day SIX HUNDRED and FIFTY

                              Hymn to Fundraising

to the democratic party
just because I signed yr petition
or wrote a letter to my congressman
or to the senator that probably stole his seat
doesn’t mean I want to give you money
it’s mostly that I have none to give
but I also don’t care that it will be triple matched
that corey booker, or kristen gillibrand
or martin sheen, or barbara striesand
or obama asked. I don’t care
that yr begging or that without
my three dollars, or twenty-seven dollars
the mongrel hordes of republicans will win

but, in the future, if you want my money
please run progressive candidates
candidates with a backbone
candidates that say change
and believe in it
candidates that will call out
this or any other administration
on its tyranny, candidates with an actual message
candidates that are not for sale
candidates that I don’t have to close
my eyes and say it’s the lesser of two evils
when I hit the probably tampered
with electronic vote button at the poll

please remember the first vote
I got to cast was for clinton
way back in the idyllic nineties
and we all know that the fucker
was basically just reagan
with a memory, a different color suit
and a horrible reputation as a womanizer

--Jason Baldinger

day SIX HUNDRED and FORTY NINE

Genteel

in the great public
restroom of history
the current administration
needs a courtesy flush

--J.J. Stick

day SIX HUNDRED and FORTY EIGHT

america

chew us up

spit us out

every single day

america

maim yourself

murder yourself

every single day

america

hurl these lifeless bodies

that you’ve robbed of liberty

back into your violent abyss

and scream all over again

america

--John Grochalski

                                              

day SIX HUNDRED and FORTY SEVEN

which one are we?

last week we were snowflakes

delicate little flowers

the tough guys on twitter called me mam

and gave themselves virtual high fives

but just yesterday

they turned us into a mob

angry mobs

despicable mobs

left-wing mobs hell bent on destroying america

skeletor coulter said

the president’s dipshit son

is tweeting the fear faster than we can produce it

every gathering of people not in MAGA hats

or dressed in the flag

seems like some kind of revolution

socialism in action

red meat to rile up the nazi base

i wish it were true

left-wing mobs hell bent on destroying america

coming with our jack boots

to smash the anthem and the flag

two-hundred-forty-two years of garbage

in this shithole nation

instead of women marching for their rights

instead of people in the streets

asking to be seen as more than less than human

delicate little flowers who have bloomed

out of this republican hypocrisy

that forgets the “good” men in charlottesville

the proud boys propagating their hate

the fox news propaganda machine

that never found

an alternative fact that it didn’t like

when they come at us like dirty swine

with their spin, their lies

man, i wish we were coming for them

marching down pennsylvania avenue

making trump piss in his diet coke cans

an army of snowflakes

reigning down a blizzard

on these hateful fucks

i wish we had them all

every last red, gerrymandering motherfucker

running scared.         

--John Grochalski                                                            

day SIX HUNDRED and FORTY SIX

Cause and Effect

playing the game

‘how many massacres?’

with my fellow poets

from around the world

I substitute the number witnessed

with the number my country caused

and win every time 

tiny hands down 

-J.J. Stick

day SIX HUNDRED and FORTY FIVE

IT TAKES MONEY TO BUY WHISKEY

by John Clayton

This Vietnam veteran knows that heroes are few and far between,

But we have them, they can be seen.

Doyle, Inouye, Kerry and McCain

On their honor, not one stain.

Vets are just people, like everyone they say.

Well, at least we started out that way.

Combat changes you, that I know.

Sometimes my mind wanders not knowing where to go.

Veterans, please stand to be honored, to be honored by all.

I will not stand, that takes some gall.

No!  I will not stand for you, who will not pay taxes for a vets medical care.

Say it to my face, you would not dare.

Oh, you are here now, that you are too old to go.

When it was your time, your legs had a bow.

Our BRAVE president, who causes GOP hearts to stir,

When it was his turn bought a bone spur.

Where were you, when my world was quaking?

Where were you when I woke up at night, sweating and shaking?

Where were you when I could not concentrate enough to work?

You said I was just a drunk and a jerk.

That mental health treatment just cost too much, that taxes will not reach,

And with that you turned me on to the street.

There is nothing wrong with him, that he didn’t choose.

He’s just lazy and likes his booze.

He’s no good, on that you can bet.

Just walk on by that dirty old vet.

Trumpites are feeling frisky,

But it takes money to buy whiskey.

You say vets are heroes, that’s what you say,

But not what you do,
 when it comes time to pay.

Stand up veterans, look at me shine!

When more taxes are needed, we’ll see if you have a spine.

day SIX HUNDRED and FORTY FOUR

FUCK TRUMP 

Photograph by John Grochalski

day SIX HUNDRED and FORTY THREE

Catechism

                                    Introibo ad altare Dei.

                                    Ad Deum que laetificat juvetutem meam.

We’d ask Father Logue how far

up her skirt our fingers could crawl.

We’d ask him if French kissing was a sin and

to which base we could safely go?

We asked Fr. Logue these questions

in his Marriage Class at Saint Mary’s High

in 1968. We tried to get him to say words

we weren’t allowed to say in religion class.

We loved to watch sweat-beads

form on his forehead as this good man

struggled, not with our questions, but

with his impulse to bean his questioners.

His response was forthright, unwavering:

“You will never respect yourself

unless you respect the person you’re with.

A woman is not a plaything, a toy

for your enjoyment. There are places

you won’t go because dignity prevents you,

and, of course, if she says ‘no’ you stop

because she is a child of God, just like you.”

We never asked the good Father whether

we could hold a girl down against her will

or whether Jesus would look away should we

cup a hand over her mouth so she couldn’t scream.

We never inquired about the sin potential

of grabbing a girl’s blouse and pulling it off,

or straddling her so she couldn’t pull away

from our grasp. We were, many of us,

intellectual oafs, but we knew what the word

“respect” meant. We wanted sex, lots of it,

but only on the altar of consent where

the jouissance and the mire were mutual.

--Charlie Brice

day SIX HUNDRED and FORTY TWO

                                    709 Mifflin

those were hard drinking years
with two bands practicing
in the attic
we’d go through cases
of beer like lightning
at worst, if dared
you could lay on the floor
make beer can angels

but that apartment
was a shit hole anyway
it rained in the bathroom
when it rained outside
there were windows that never
opened and one that never closed
the thermostat was five degrees off
I think the house tried to light itself
on fire more than we did

the day we turned in our keys
doing a walkthrough
with the landlord
and his seven-year-old son
in-between rooms
the son chirps
this place is a dump
just loud enough, I say
that’s because daddy’s a slum lord

--Jason Baldinger

day SIX HUNDRED and FORTY ONE

In the Weeds

Our drinks are full of rain on the day they put

the woman down. It's simply the way of this town.

The last bird was spotted years ago, wing-shot

by the boy from the alley. The flaming oriole

sputtered to the ground, lost in the sawgrass

but still spoken of reverentially. She had the nerve

to call out angels and politicians. She took her rights

seriously, and there's the tragedy. Here we say,

Not my country. But what do we mean by it.

Where on the map did the final break occur. Look

at each street name, burn it to the backs of your

eyes. Someday the smug will say where this

and where that and confusion will be no more

tolerated than the blood dripping from your wounds.

This really is a wonderful place so long as you ignore

everything they say. The liquor is what helps.

I've been drunk in the weeds for years and look

how happy I am.

Kristofer Collins

day SIX HUNDRED and FORTY

on the question of politicians and climate change

it doesn't matter
how much this
is a natural trend

and if God is
intervening, then your
sins are greater

and we can logically
point to the human
cause — it is you

the politician can
stem the tide
of climate change

stem the greed

--Thomas R. Thomas

day SIX HUNDRED and THIRTY NINE

BIRDS OF A FEATHER

                                            Photograph by John Grochalski

day SIX HUNDRED and THIRTY EIGHT

Tweets The Clown #7

With all that's gone round
All that has gone down
Makes one wonder
How in the world
Tweets the Clown is still around
Up there on that high wire
Mugging mocking thumbing his nose
Flying the bird shaking his butt
At the world
Cheered on by his cult
I mean loyal followers
Laughing at his crass attacks
On the helpless the defenseless
The victims
In the name of privilege
The great white hope
Wonder why Tweets
Does not embrace his whiteness
And stop coloring himself
In an attempt look brown
And the ones closest to Tweets
Can never tell him the orange truth
For they will surely be vanquished
You know what they say
What goes up ............
And it will not be pretty
So let us move on
And not be distracted
From the task at hand
Being better
We are better than this


Barry R Barnes Peace
10/8/2018 8:12pm.
Be sure to vote on voting day!
Be sure to vote with your dollars everyday!

day SIX HUNDRED and THIRTY SEVEN

WE BELIEVE YOU (HERO)

                                       
                                            photograph by John Grochalski

day SIX HUNDRED and THIRTY SIX

Judge Marks

In the name of your Bible
expecting America
to buy your bull

In the name of Jesus
confirming a devil
to the Supreme Court

In the name of the Father
distressing women
since at least high school

In the name of the Holy Spirit
swilling unholy Bro-weiser
leaving indelible bruises

--John Burroughs

day SIX HUNDRED and THIRTY FIVE

DO NOT

Do not.

Just,

Just do not.

Just do not tell me,

Just do not tell me you are too tired.

Too tired to care,

Too    tired    to pay attention.

Too tired to pay attention

    to what happened     today.

Too tired to listen to disheartening news.

Too tired to hear another lie.

Just

Just    too     tired

Just    too     tired    to     listen

Just too tired to hear another speech

    without a complete sentence.

Another day of puking out Sean Hannity.

Another day of blaming sick people

    for being sick.

Another day of blaming poor people

    for being poor.

Another day of corporate subsidies

Another day of farm subsidies

Another day of offshore accounts

Another day of taking food from kids

    sp the rich can get richer.

22Do not!

Just do Not!

Just do not thank me for my service.

Just do not thank me for my service

    if you  can not muster the energy

    to listen.

The energy to pay attention.

The energy to be pissed.

The energy to look your neighbor in the eye.

To look your neighbor in the eyes and say

    “This is wrong.”.

    “This is immoral.”

    “This hurts America.”

Just do not thank me for my service

    if you are too damn lazy to vote.

Just    Do    Not!

copyright by John Clayton

9/2/18