day NINE HUNDRED and FIFTY FOUR

Two protest senryu

PO(TU)S

Trump. You're as useful
as an electric socket
in a toilet bowl.

Today’s Republican Party

Shooting gallery.

Human targets. In the hull

of our Ship of State.

--Cheryl Caesar

day NINE HUNDRED and FIFTY THREE

HOLY HELL

It's fine to avoid
eye contact;

they expect it
and most everyone does.

Only fools give handouts
and the stench is revolting.

Even knowing they're
on the streets
turns my stomach.

It’s not my fault
if they have children,

and feeding them now
only makes for
stronger thugs later.

Don’t get me started
on paying for their health care.

And don't get me wrong,

I give to lots of charities
through the church
and it all goes
to the deserving.

God's work ain't cheap, brother.
Let us pray.

--Jeff Weddle

day NINE HUNDRED and FIFTY TWO

what i should’ve said when the liquor store clerk

asked me if i was going to the neighborhood summer festival

i don’t like the summer

and people strolling around without purpose

the word festival means asshole in russian, i believe

there are too many cops standing in cop rows

with cop smirks on their cop faces

italian sausages and fried dough are over-rated

and reek of imperialistic decline

if you’ve seen one shitty band covering the beatles

then you’ve seen them all, my friend

you can’t drink beer on the street…probably because of the cops

there are too many people

wearing t-shirts with the american flag on them

too many toddlers waving american flags at cops

there are too many american flags in general

and i can only stand to look at american flags for so long

before i become filled with existential anxiety and dread

most of the people in this neighborhood

voted republican for president

we should put them in cages instead of immigrants

but we let them run amuck

eating fried oreos and playing carnival games

in their stained american flag t-shirts

making friendly with the cops

fried oreos are a harbinger of doom

no, i think i’m going to go home, liquor man

sit on the couch in a dark room with the shades drawn

killing the environment as i blast the a/c

and poison myself with the vodka and wine you sold me

i’m going to imagine something more

than american flags and cops and summer festivals

and fireflies and humid summer nights

and pale-faced rapist boys chasing pale-faced girls

i’m going to get blind, stinking drunk, my good man

listen to a little bit of the real beatles

sing something at the top of my lungs

until my upstairs neighbor

newly home from the neighborhood summer festival

becomes so enraged that she pounds down on my ceiling

until the plaster begins to fall

then maybe i’ll go the hell to bed.

--John Grochalski

                                                          

day NINE HUNDRED and FIFTY ONE

I. Q. Test

An actor on tv

cursed the President.

Many viewers thought it was funny.

The President meets Kim

and announces he trusts him.

It’s clear which one is crazier

and which one is dumber,

but there’s no question

of who’s more dangerous.

--Gary Beck

Gary Beck has spent his adult life as a theater director. He has 14 published chapbooks. His poetry collections include Days of Destruction (Skive Press), Expectations (Rogue Scholars Press), Dawn in Cities, Assault on Nature, Songs of a Clerk, Civilized Ways, Displays, Perceptions, Fault Lines, Tremors, Perturbations, Rude Awakenings, The Remission of Order and Contusions(Winter Goose Publishing). Conditioned Response (Nazar Look), Virtual Living (Thurston Howl Publications), Blossoms of Decay, Expectations, Blunt Force and Transitions (Wordcatcher Publishing). His novels include Flawed Connections (Black Rose Writing), Call to Valor and Crumbling Ramparts (Gnome on Pig Productions), Sudden Conflicts (Lillicat Publishers). Acts of Defiance and Flare Up Wordcatcher Publishing). His short story collections include A Glimpse of Youth (Sweatshoppe Publications), Now I Accuse and other stories (Winter Goose Publishing) and Dogs Don’t Send Flowers and other stories(Wordcatcher Publishing). The Republic of Dreams and other essays (Gnome on Pig Productions). Feast or Famine and other one act-plays will be published by Wordcatcher Publishing. His original plays and translations of Moliere, Aristophanes and Sophocles have been produced Off Broadway. His poetry, fiction and essays have appeared in hundreds of magazines. He lives in New York City.

day NINE HUNDRED and FIFTY

The Difference is This 

They say his tiny hands
are traumatized relics
of a great family war
that his language
is all fucked up
because there was never
enough love, friends,
attention, and I get it,
I do, I too have known those
who seemed like they had it all
but ended up shooting dope
and in the same room as me
at 21 trying to get clean
and do good by our ragged hearts
but the thing is
we walked
right up to the gates
of what we had done
and owned our shit
made vows to do different
fight the demons that pull on us
at 2 a.m. whispering; no good goddamn brain
feed me, feed me right now
all the poison you got
in this house
and them I know
and them I don't
we say our little prayers
to god's we don't even believe in
we toss and we turn
but we refuse to burn
the world down
because of our pain.

--James Diaz

Bio: James Diaz is the author of This Someone I Call Stranger (Indolent Books, 2018). He lives by the simple but true motto that “feelings matter” every shape and size of feeling. He believes that every small act of kindness makes an often unseen but significant difference in someone’s life and hopes that his poems are a small piece of that.

day NINE HUNDRED and FORTY NINE

The Recalcitrant Gun

“Mental illness and hatred pulls the trigger, not the gun”
Donald tRump

The gun, sitting in his cell, eyes drooping whispers to himself, “I didn’t do it, I’m not the one who pulled my trigger.”

He remembers lying on the floor with his fellow guns forming the name Trump. Remembers wondering at the time what this Trump was. Now he knew. Trump was a manifesto, a manifesto of hate and racism.

He remembers screaming as the bullets flew, and the blood flowed. Screaming stop, stop, stop.

He wishes he could be melted down to be a hammer, plow, or school desk. But now he will live out his days in a dark cold box with only his memories of that terrible day, and his steel tears.

--Thomas R. Thomas

--Tho mas R. Thomas

day NINE HUNDRED and FORTY EIGHT

WHEN IT WAS SOLD

                                                   J.I. Kleinberg

day NINE HUNDRED and FORTY SEVEN

AFTER THE EARTHQUAKE

A child found a doll

amid rubble.

The pink head was cracked,

black hair singed.

Its glass eyes looked out

through dark lashes.

At the end of the road,

rescue workers were

scouring the wreckage

for bodies, living or dead.

She’d found one

that couldn’t be either.

At least, only on her say-so,

not God’s.

--John Grey

day NINE HUNDRED and FORTY SIX

Freedom

has no

purpose

it's laughed

at in

the halls

of it's

high school

it's left

at the

altar it's

tired and

overworked

it's ordered

with a

side

of french

fries it's

lost in

foreign countries

in the

pockets of

dead soldiers

it's taken

away like

computer privileges

and when

it puts

guns in

the hands

of cowards

it sends

parents to

the graves

of their

children

sends husbands

into churches

wives into

rehab

while most

of us

just sit

glued to

the TV

unable 

to look

away. 

-- Matt Borczon

day NINE HUNDRED and FORTY FIVE

Rally of the Plastic Cheeto

(Sing to the tune of “Plastic Jesus” as you heard it in “Cool Hand Luke.” Thank you, Ernie Marrs.)

They don’t care that he lied and tricked ‘em,

mocked the hero and shamed the victim,

their Plastic Cheeto at the podium.

They didn’t listen to Dr. Ford;

She just scared ‘em with six-bit words,

but now they laugh and think they’re not so dumb.

Twenty-five dollars and they can buy a

MAGA hat that’s made in China.

A wreck is up ahead, but they don’t mind.

They don’t care if he scams and cheats ‘em.

Reasoned eloquence just defeats ‘em.

So let the carny barker rob ‘em blind.

Through our trials and tribulation,

he throws acid across our nation,

searing wounds that leave a lasting scar.

They don’t mind if he’s a big fat liar.

Think they’ve found their orange Messiah,

and with their plastic cheater they’ll go far.

--Cheryl Caesar

day NINE HUNDRED and FORTY FOUR

As In Insanity We Trust

I ate the eagle and only crapped out propaganda and make America great again bumper stickers.

I watched leave it to Beaver for hours on end and believed in everything corporate America sold.

Shopped at Walmart and ignored the homeless outside and bought a flat screen TV cause the devil told me so.

Wore my sunglasses inside grabbed a woman's ass and reported a family for looking too foreign.

Bought my kid a gun so he could join the trend of school shootings I heard were on the rise.

I lived the dream that was clearly a nightmare in disguise.

--Zechariah Savage

day NINE HUNDRED and FORTY THREE

They Love the Fetus....

                                                photo by Ally Malinenko

day NINE HUNDRED and FORTY TWO

No Resistance, No Thoughts of Their Own

It’s pure masochism,

watching talking bobble heads

on Sunday morning t.v. news shows,

hearing debates on whether

Individual No. 1 is racist

or just deflecting public attention

from impending impeachment.

Moscow Mitch and his lock-step clique

of corrupt GOP clones

can be counted on to parrot

the party line as dictated

by Sean Hannity and Faux News,

red meat to his ravening pack,

whatever distraction is necessary

to redirect outrage onto a new target.

This is how democracy falls.

--Jennifer Lagier

day NINE HUNDRED and FORTY ONE

Crime Scene ICE : The Bodies

                                                  Nancy Kiel and Mark Blickey

day NINE HUNDRED and FORTY

Priorities

A misplaced coffee cup
on Game of Thrones
brought the internet to its knees,
while in other parts of the world
two people die per minute
in an endless series of wars.

In the United States, we have
forty thousand gun deaths per year,
and two million homeless veterans.

Our infant mortality rate
is the highest of any developed nation,
and our average life expectancy
has decreased for three years in a row.

The rich slobber over plates
of filet mignon, while twelve percent
of our citizens go to bed hungry,
and 6 in 10 Americans
can’t raise $500 in an emergency.

Meanwhile, ten million people
watch Game of Thrones every week:
its horror an inoculation
against real life violence.

This is how vaccines work:
ingest a tiny bit of the poison
as protection against the actual disease.

Sometimes this strategy
backfires, and violence spills
into our schools and churches,

but at least we can still laugh
over a misplaced coffee cup
on a film set and remember
to tune in next season
for a new dose of toxins.

--Leah Mueller

Leah Mueller is an indie writer and spoken word performer from Tacoma, Washington. She is the author of two chapbooks and four books. Her next two books, "Death and Heartbreak" and "Misguided Behavior" will be published in Autumn, 2019 by Weasel Press and Czykmate Press. Leah’s work appears in Blunderbuss, The Spectacle, Outlook Springs, Atticus Review, Your Impossible Voice, and other publications. She was a featured poet at the 2015 New York Poetry Festival, and a runner-up in the 2012 Wergle Flomp humor poetry contest. 

day NINE HUNDRED and THIRTY NINE

EVERY TIME I SEE THEIR FACES

with bulging eyes
and pink putty faces
they tell us what’s best
chests puffed
and talking tough
behind the safety
of armed men

they preach
the tough love
of self reliance
their pockets stuffed
with stolen gold

they stand at the edge
of their graves
none the wiser
despite the grey hairs
they stand there
clutching scepters
with every fiber

maybe a people
so near death
hires death itself
men who look like
airbrushed corpses
to lead them down
into the ground

they reach out to us
with pale, withered hands
tiny hands
soft as newborn skin
and the calloused fingers
roughened by pick and shovel
willingly grasp



--Brian Rilhmann

day NINE HUNDRED and THIRTY EIGHT

Republican Agenda

1. Grab ‘em by the pussy
2. Brag about it
3. Tell everyone you love Jesus
4. Bring back coat hanger abortions
5. Take it up the ass from Putin
6. Grab some more pussy, because why the hell not?
7. Fuck Jesus in the ass for good measure
8. Pray loudly
9. Kidnap a bunch of kids
10. Ready the final solution
11. Grab more pussy
12. Party on

--Jeff Weddle


...and also....



The New Colossus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

--Emma Lazarus

..and also...

...and also....

FUCK THE TRUMP ADMINISTRATION

day NINE HUNDRED and THIRTY SEVEN

Just My Kim

He’s just my Kim, a dictatorial guy.

He owns a lot of things he likes to brag about.

His fashion flair, his bowl-cut hair,

Are not what they seek at Milan’s Fashion Week…

Oh, I can’t explain, why he’s so inhumane,

And kills, on a whim.

I love him, ‘cause he’s mercurial,

Because he’s Just My Kim.

--Cheryl Caesar

day NINE HUNDRED and THIRTY SIX

As Notre Dame Burns . . .

I am cleaning house

hoisting a mighty brass lamp

to sweep away

the accumulated dust

of eons . . .

A stupefying crash

the end of something.

The lamp’s base has rotted, fallen out

lies in

scattered fragments

humpty dumpty

This massive lamp was

a lighthouse

guiding us to safety

a thousand years of Western civilization

crashing down

burning up

the center cannot hold

vast chunks of glacier

calving off

England, Hungary, Turkey

spinning apart

the new Europe

the new world order

the ancient civilization

the global Empire

liberal democracy

neoliberalism

rot

fire

Our house a rock

sheltering our tiny family

on a colossal foundation

built in 1952

when gleaming rows of proud houses sprouted

on acres of cement

from the ashes of war

build anew

. . .

Toss away

this bronze lamp

among the ephemera

of a new world order

built on commerce

a foundation of sand

We order anew

Amazon Prime

dealer

for a billion junkies

flotsam from China’s million factories

a foundation of

cheap labor

Our house, our marriage

unshakeable foundation

in Rockville, a rock

impervious (for now)

to flooding, landslides, heat waves, hurricanes, tornados, malaria, Lyme disease, measles, fear-mongering, racism, anti-Semitism, Islamophobia, shootings, bombings, torture, slaughter

Rockville, all American town

sanctuary city of a hundred thousand migrants

Hondurans, Guatemalans

Ethiopians, Iranians

Koreans, Chinese, Indians

Sri Lankans

refugees

all-

Americans in a flash

The smoky remains of the ancient cathedral

wavering yet proud

an ancient skeleton

Somehow, a miracle

The crown of thorns

has survived the blaze

now each of us must wear it.

--Ethan Goffman

Ethan Goffman’s poems have appeared in BlazeVox, Burgeon, Loch Raven Review, Mad Swirl, Madness Muse, Ramingo’s Blog, Under the Bleachers, Setu, and Winedrunk Sidewalk, as well as the anthologies The Music of the Aztecs, Epiphanies and Late Realizations of Love, and Narwhal’s Lament. He is co-founder of It Takes a Community, a Montgomery College initiative that brings poetry to both students and local residents. In addition, Ethan is founder and producer of the Poetry & Planet podcast on EarthTalk.org.

this poem is soon to appear in Madness Muse

day NINE HUNDRED and THIRTY FIVE

Nothing to see here

wrenched away from family

at the border of a strange country

stripped

searched

put in the cage

wide eyes round in shock

at night the foil blankets

of all of the children

shimmer as they cry

themselves to quiet

the soldiers come

they rape

they hurt the

virgin bodies

and throw them back

into the cage

or bury them

--Heidi Blakeslee

day NINE HUNDRED and THIRTY FOUR

miss morality police approximately

she makes herself a good neighbor

by loitering and shouting out into the void

like it’s always noon

votes republican

stands for the flag

kneels for the cross

says kids these days have no morality

what with the…

and the…

and their…

then spouting off a list of juvenile inanities

that plague each successive generation

as it grows older and out of the zeitgeist’s glance

it gets pretty boring down here in summer

trying to live a life between

heat waves, street festivals and parades

she has to do something to entertain herself

today she’s the morality police

tomorrow it’ll be smiling abject racist

in line in the over-priced grocery store

telling her buddy waiting behind her

how she’s able to discern the good ones from the bad

just like the little arab girl

ringing up her groceries

who never flinches when she speaks

oh no

not even once.

--John Grochalski

                                               

day NINE HUNDRED and THIRTY THREE

RENOWNED

                                                   J.I. Kleinberg

day NINE HUNDRED and THIRTY TWO

PEES

Poems are made
by fools like me

But Donald Trump
drinks hooker pee

--Jeff Weddle