Tuesday, November 12, 2019


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


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.

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

--Carl Kaucher

Sunday, November 10, 2019


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

you say 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



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

--Robert Beveridge

Friday, November 8, 2019



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.

--Jeff Weddle

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

Thursday, November 7, 2019


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

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


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.