Tuesday, November 19, 2019

day ONE THOUSAND and THIRTY FOUR


Lemmings
                After Russell Edson

On Monday, November 2, 2020 the unpresidential president stands on fifth avenue. A corpse at his feet. Smoking gun in his hand. A crowd congregates. Begins to cheer and clap.
The corpse sits up with an exasperated expression on its face and shouts, he shot me. You saw him do it, didn’t you?
The crowd heckles the corpse and begins to chant. BRING-IN-THE-BODY-BAG. BRING-IN-THE-BODY-BAG.
The corpse shrugs its shoulders, slumps over, and quietly waits for rigor mortis to set in.
The crowd roars. Marches to the closest polling station a day early and waits to cast their votes for the unpresidential president who will tell investigators that he simply fired the corpse. That the real culprit was the system. The rigged system . . .

--Corey Cook


Monday, November 18, 2019

day ONE THOUSAND and THIRTY THREE


TOO MUCH VANITY

nighttime flight too much pain to run anymore no more certain ways to run just lean down just lay down curl up and wish it away wish it away lean away let the world fly certain ways to run no more certain no path through pain let go lay down let go let the world go away too much pain too much pain lean down in vain fly away let the world fly away in vain


--Robert Beveridge


Sunday, November 17, 2019

day ONE THOUSAND and THIRTY TWO

Yovanovitch

and as the ambassador is live on TV speaking at the impeachment hearing tRump sends out a tweet attacking her, saying everywhere she served as ambassador turned bad.

he couldn’t help himself, he couldn’t stop himself from intimidating her while she was a witness in an inquiry about him, about whether he had committed an impeachable offence. he actively intimidated a witness in front of the whole world - that itself an impeachable offence.

this from a “man” who thinks he is invincible, a “man” who is a modern model of a mob boss, a minor super-villain who has his finger hovering over the button to destroy the world.

and this is the president - what have we done to ourselves?

--Thomas R. Thomas

Saturday, November 16, 2019

day ONE THOUSAND and THIRTY ONE

EVANGELICAL

the churches are filled
with prayers and pot luck dinners
and people who love children
as long as their skin is white
and the churches are filled
with joy and choir music
and the churches are filled
with frightened people
who do not understand this world
but hate it anyway
and the churches
rally around the flag
and the churches
are dragging us all into Hell
and the churches
know only English prayers
are answered
and never for the poor
--Jeff Weddle

*taken from the book Citizen Relent, published by Unlikely Books*

Friday, November 15, 2019

day ONE THOUSAND and THIRTY

taking a small breather from all the Trump bullshit
to honor a lovely lady whom i went out on my first date with
22 years ago this very day:



pittsburgh like a postcard

full of wine
and thai food

i ask you
what you’d like to do next

and you tell me

whatever
as long as it doesn’t involve
you going one way
and me going the other

that instant
when i knew loving you

would be a simple game of genius

played out in the first fall snow
that framed pittsburgh like a postcard.

--John Grochalski

a version of this poem appears in the anthology 
Unconditional Surrender: An Anthology of Love Poems
on Low Ghost Press....which you can also purchase right HERE

Thursday, November 14, 2019

day ONE THOUSAND and TWENTY NINE


the dust bowl again

railroad whistles whine
communist conductors
pray in train songs

these old wood houses
offer little shelter from wind
as the prairie howls, listen
you’ll realize it’s the ghost of the buffalo

this was the bottom
of the ocean
before it was
prairie, it will
never be prairie again

the desert waits
humans drink
the water table dry

the desert dreams
people are ghosts
this is the dust bowl again

--Jason Baldinger

Wednesday, November 13, 2019

day ONE THOUSAND and TWENTY EIGHT

Blemish

What has my country come to
once revered for freedom,
the promise of democracy,
when our President
who does not represent the majority
meets the Russian President,
alone, without anyone to monitor
what he might give away
of the American heritage.
Suspicion of his motives
is triggered by rumors of blackmail
by the ruthless Russians,
who purportedly have video
of Trump cavorting
with Russian hookers,
shaming our nation.

--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.


Tuesday, November 12, 2019

day ONE THOUSAND and TWENTY SEVEN


bolshevik am i

the stupidity of humanity
is always around us

permeating rooms
like farts in a car

and valerie says to me,
did you vote?

when i tell her no
she recoils as if i were the devil
and says,

if you don’t vote
then the socialists will come
and take our money

like boogeymen in the night
like a crooked chris cringle

i tell valerie
well, i like the socialists

which may be true
which may not be true

but she recoils again
and sighs deep

her joe mccarthy breath
as stale as mothballs

and stumbles away
to suckle the president’s
russian agent balls

while i stroke my goatee
in the warped image of the computer screen

feeling only so much
like leon trostky

with frida kahlo’s genius pussy
on his mind.                                                    

--John Grochalski

Monday, November 11, 2019

day ONE THOUSAND and TWENTY SIX

War Toad

Attention shoppers, this just in,
gather the carts in a circle and let me begin.
For all finger pointing pundits
and the newscasters of disaster,
for enhanced credit portfolios
and low mortgage rates
for better homes and gardens,
a more fertile front lawn,
for commodity, economy
and the lowest price around
I started the war,

Yes, it was me
in front of my TV
sitting on my love seat
in remote control as I lost my soul
my patience and my temper
in a live stream event of high definition
on satellite and cable T.V.
Or, you can watch it on your phone,
save it to your DVR.
There will be no pay wall or border walls
and it will all be funded by foundations
and viewers like you.
Be advised, you have no need to repent
for our sponsors and shareholders are happy.
The economy will be like a rockets red glare
and the stock market might go through the roof.
Your 401K will glow.
Your paycheck will grow,
and though the revolution may not be televised
the war will be available - on demand -

Yes, from my living room
I took it upon myself to liberate, emancipate
and annihilate the infidels and heretics
in a capitalist Jihad.
I went trampling across the desert,
jangling through the jungle,
crashing through the countryside
and the world wide web;
slogging and plodding along, up the hills
past the poppy fields and oil wells
stomping in sand up to my knees
to face the urgency of my insurgency.

So, light the menorah, hoof it to the Hajj
come down off the cross and get that best dress
Burkha off to the dry cleaners baby, cause it's war.
Take your best shot, pot shot atomic pop
and turn your scripture to page 93, start from the top
cause its application, sublimation Sunday
the conscription benediction
for the toads of war.

Grab your gun,
10 seconds to run, turn and fire.
Now, let's hear from the choir, Hallelujah hey!
Capture the flag, dig the latrine, take to the trenches
drag the pit, scared as shit, and hold off the inquisition.
Cause I've sent for the tanks, flown in the planes
clogged the express lanes with 10 items or less
who wins is anyone's guess.
I'm taking no prisoners.
I'm running with scissors,
opening the bomb bay doors
and dropping the load, the old war toad.

I've taken the enemies position into account
to give you the sharpest discount
for snipers, wind shield wipers
and a large sack of diapers.
My tariffs and sanctions are robust
and may last for years.
You can ask the Ayatola
or the Chinese premier
but have no fear
for the savior is coming
with an Armada of container ships
currently on the high seas
and the prices will bring you to your knees.

Yes, the captain is coming
to save the day.
There are savings on the way
and they are brought to you by my war.
Although the picture and footage are graphic
the AK 47’s and Patriot Missiles are pristine
pure and battle ready.
So, get your credit cards out
don’t push or shout
this is what freedom and liberty
are all about.

So charge your cell phones
and weaponize the drones.
For, it's 1 - 2 - 3 - 4
what are we shopping for ?
War - War - War
and let's not give a damn.
Let's take it to Tehran
Let's take it to Mogadishu,
take it to Aden and dear old Tripoli.
Pick any one you choose
war is the synonym of lose
that looks like a rubber raft full of refugees
on the Mediterranean sea.
Just send them away
there is no room here for them to stay,
perhaps another day.
Who will pay? Who will pay?

Truly we are blessed,
machine gun nest,
bullet proof vest,
for the hour has finally come.
The benediction of battle has begun.
The call to prayer is being sung
for the rapture has come
to a strip mall near you.
You can use your rewards card
for a rapturous discount
or put it on your credit card
with no money down.
Everything will be made to order.
Never mind the blood and slaughter.
The blitzkrieg and dread
are your devotional daily bread.

Bombs are bursting in air
or in the village square.
The rockets red glare.
Wait, there are children in there.
And, though the flag was still there
the whiskey in the situation room was flowing
and peace was just blowing away
oh say
can you see.
So, hop the digital train to the frontier,
and gather the wagons round the fire
cause it's a long road ahead
to the Wal-martian land of milk and honey,
sugar and spice just to pay the price
for freedom.

Grab the meek and put them down
diplomacy has died without a sound
without a wimper or a croak
of the old toads of war;
scribbling executive orders,
mandating a consensus
of missiles in the sand
and boots on the ground to foreign lands.
My war subsists in the shock and awe
of kicking in doors late at night,
much to the audiences delight
and I've taken on the fight, to end all rights.
If you don't like it, then go tell it to the NSA
cause today is the day.

For I, in my skinny jeans
and converse all stars from the goodwill store.
I, like any good infidel
have started this war.
You can set me on fire by the White House gates
but, the advancement must start before it's too late.
Ratings are down and gas prices are high.
The climate is changing, it's a good time to die.

I mean, I don't wish to bring you down.
I know it's a work night
and you have to get up in the morning
but I wanted to give you a warning
before it gets too late
that maybe if we don't hesitate
and we put our shopping carts back
we might be able to thwart the attack
with a little bit of action
and a whole lot of compassion.

Maybe,
I being so free
just might turn off the T.V.
and set the whole world free.

--Carl Kaucher



Sunday, November 10, 2019

day ONE THOUSAND and TWENTY FIVE

Terrorists Outside the Gate

The bent cross we bear
born in a deadly time
born to die

some fly high
but we all die

what is behind the wall
inside the lies they tell

if water dies
we will all die

the walls hide the lies they tell

the language wall they live so well

the gate
locked tight
give me the key

the vote
yes, give me the vote

No?
you say no,
no?
where do you hide
behind that wall

or off to the ball game
          when there is so much to do

when we need
public water
                 public police
                         public schools

Terrorists Infiltrate behind the gate
infiltrate those who hide

don’t stand starving outside
                                 without a key

the wall hides the lies

everyone wants to kill you
kill me

we all pay
for the hunger
we will pay

--Julene T. Weaver



Julene Tripp Weaver is a psychotherapist and writer in Seattle. She has a chapbook and two full size poetry books. Her most recent, truth be bold—Serenading Life & Death in the Age of AIDS, was a finalist for a Lambda Literary Award, and won the Bisexual Book Award (2017). Her work is widely published in journals and anthologies. Find her online at www.julenetrippweaver.com & @trippweavepoet


Saturday, November 9, 2019

day ONE THOUSAND and TWENTY FOUR


SOLEMN

takes the knife
and draws it
over canvas
rips so sun
comes through


--Robert Beveridge

Friday, November 8, 2019

day ONE THOUSAND and TWENTY THREE

WHAT WE NOW ENDURE

The people have always been mad
but afraid to show it

or maybe they were unsure what their madness was
until someone came along
to give it a name.

The people sat in their homes and worried.

Husbands tormented wives
while wives made sure their husbands lived in hell
and children were taught that this is the way of things.

The people have been mad forever
and their madness drives all sorrow.
It screams inside their heads
that someone is coming to kill them
or take away their blessings.

It whispers to them on dark nights
of all the horrors their neighbors are surely doing.
It leaves small threatening notes on their dressers
or in the pockets of their clothing.

The madness begs for a leader,
demands it.

The madness craves direction
because it is fear
and fear is a confused child punching walls.

Make no mistake:
It is a killing madness.
Maybe it kills you,
maybe me,
maybe it only kills the mad.
Most likely it kills the weak and innocent
because the mad hate these people most of all.

And their rage is righteous and pure

It is flame and hammers.
It is reptilian and poison.
It is wasps in the brain.

It is all the hurt they have endured
and no capacity to understand.

And their rage knows no limit.

And no one
no one
will stand in their way
when they come for you.

We have seen this before.
Remember?

--Jeff Weddle


*taken from the book Citizen Relent, published by Unlikely Books*

Thursday, November 7, 2019

day ONE THOUSAND and TWENTY TWO


climbing trees into arkansas

the smell the rain
comes on strong
in dekalb

I spent today
climbing trees into arkansas
except where I started
there were no trees
only cotton and oil fields
badlands

there was an accident
on the highway behind me
cars and soldiers shot down in battle

there is nothing like rain
in arkansas, in little rock
south park street steps
between time machines

it shouldn’t have to be this hard
to recognize everyone is human
that the occupants of this planet
are all one organism

it shouldn’t be this hard
to hear the ghosts of history
until then this will never end

we are motels under construction
we are driving the wrong way on the interstate

--Jason Baldinger


Wednesday, November 6, 2019

day ONE THOUSAND and TWENTY ONE


The Road to Disaster

The President reflects
the  nature of the people,
at least enough to elect him.
As we reel under his assaults
on the economy
creating a bigger and bigger
poverty class,
insane attacks
on the environment
poisoning our waters,
alienating friends, allies,
until they no longer trust us
and may not support us
in our time of need,
as we are victims of greed,
stupidity, insanity,
betraying our tomorrows.

--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.

Tuesday, November 5, 2019

day ONE THOUSAND and TWENTY


another one

he was
quiet
subtle
unassuming
banal
and polite
so that
he didn’t really
stand out here
…until today
foaming at the mouth
ranting about
god and government
and ufos
the secret conspiracies
of the deep state
wanting me
to give him
phone numbers
for politicians
so that he could call them
and bother
the poor people
on the other line
who aren’t
the politicians
so that
he could tell them
that he knew
what they were up to
what we’re all up to
this
quiet
subtle
unassuming
banal
and polite
man
now
just another one
another american idiot
speaking
his
mind.                                                             

--John Grochalski

Monday, November 4, 2019

day ONE THOUSAND and NINETEEN


Speed Bump
                After Russell Edson

                The unpresidential president admits that he can’t help himself. He just grabs ‘em by the pussy. And voters shrug their shoulders. Tired of the ambiguous words used by previous elected officials. Words like “grope” and “fondle.” They like that he tells it like it is. Like that he uses words like “God” and “tax cuts” and “bad people” and “wall.”
                The wall that is still just a campaign promise. The wall that Mexico refuses to pay for. The wall that is now going to be a barrier. A barrier that will eventually be a speed bump.

Soon the unpresidential president will appear on Fox News and proclaim that the speed bump will really slow down the immigrants. That apprehending them will be so simple after its construction. Will add that he is available to help with the beautiful detainees. That nobody knows more about cavity searches than he does . . .

--Corey Cook


Sunday, November 3, 2019

day ONE THOUSAND and EIGHTEEN

REVELATION

It's like they say
in the Bible
or someplace
fire and water
gonna end it all
and that ol’ Satan
be watching over
the end times
on his big TV
when he's not throwing
paper towels at people
dying of thirst
all them folks shot down
and we've already moved on
this world is a cobweb
being swept away
and that ol' Satan, he's smart
just ask him
and he's gonna let it all drown and burn
and, don't you know,
there ain't no one to blame
for him doing it
but us?

--Jeff Weddle

Saturday, November 2, 2019

day ONE THOUSAND and SEVENTEEN


Moments Like This

After months of lies, corruption,
unfolding scandals,
Cheeto in Chief finally over-reaches,
paints himself into a corner.

One after the other,
co-conspirators are offered a choice:
confess, ask for leniency,
help take down their treasonous boss
by means of a plea deal.

At the eleventh hour
they revert to feral,
throw each other under the bus,
attempt to inflict lethal wounds,
go for the jugular.

A mesmerized electorate
watches hourly betrayals,
political dismemberment,
the ongoing treacherous shit show.

--Jennifer Lagier

Friday, November 1, 2019

day ONE THOUSAND and SIXTEEN


                                                          How Can You Vote?
Astride the organic soils of hillsides, people wave, exchange greetings from ATVs, golf carts.
 I want to like them. They offer to help a new neighbor. Offer to deliver groceries. They remember my name. Intimate gestures. Yet, they supported the orange monster in the White House.
Love for an orange monster hides in their smiles. I want to call out, to release the questions that churn.
How could you vote for evil? Reconcile kindness with lechery and megalomania?
I wave back, relishing illusions of peace, though. Thoughts of conflict wear my soul out.
I’ll take fleeting peace.
Questions will rise again.
  
-- Mir-Yashar Seyedbagheri
Mir-Yashar is a graduate of Colorado State University's MFA program in fiction. A recipient of two Honorable Mentions from Glimmer Train, his story, "Strangers," was nominated for The Best Small Fictions. Mir-Yashar's work is forthcoming or has been published in journals such as Maudlin House, The Drabble, Door Is A Jar, and Ariel Chart.

Thursday, October 31, 2019

day ONE THOUSAND and FIFTEEN


Robocalls

I don’t know anyone
in Flagstaff nor
do I want to.
The same holds true
for Boston, Altoona
and Boulder.
The calls find
me nonetheless.

They wake me
from a dream state
to perpetual abuse.
Voices tell me
my computer is in
WINDOWS hell
and my credit card
has expired. I do not

wish to hear a pitch
from a company,
answer a survey
about my household
or donate money
to the firemen’s drive.

Elections cause a fuss
from dawn to dusk.
My phone lights up.
If candidates share
my concerns,
they will stop
their robocalls
once and for all.
They know someone
in Washington.

--Sarah Henry