to
live your life the way you wish every
moment, every day of this life that you
have and that is the battle and that is
the Revolution and your goal tonight is
a inhale and exhale to living live
inhale, exhale. can you hear me now? if so
then fight on soldiers, ‘cuz the life you
saved this night will be your
own.

Transcribed from the video “Revolution” by Ed Mabrey and Poetry Slam Archives.

Watch Ed Mabrey perform “Revolution” on YouTube

About the poet Ed Mabrey

Ed Mabrey’s poem Revolution is an urgent and powerful meditation on the silent, ongoing battles that define human existence. Unlike traditional revolutions that are marked by violence, politics, or ideological shifts, the revolution in Mabrey’s poem is deeply personal, invisible to the untrained eye, yet ever-present in our lives.

The poem unfolds in a series of vignettes, each capturing a moment of struggle, resilience, or defiance from various corners of the world. A Vietnamese boy runs barefoot, dodging bullets, not for himself but to bring comfort to his grandmother. A child picks up a stone for a game, unaware that it is a remnant of a church bombing in Selma, infused with historical pain. A girl in the Soviet Union risks her life to rescue a banned book from flames—not for warmth, but for the survival of knowledge. A crack addict fights against addiction, pushing the boundaries of self-control. A young woman, forced into sex work, takes her first steps toward reclaiming her life.

Through these moments, Mabrey illustrates that revolution is not just found in grand historical narratives but in the quiet acts of endurance, courage, and self-reclamation that happen right now—in real time, all around us. He challenges the reader to recognize the struggles in the eyes of those around them and to see their own internal battles reflected there. The poem’s rhythmic repetition of “right now” creates a sense of immediacy, making the revolution feel not only inevitable but also deeply personal.

Mabrey’s final call to action is simple yet profound: breathe. The act of inhaling and exhaling, of continuing despite hardship, is itself an act of defiance, a way to reclaim one’s life. Revolution is not just about resistance; it is about existence, about the ongoing fight to live authentically and freely.

Discover more about Ed Mabrey’s poetry and performance legacy here on his bio page.

Get Tickets to see Ed Mabrey, Individual World Poetry Slam Champion, feature at Ghost Poetry Show on April 9th, 2025!

April 9th, 2025 at The Rebel Lounge

Doors at 7:00PM | Show at 7:30PM

Advance Price: $10 + fees
Day Of Show Price: $12 + fees

21+This is a special Ghost Poetry Show for National Poetry Month! Individual World Poetry Slam Champion ED MABREY features award-winning poetry live and in-your-face in the intimate setting of The Rebel Lounge!

15 poets compete in a poetry slam for cash prizes judged by 5 randomly selected audience members.

To sign up to perform email us at GhostPoetryShow@gmail.com

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