Thursday, October 6, 2016

national poetry day poem of the day 10.06.16

in celebration of National Poetry original.

paddle me party

i don’t remember
what i’d done
some first grade infraction
that had pushed it too far with the teacher
but there i was in the principal’s office
with all of the other bad boys and girls
from grades one through six
crowded around the old nun’s desk
her images of mary and jesus
benevolently looking down
at all of us from the walls
blessed porcelain white saint francis statue in the corner
periwinkle rosary beads hanging like a noose
there was one boy bent over the desk
i could barely see him from behind all of the older kids
just his waist, his horse-brown belt
where the dress shirt tucked into navy blue slacks
but i could see sister laurentia
her pale, virginal face calm and poised
her black habit and cat glasses and puckered un-kissed lips
a true bride of christ
with her golden crucifix around the neck
the wooden paddle held aloft
like some sacramental offering
i couldn’t make out what she was saying either
those nuns talked with such holy softness
even when clutching a child’s arm to black and blue
pulling a child’s hair as they frog marched one down the hall
but i could hear the paddle when it went SWOOSH!
hitting that kid right on his ass
the way he cried as the SWOOSH! SWOOSH!
came two more times
before she sent him back into the crowd
humbled and humiliated and sobbing
our pre-pubescent savior
our martyr, our sacrificial lamb
because sister laurentia let the rest of us off
with just a warning that afternoon
after we recited one our father
promised her at least three extra hail marys
the next time we went with our class to confession
and that we’d always be good
from now until god the giver of this life
gave us our last earthly breath.                                     

Monday, October 3, 2016

Drunk Monkeys: Writer of the Month

Hello All

Drunk Monkeys has it's awesome Election 2016 issue up right here: HERE.
They've been kind enough to make yours truly their Writer of the Month, so
do us a solid and check out the issue....oh, and vote...unless it's for Trump.


Thursday, September 15, 2016

Tuesday, September 13, 2016

Stay Weird and Keep Writing

....which is not a motto or creed but the name of a poetry journal
that recently published a batch of my stuff....they can be read and ridiculed

Friday, September 2, 2016

poem at Your One Phone Call

couldn't even stay away a week.
I have a new never on WineDrunk SideWalk poem over
at Your One Phone Call

Monday, August 29, 2016

the last poem of the day 08.29.16

Well…we’ve come to the end of it, folks. The true and honest official end to WineDrunk SideWalk. Today’s post is going to be the final “poem of the day” post for the blog. I will maintain WineDrunk until the end of 2016, and post links when poems and short stories (should I ever write one again) get published in a journal or zine or whatever people call these literary dumping grounds these days. I do plan on coming back in 2017 with a new blog and I will post a link to that as well, thus officially ending good ol’ WineDrunk SideWalk 1.0 for good. I’m also planning to start putting out my own poetry books, hopefully by my 43rd birthday in April, as well as maybe doing an online or print poetry journal to showcase other writers. I started taking photographs this year, not very good as of now, but I may try doing something with that as well.

I started this blog in 2008 as….hell, I don’t know. If you go back 8 years I have picture and a blog post about Sarah Palin for Christ’ sake. But I soon developed WineDrunk into a poetry site, mostly to keep me writing regularly. I think I’ve achieved that. And it’s been really wonderful to have had people read and comment on the blog. I think of WineDrunk as a fine piece of digital art. But this year I’ve gotten rather restless with the whole thing. Concentrating on writing a novel while revising another novel lead to a lot of frustration on my part in having to post a poem daily and to try and have that poem at least maintain some quality, some shred of artistic value. I don’t think I failed but, more often than not, I was rather disappointed by a lot of what I put up on the blog in 2016. I don’t take disappointment easy and I don’t want to post poems that I’m not at least somewhat proud of. So I made the decision to stop the blog in order to work closer on the fiction and to give the poetry the actual time it deserves. Will it make me a better writer? I don’t know.

Again…I thank all of you who have read the blog and have participated in this little art experiment of mine. I hope when the time comes you’ll follow me along to the next adventure, and I can follow you along as well.


so here's to getting a little WineDrunk one last time.

needing a job

it was buffalo
and i hadn’t worked in over a month
and all i did was sit in the apartment
and eat bologna sandwiches and drink labatt beer
when my wife got home from her job
i was sort of drunk
my wife always managed to find a job first
in whatever city we moved to
it was always me sitting at home
eating cold cuts and drinking beer
or going to temp agencies
or filling out applications in big box stores
always me needing a job
and it was buffalo in may
but it felt like march outside
but i walked the city looking for work anyway
i drove up its empty drags searching for help wanted
and there were no jobs at the temp agencies
and the big box stores weren’t hiring
neither were the non-profits and the cold offices
it looked like it was going to snow in may
and i thought at least that would be something
i found this job in a bath and shower warehouse
and i sat in front of bald man
who was doing interviews
and he had a goatee because he was bald
and he asked me if i wanted to work in the warehouse
as if he and i had been searching for each other
our whole lives
and he showed me pictures of the team
on their kayaking trips
he said, do you like to kayak?
and i had no answer for that
he said, just one thing,
on your resume it says you write
he said, what kind of writing do you do?
the occasional wrong-headed, misguided rant
on someone’s blog, i said
and when he didn’t laugh at that i said
poetry…and fiction
he said, hmmmm….well….i really want to hire you
but what happens if you write a novel?
will you just up and quit?
and i wanted to tell him how hard it was to write a novel
how much harder it was to get a novel published
i wanted to talk to the bath and shower warehouse man
about literary agents and editors
and marketing and the whole whoring business of writing
but instead i just looked around the office
and said, i need a job
because my wife and i were on our third city
in as many years
because i was getting fat sitting alone at home
eating bologna sandwiches and drinking
all of that beer
because a savings account can only go so far
and the bills were due and the landlord wanted rent
the warehouse guy said you’re hired
and i told him great
even though i hoped to drive the car
over one of those highway embankments on the way home
he showed me the warehouse
it was full of bath and shower parts
and people walking around looking like they’d
needed a job at one point in their lives
and this was the best that they’d gotten
for being born against their will
the bald, goateed warehouse man handed me paperwork
and i walked out of the squat building like a zombie
and i sat in the car and watched the sun droop in the sky
i thought about spending the next thirty years in there
and by some dark magic i didn’t drive over an embankment
but instead went home to where my wife
was already back from work
making spaghetti and drinking a labatt blue
and i kissed her on the lips
and got a labatt blue out of the fridge
and i sat at the kitchen table looking at the paperwork
as food was being cooked
and my stomach rumbled
and outside our little kitchen window
i swear on christ’s wooden cross
i saw a snowflake fall.


Thursday, August 25, 2016

poem of the day 08.25.16

american poem

so many flags little time