Hands: A poem for Al Robles in Filipino American History Month


My father joked once
About a man who moved
His hands a lot when
He spoke

Dad would say that if

Carving a Life

(Author's note: My father, James Robles on the left, my brother Asian Robles on the right--with my sister Jade and step mother Tai)

Criminalized, Labeled and Thrown in Cold Cells

Co-editors note:

Phoenix Kat created this first piece for PNN Toronto, in a POOR Magazine revolutionary journalism workshop held  at Maggies Sex Worker Organizing Project in Toronto


(Image of some of the rampamt gentriFUKation hitting Toronto)


Celebracion de los trabajadores internacionales en CalifasAzlan/Celebrating Intl Workers Day in CalifasAztlan

I am the 000.25- the smallest number you can think of in your mind, I didn't even make it to the 99 ....I am the mamaz, daddys and babies living in their cars, criminalized day laborers living in SRO's shelters, jails cells and houses made of card-board....excerpt from I am the 000.25 by tiny aka Lisa Gray-Garcia

Al Robles

This Carabao has gone home to the village

Come to me, my melancholy baby

Baguio Ifugao winds that blew away

YOUR POETRY breathing words



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