Wednesday, September 30, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and FIFTY TWO

Lime Life

I’m drinking Miller High Life cans with a very small wedge
of lime stuck to them at the mouth. Sometimes the little hunk
of lime falls in. I don’t know why exactly I’m putting the little
piece of fruit on my beer like that—I was never a “fruity beer”
kinda guy. I guess because it’s gotten hot, it feels like summer.
The High Life cans are cheap down at the Wilkinsburg BevCo
and I usually only like High Life ice-cold—as in, in a bucket or
cooler of ice for hours. But I found a half-dead lime in the fridge
and I decided that if I chopped off the bad part that I could save
the rest and put little slices of it in my cheap High Life cans and
pretend I was maybe drinking a Modelo or Tecate or Dos Equis,
something imported, therefore fancy. I think it’s working for me.

--Scott Silsbe

Tuesday, September 29, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and FIFTY ONE

revenge 

someone
forgot
that
the
clocks
are
still
spying
on
him
soon
their
sinister
hands
will
be
pointing
their
tips
at
his
jugular
then
time
will
rip
the
seams
of
his
greedy
lifeline
wide
open
and
watch
the
last
drop
of
orange
slime
spill
out
erasing
the
numbers
and
leaving
nothing
but
satiated
smiles
on
their
faces

--Jenny Santellano 

Monday, September 28, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and FIFTY

 On Your Knees Please 

(and let’s hum the Corporate Anthem) 

Lost degenerates’ breast whipped intentions 
Horseradished and foreskin unfurled 
Now scheme clitoral dreams 
And corporate corporeal retention. 

Lies lie your why and my 
Rubber stamped existence. 
Live like the less. 
Don’t focus. 
Don’t rest. 
Suck tit or lick long extension. 

--Steven B. Smith

Sunday, September 27, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and FORTY NINE

Handwritten Sign on the Door of Valley Sales & Service 

Wilkinsburg, PA

Closed til further notice—
Jim broke his ankle bone.

--Scott Silsbe

Saturday, September 26, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and FORTY EIGHT


JUSTICE4GEORGEFLOYD

                                        photography by John Grochalski

Friday, September 25, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and FORTY SEVEN

RIP RBG

Ring the bells slowly.
Drop the flag half-mast.
A great patriot has died.
A great jurist has left us.

The diminutive pillar of strength
Who stood between America
And those who would destroy it
Has died and our enemies rejoice.

Now, those who wished her dead
Celebrate her passing between them.
Hypocrisy issues from their mouths 
In sanctimonious public soundbites.

And that hypocrisy is their currency.
With it they will try to purchase what
Remains of the soul of America, of its
People, of its compassion, of its future.

Let us never forget that she worked to
Her last breath doing everything she
Could to stop this unrelenting, insatiable
Progression toward national suicide.

Now that she has gone, we must stay
The course and slowly advance through
The dense muck of prevarication laid
Out to ensnare the desperate population.

We must keep faith that Americans
Will see through the newspeak doubletalk,
The greed and narcissism, and pull our
Country back from the brink of fascism.

Pull it back and plant it firmly on the road
To “liberty and justice for all.” So take your
Well-deserved rest, brave Justice Ginsburg,
Your inspiration and example will survive you.

--M.J. Arcangelini

 

Thursday, September 24, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and FORTY SIX

tRump, excited that
Justice Ginsberg
has died

is
desperate
to replace her

before the election
so that when
he loses

he will sue
and call foul
knowing that the

justices he has installed
will pay him back
because

he has no
idea how to win
fairly

--Thomas R. Thomas




the evil
the man of evil
and his evil twin

got their wish, got
their dream of
dreams

so they
will rush to
fill the last seat

to fill the corrupt
court with one
more pawn

to turn
around the will
the will of the people

when he loses in
november
when

he sues
as he always
does because he

can’t get his way like
the baby that
he is 

--Thomas R Thomas

Wednesday, September 23, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and FORTY FIVE

TRUMPISM KILLS

                                                Photography by John Grochalski

Tuesday, September 22, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and FORTY FOUR

Running

running on high octane
jet fuel and gasoline
motor oil and beef fat
superpower lies
glitter, ball caps
cocked AR-15s
and disdain

disdain for the intellectual
scientific, measured
approach to problems
afflicting the poor, the sick
the oppressed, the refugee
the huddled can stay huddled
while the masses stay home
ordering online, scared
of the theater of violence
magnified and imagined
trolled and bot-spread
on blue-lit screens

disdain for accountability
institutions destroyed
by a mobbed-up
cleanup crew
divesting itself
of the swamp
while filling the swamp
with bloodsuckers
and scum

disdain for those with less
with responsibility
with anything
other than adulation
of the spectacle
of absolute power
arrogant ignorance
turned lethal
turned unbeatable
turned unelectable
but steadfast
in disdain

with no disdain
for despotism
for destroying
the political system
they control
they disdain
they worship
the gilded throne
elevating their autocrat
running, running
from the Constitution
from the rule of law
to remake America
to make America
grate again


--Mickey Corrigan

Monday, September 21, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and FORTY THREE


i never 
met her 
nor did 
she me 
and yet 
she fought 
for you 
and me l
ike grandmother 
like aunt 
like sister 
i am 
so sad 
she fought 
for you 
and me 
I AM 
SO SAD

--Patrick Walters




Sunday, September 20, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and FORTY TWO

A Voicemail from Jimmy

I know it will go away one of these days.
But for now, I still have it stashed away.
a voice message from two years ago.
It starts “Scott, this is Jimmy Cvetic.”
Jimmy calling my phone while I was
likely still in bed. Leaving this voicemail
for me, saying, “I wanted to tell you that
I liked your book.” Jimmy saying I have
nice style and saying that word “style”
like Bukowski, his hero. Jimmy says
it’s a good book—“And I’m not saying
this to blow sunshine up your ass, ok?”
he says. Then the message winds down.
I know this old cell phone will one day
delete the voicemail or else not turn on
one morning, but for now I still have this
little bit of sound saved there, this moment
before he was gone. We’ve got his poems
and I have this voicemail. I have it saved.
For now. So that if I want to, I can hear
his voice again—maybe just once more.

--Scott Silsbe

Saturday, September 19, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and FORTY ONE

FUCK TRUMP

                                          Photography By John Grochalski

Friday, September 18, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and FORTY


Toll The Bell for America

We are losing the time
To fascists on the rise
America gone far away
Gone far away gone
Gone far away gone

Sinking in an ocean
Of sick fascist ideas
America gone far away
Gone far away gone
Gone far away gone

Falling into the night
With might the only right
Nobody cares at all
And everything will fall

America gone faraway
Gone faraway gone
Gone faraway gone

--Charles Kruger


Thursday, September 17, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and THIRTY NINE

The 7 Faces of Trump







                                Art by Steven B. Smith


Wednesday, September 16, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and THIRTY EIGHT

The Chronic 2020


                                       photography by John Grochalski

Tuesday, September 15, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and THIRTY SEVEN

She Got My Mind Messed Up

It’s what I don’t want to talk about.
It’s what I don’t understand, or else
what hurts me, and so, what I avoid.
I would rather discuss how good that
handcabbage is from the new Chinese
restaurant. Or how strange it is to listen
to a baseball game on the radio that has
crowd noise piped into the public address
because no one is in the stadium, because
there are no tickets being sold to the game.
I worry that my friends think of me like
a dog with a bad case of fear aggression.
But of course I won’t bring it up to them.
I think I might feel better if I got some
work done—some writing, some music.
Or maybe it would just make things worse.
There are fleeting moments when I forget.
And I’m alive with my realms of being.
Before reality returns. This new living.
Is something burning? Is something here
on fire? It smells like something here is
burning or on fire. It might be in my head.


--Scott Silsbe

Monday, September 14, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and THIRTY SIX


October Unsurprise

Grifter-in-chief and his crime family,
enabled by power-poisoned Moscow Mitch,
Leningrad Lindsey and assorted low-level stooges,
stage a banana republic coup.
Americans are stunned into stupid
acquiescence by Fox News propaganda.

Daily revelations pull back the curtain,
expose long-term knowledge of lethal Covid potential,
a decision to sacrifice hundreds of thousands,
ensure re-election, keep the economy
from free-fall implosion.

Now we’re promised an October surprise:
untested vaccines, unsanctioned treatments
with sketchy remedies promoted
by campaign contributors
who also own big pharma stock.

We have learned nothing from cartoons
featuring Lucy repeatedly urging
a guileless Linus to run toward a football
she’ll sadistically snatch from reach
just before his shoe kisses rubber.

--Jennifer Lagier



Sunday, September 13, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and THIRTY FIVE

Joe THE Biden (there's a Bowie joke in here)


Photography by John Grochalski

Saturday, September 12, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and THIRTY FOUR


The Way

In the ongoing war
between capital and labor
that surely started in the caves
if not sooner,
labor almost always lost,
except for a brief time
in 1940s America,
when unions exerted
temporary strength
that compelled concurrence
from begrudging bosses.

Then capital developed
international mobility
and no longer needed
American workers
who gave their best
on the assembly lines,
but cost too much
and made too many demands
to be treated with care.

So the lords of profit
closed their factories,
abandoned the workers
who made them rich
and built in third world countries
where labor was cheap
and not empowered.

The decline of the blue collar class
eroded the foundation of the nation
built on sweat and muscle,
now replaced by hi-tech
service jobs for the underclass,
unadaptable
to the Information Age.

So the Land of Promise,
the hope of the mass of humanity,
now resembles other lands
where the rich rule,
their servants prosper
while the rest of us
struggle to survive.

--Gary Beck


Friday, September 11, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and THIRTY THREE


guy in the September 11th t-shirt

it gets hard
to point out a true patriot these days

but the guy who just passed me was decked out

USA cap
stars’n’stripes bandana
coming out of the back
of his jean pocket

he’s a regular uncle sam

he even had on his 9/11 t-shirt

a crisp white cotton
with the words written blood red

WE WILL NEVER FORGET

there was a cartoon image
of the manhattan skyline on the front

i expected to see the twin towers front and center

standing erect
like two big penises

larger in legend than they ever stood in life

but instead there was just a cloud of dust
billowing up in the sky

surrounding the buildings
enveloping the island

a macabre reminder for sure

one wonders
where he got a shirt like that

why not get a t-shirt
with one of the planes ramming right in

it’s america
they must make them

i guess he wanted something
a touch more subtle

years ago
some guy in downtown
tried to sell me a flip book of 9/11

it was a think little volume
of bright, beautiful pictures

of planes smacking into buildings
of people falling out of windows
of people running for their lives

of buildings falling

it wasn’t as cool a cartoon t-shirt

but you could flip the book frontwards
and experience 9/11 as many times as you wanted

or you could get creative

flip the book backwards
and pretend that the day never happened

TEGROF REVEN LLIW EW

or something like that.

--John Grochalski

                                                

Thursday, September 10, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and THIRTY TWO

Please Wear a Mask


                                                  Photography by John Grochalski

Wednesday, September 9, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and THIRTY ONE

Sex in a Time of Coronavirus

Washed out
dirty blonde
woman

once pretty
now on
the downside
of worn out

average on
a good day

in supermarket
with just-reached-
puberty daughter

Mom’s well worn
t-shirt says:
“4 out of 5 doctors
recommend oral sex”

a leering face
with flapping
tongue embossed
beneath the phrase

I have to wonder
what does the daughter
think about being
in public with a mom
who wears a t-shirt
like that?

trying to be invisible
and failing
eyes down on her
phone to her BFF

Who will she be
in 10 years?
20?

--Alan Catlin



Tuesday, September 8, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and THIRTY


art museum during a pandemic

they have black markings
etched into the pavement

thick like road bumps

that tell us to wear a mask
and stay six feet apart

and walk single file

we try not to trip over them
as we head toward the door

where a masked not-medical expert
is waiting to take our temperatures

if you hit 100.4 fahrenheit
you don’t get to go inside

which begs the question

who goes to an art museum with a fever?

staff recommends
that we use the steps
instead of the elevator

this angers the old people
who haven’t taken steps in years

they complain through their masks
they sound muffled and bitter

old people could find something
to complain about
during the apocalypse

which is a bit what this feels like
as there’s hardly anyone in the place

the galleries are mostly empty
but the art hangs on the wall like old friends

o’keeffe and bellows and hopper
and archibald motley jr

that whole gang you left behind in another life

it feels good to see them again
you feel almost human

of course, there’s some asshole
in green shorts and a pink polo shirt
standing in front of your favorite
stella painting of the brooklyn bridge

some things never change

he stands there examining it
like he’s an art expert

he looks like a watermelon

while the old people mill around the room  
bitching about how the museum hasn’t changed
their exhibits since march

you think about how it feels
like it’s been march all year

even though in two days
it’ll be september

one long march that has lasted a lifetime
and has caused a lot of misery and death

finally watermelon man
leaves the stella painting

and you go up to it
to have a look

but there’s two old people
waiting behind you for their turn

so you take a quick look and walk away
and head toward something else

another painting
a window showing the hudson river
and new jersey

and a bright, late summer sky

that makes the day seem real
all of this seem normal

well

almost.

--John Grochalski

                                               

Monday, September 7, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and TWENTY NINE

Sometimes even "heroes" wear mask


Photography by John Grochalski

Sunday, September 6, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and TWENTY EIGHT


Removal
Winter winds blow harshly
on the abandoned homeless
marooned on city streets
‘til rain and snow drive them off,
no choice but to leave behind
cardboard signs imploring aid,
cardboard mattresses, cardboard blankets
decomposing from the torrent
that washes away the last hope
for primitive survival
before eradication.

--Gary Beck

Saturday, September 5, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and TWENTY SEVEN


GEORGE FLOYD


                                     photography by Ally Malinenko

Friday, September 4, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and TWENTY SIX

*A BRIEF NOTE BEFORE WE CONTINUE*

This is just an annoucement...whether or not Trump wins or loses this election. or disputes the results until he's blue in the face....WineDrunk SideWalk: Shipwrecked in TrumpLand will cease to exist after January 20th, 2021. I'll explain more later but the simple fact is...I'm tired. Been doing this for almost four years, and I'm someone who never considered myself an editor of anything...I'm someone who never wants to edit again. I do want to thank all of the contributors (I will get more in depth on the last day) and those of you who've read and supported this protest blog of art.

The next so many weeks are going to be rough in a year that's been absolutely wretched. Trump and his Republican goons, from those nazis at his rallies up to his lackies in government, will do everything that they can to damage the the accuracy and legitimacy of this election. Please vote. Please protest. Please make your voices heard on line. PLEASE SUBMIT HERE!!! And even if Biden wins...i hate to say it...but these people are NOT going to be gone. Not the Trumps, not the American Fascist Far-Right. This will be a sustained struggle. A struggle for Democracy. A Struggle to make sure that minority voices are heard. A struggle to make sure that minority bodies are no longer harmed or murdered on our streets for ther gender or color of their skin. BLACK LIVES MATTER. BELIEVE WOMEN. TRANS LIVES MATTER.  All of those slogans....they aren't just slogans.

I'm rambling on....I do hope that the final day of WineDrunk SideWalk ends with the new administration being sworn in. Despite what your opinions are on Joe Biden (and I have mine), we are right at the cliff's edge. Do we push toward true democracy or do we succumb to authoritarianism and government entrenched white supremacy? Those are our only choices this year. I hope we choose wisely. And if, god forbid, Trump wins....I hope there's someone out there who wants to take up this mantle.

on with the protest....



The Made for TV President’s


Most Excellent
Adventure tour
reached its apex
of unreality

with jingoistic
hate filled
negative
advertising scams
in an event like
a convention that
really wasn’t one

Featured obvious misuse
of presidential powers
for campaign
photo ops
and sound bites galore

with public spaces
utilized as props

Close examination
of principle speakers
revealed son DJ
had been body snatched
by lizard people

and his girlfriend’s
screen test for Sopranos
reboot as the mistress
from hell substituted for
a speech

Ivanka proved once
again you can learn
how to be stylish but
but you can’t fake class

Rose Garden speeches
staged at night
not for dramatic effect
but to hide the desecration
of the space that looks
like a cemetery
now that Jackie’s cherry
trees are cut down and
all the colorful flowers
uprooted

Leni Riefenstahl camera
technique used daily
though even she would
have blushed to see
excessive Trump 2020
fireworks display

Missing was new hit
remake of Nat King Cole
singing Deplorable
That’s what’s you are
Deplorable you

--Alan Catlin

Thursday, September 3, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and TWENTY FIVE

Poem on the Back of His Envelope

The only thing my congressman’s representation is worth
is the stamp on the return envelope of his fundraising letter
which I plan to pull off and use to pay a bill
if his boss doesn’t ruin the Post Office by then

He wants my money and wants my vote
but calls me names like “the lunatic left”
He talks about left-wing bullies and militants
but not the armed militia who stormed the Michigan capitol
after his boss told them to liberate the state from shutdowns
and not the white supremacists and conspiracy theorists
who the FBI calls domestic terror threats
and his boss says they are some “very fine people”

He doesn’t mention his boss by name but talks about values
while his boss pardons criminals, takes revenge on heroes,
sides with dictators and calls Americans and allies the “enemy”

My congressman never mentions the Covid-19 pandemic
that has killed more than 150 thousand of us
particularly in the states that his boss convinced
to open too early after he insisted the virus would disappear

He says nothing about police chokeholds
that kill people in broad daylight
Nothing about Russian bounties on American soldiers
or Russia’s interference in our elections to help his boss

He doesn’t say anything relevant to our district
He ignores the worst economic crisis
since the Great Depression
and doesn’t mention his boss’s record-high deficit
or how we can fix it

The last time my congressman spoke in our town
he was still complaining about Jane Fonda
I’d like to vote him out
but no one’s running against him
I’ll vote his boss out instead

--Colleen Redman

Wednesday, September 2, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and TWENTY FOUR

COVID LIBERTY


                                                photography by John Grochalski

Tuesday, September 1, 2020

day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and TWENTY THREE

Deep in the heart of

“Are you ready for
some football?”

Monday night football
anthem for the doomed
youth during never
ending pandemic.

The unspoken, assumed
response is, “Hell, yeah!

Why not?

As Bob Dylan said,
“It’s life and life only.”

Colleges rally to
play.

Cowboy’s owner
Jones says ,“We’ll play
with fans.”

He has a plan,
he says.

Half time entertainment
includes reworked
“Yellow Rose of Texas”
lyrics,

“The sun shines bright,
The stars at night.

Deep in the heart of Covid.” 

--Alan Catlin