Wednesday, May 22, 2019

day EIGHT HUNDRED and FIFTY THREE


“The smiler: On Jared Kushner”


(Following Laurence Tribe’s tweet on 3.9.19,
and thinking of Chaucer’s “The Knight’s Tale”)

Here we see plain the dark imagining
Of felony, and all the lobbying;
No cruel ire, but cool and slimy greed;
The pickpocket; the smarmy smirking weed;
The smiler with the knife under the cloak;
The White House burning in the dirty smoke;
The treason, murder in the Consulate;
Benedict Arnold selling out the State;
Not head of government: a hidden part
Of this corruption: evil’s beating heart.

--Cheryl Caesar 

Tuesday, May 21, 2019

day EIGHT HUNDRED and FIFTY TWO

REMINDER: WineDrunk SideWalk is doing an American Flag photo project in July. No political agenda, just spending the month posting people's pictures/art of flags (or a poem if you have). Think of this as a small examination of that most ubiquitous of American Symbols. So please send me photos (mostly) or any kind of art you think would fit the project. I'm setting no deadlines, and if i get more subs than the month allows we'll have multiple people on multiple days. 

SUBMIT2RESIST: winedrunksidewalk AT gmail DOT com



American Meme

Paris Hilton
doesn’t know where we go
when we die
and neither do I
and neither do you
but today
I don’t feel so special
to be afraid

I guess
the documentarian
wants me to feel sad
that these kids
who got what they wanted
are now hooked,
that modeled themselves after
sex tape sluts
and underage drunks
are 30
and feel alone
that watch their friends
living a life
that follows a traditional course
and they think
they’re having fun

no one is having fun
anymore than they let themselves
3 kids is a worry
maintaining love is a worry
just like having a brand
just like pedaling vodka
on instagram

--Luke Kuzmish

Monday, May 20, 2019

day EIGHT HUNDRED and FIFTY ONE

TO BE HEARD

The rich man may speak softly,
politely, sound benevolent,
and still be heard
as he passes the cash
beneath the table -

The poor man must shout
and bang at the table
to be heard
not once
but over and over again
until the table shatters
and the machinations
of the rich are exposed,
the corruption made clear
the greed in their hearts
loosed at last to speak
louder
than their quiet, hollow
words would ever allow -

then will we be heard -

--M.J. Arcangelini 

Sunday, May 19, 2019

day EIGHT HUNDRED and FIFTY


Knapsack, on his back
Like his black
Shirt, and he walks
To school
Never sure who
Might shoot.
And he’s afraid
Because a boy his
Age
Might make Fox News
And all of you
Wearing red, white, and
Blue
Will sit back
And watch
While the crooked
Cops
Take another
Life,
But they are all
Disposable
To you.
So, you’ll never
Say a word.
I bet you have
A blue stripe
Sticker too.

--Hannah M. Tyree

Saturday, May 18, 2019

day EIGHT HUNDRED and FORTY NINE

BROKEN AXLE, FOREVER QUEST

No more broken axles,
abandoned wagons,
failed settlers returning
from colonies that could not
take root in hostile soils,
acres defensive of their own life.
Now, just digital failures.
Credit report stigma.
Unrenewed domain names
in lieu of unestablished
domains of green pasture.
Our hungry entrepreneurs
connect us again with pilgrims.

--David Pring-Mil

Friday, May 17, 2019

day EIGHT HUNDRED and FORTY EIGHT

ALABAMA RAPTURE

Can someone please bring on the Rapture now,
for Christ's sake, at least in Alabama,
and give the poor sods there a break?
Get the far-right state politicians gone?
If that is the only way, I’ll take it.
When the Rapture comes, so the story goes,
the good souls all fly up to Heaven.
The rest of us, I have been warned for years,
are going South to live in warmer climes
for any action that the good God squad,
in their wisdom, judge to be a sin.
But salvation won't be that clear-cut,
I reckon, if there is a Hell, or Heaven,
and both aren't just Earth.
I think they’re both just Earth.
If there's anything except the ground beneath us,
though, the Rapture will be quite a shock
to the rabble-rousing evangelists,
and the Repubs and other righteous bastards,
who spend their hate-filled hours at work
passing laws that steal a woman's rights away.
They might find Donald Trump’s their neighbour
in marbled buildings under clear blue sky.
They might say, ‘Jesus, we made it boys,’
and open up the bubbly to celebrate.
But the president’s a giant ball of ear wax.
Will they think twice when he begins to melt?
Who’ll be the first to work out where they’ve landed?
Will they smell the smoke before they see the fire?
Who’ll make a chain for splashing water buckets
when the flames engulf them and they flail and scream?
No one. There won’t be a single person,
because that’s how karma takes its satisfaction.
We’ll all be loafing in the higher place,
watching Hell on giant television screens
with our feet up, forking in potato chips.

--Bruce Hodder


Thursday, May 16, 2019

day EIGHT HUNDRED and FORTY SEVEN

                                    Good Morning Iran

Good morning Iran

it’s Friday, eleven pm
my streets are quiet yet vibrant
the weekend is blooming over Manhattan
its lights are a halo across the Hudson

it’s morning in Shiraz
the weak winter sun
paints the Persian Gulf golden
I watch you from
seven thousand miles away
you’re another foreign target
to be crossed out
like Iraq
like Libya
like Afghanistan
you don't want to play with atoms
do you know what it feels like
to vaporize seventy thousand lives?
Do you know what it feels like
to play God?

Good morning Iran

I see your militias outside of Aleppo
trying to push the rebels to sea
have you seen mine?
Have you seen Uncle Sam’s artillery
firing shells from the rubble of Homs?
Have you seen the black issued combat boots?

I will turn your mosques into shopping malls
and build Disney Lands in Tehran
I will paint you as another villain in history
I will take your lands and scar your children
I will bring you liberation

Good Morning Iran

you don’t think I’ve forgotten
about those hostages do you?
You rejected my banks
what do you mean sovereignty?
You will know freedom

I am morality in a copper casing
I am the thunder of a thousand bombs
I am the desert tempest
I am bullet shock
I am the machinery of consumption
I am the bloody talons
I am empire

Good morning Iran

I don’t hate you
but I need you to build bombs
I need to sell helicopters
I need to turn the cogs
I need to keep these wheels moving
or my people will start looking around
there must always be another enemy

Good morning Iran

the eagle spreads its wings at dawn

--Damian Rucci