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HOUSE OF FEATHERS, A LAMENT
2009-03-10 09:00:00
by Chad RohrbacherIMy wife tells me they’re fearless and boldWill goad you if you stumbled too closeTheir nests the work of solitudeWho needs a beak closing in on your earsA claw going for the tangle of child’s hair?IIShouldn’t I feel somethingConcerning the four Iraqis calling for killing?Blood their new national pastime,The money they’ve earned firing rifles,Keeping peace,Going to the poor with cheese, and bread, and IEd’s.We can’t go on like this,Says one twenty year oldWearing jeans and a cotton scarf around his mouth –The fluttering wings, color the wind, defy the skyBehind him.III.Plaster and plumage.One formed, dried, cutInto the body of a house.The other is just a good word.No correlation. No metaphor.Just feathers,A peacock's underbelly.The boy’s feathers are unfurled.Strutting in front of his house,He steps in blood. He kicks,Lose a few colors.His house won't miss a thing.A poem is a featherTorn loose from a house.He dreams in wings.After graduating fro...
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TODAY’S PAPER
2009-03-09 10:00:00
by Robert Stewart– for Ralph Newspapers are so quiet,I can’t help respecting that.At most, the sheets luffand crackle when turningdirectly onto somethinglike wind in our throats,then regain composure.Even the two-inch banner,F O R E C L O S U R E S,turns its back respectfullyto a page with my friend’sphoto beside his obituary,and gives me time, there,to think about him.Robert Stewart’s books include Outside Language: Essays (finalist for PEN Center USA Awards for 2004, and winner of the Thorpe Menn Award) and Plumbers (poems), and others. He is co-editor of the collection New American Essays (New Letters/BkMk Press, 2006), and editor of New Letters magazine, which won a 2008 National Magazine Award.___________________________________ _______________
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LOST HOPE DIET IN HAIKU TRIPLET
2009-03-09 09:30:00
by Neal Whitmancinnamon toast and teain our jim jams     Inaugur ation Daybread and waterunder the covers     State of the Union Addresshumble pieat Wit's end     Last Paycheck TodayNeal Whitman is a featured author on www.shortpoem.org where he posts one haiku per season and is a frequent contributor of fibs to www.fibetry.com._________________________ _________________________
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WITH WHAT WE OWN
2009-03-09 09:00:00
by Brandon PettitEconomy has found a chair to climbwith its oil slick feet& the educated homelesshave already begun setting up living-roomsbeneath palm trees.Goodbye Everythinghello to a change of clothes,a pair of sandals,& converse shoes         ;      &nbs p; that’ll be talking along the stripwhen the noose breaksand we are alive againwith what we own.Brandon Pettit is a former small town New Yorker now living in Florida as a 27 year old snowbird working on his MFA in poetry, although there are many afternoons he feels he is studying the art of disc golf.____________________________________ ______________

HOPE COLONY
2009-03-08 09:00:00
by Peter Branson Fall, Year of Our Lord, 1608One of our oxen perished yesterday.Please God the rest survive to work the ploughsrequired to service our sustaining corn.And Goodwife Holt's new born died unbaptisedat three hours old. Sweet Jesu, save us all.The local Indians are pacified,though much reduced of late, laid low by poxand pestilence. Their women cover uptheir nakedness with cheapest calicoand dyed cheesecloth: this fallen paradise.The men have taken from our ways, proclaimedOur blessed Lord saviour above all things,yet secretly still conjure heathen rites.The shaman told me of a dream he caughtlast night as if mere fletchings on the air.He scattered relics from his doeskin pouch,foretold the slaughter of great grazing beastsin numbers far too large to calculatebeneath the settled sun. He spoke of shipssteering the heavens to the moon and backon sails like dragons' wings. And at the helmwhite fol...
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BILL GATES AND THE POET
2009-03-07 09:00:00
by Earl J. Wilcoxfor Richard Wilbur on his birthdayIn his Frost-country cottage, the poetand his trusty L. C. Smith typewriterlabor in clear harmony this morning.The machine does its clacking actwhen the writer pounds the keys.Only one whose finger musclesare still strong enough to clutchan axe handle or milk a cow, if need be,can muster strength to strike withforce worn-down letters like y or z,and others when pressed into action.Here there is no angst or desirefor the ease which a chichi computerkeyboard could offer to curtailthe constant pain in the right handor the left one, too, for that matter.Poet and typewriter conspire, createa new song amid the view from theopen cottage window, where Bill Gates seems irrelevant, does not intrude.Earl J. Wilcox writes about aging, baseball, literary icons, politics, and southern culture. His work appears in more than two dozen journals; he is a regular contributor to The New Verse News. More of Earl's poetry appears at his blog, Writing by ...

SLOW SURGE
2009-03-06 09:00:00
by Steve Parkerbased on statements made by the Taliban and Al QaedaThis is surge lite—Maj. Gen. Ret. Bob Scales (2009)Don't give me another Vietnam—George.H.W. Bush (1990)Chinese HN-5 anti-aircraft missiles are with the Taliban, we know this . . . and we are worried where do the Taliban get them, some of these weapons have been made recently in Chinese factories—Unidentified senior Afghan government official reported by the BBC (2009)the new presidentthe apostate presidentwhose grandfather's soulcries from his gravefor the blood of the unbelieverwho brings shame upon his housethis new presidentsays he will surge quietlyin Logar, in Wardak and Helmandin the holy provinceswhere the Russians sent their sonsto die miserably where the Britishsent their sons to die miserablyour weapons are from Chinathe old USSR the US the UK(we like the weapons of our enemies)from our brothers in Syriain Saudi Arabia and Iransurge quietly Hussein Obamathis land will eat you quietlywe will be here...
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EPITAPH ON A NIN*COM*POOP
2009-01-18 09:00:00
by Mary Hutchins Harrisafter W.H. Auden—Epitaph on a TyrantPerfection, of some kind, was what he was afteralthough he denied it with a shrug, but the wordshe invented were easy to repeat, the folly of thosearound him familiar, so with mission accomplishedby his armies and fleets, he claimed their tears hisown then danced--a soft shoe here, a foot stompthere, as children fell down and died in the sand.Mary Hutchins Harris is a poet and essayist. She has been a featured poet for the Piccolo Spoleto Sundown Series and the Stories for Life Festival in Charleston, SC. Her work appears in on-line and print journals. Her poetry chapbook A Tongue Full of Yeses was recently published as a winner of the 2007 SC Poetry Initiative Chapbook Contest._________________________________ _________________
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WALDEN, JANUARY 2009
2009-01-17 10:14:00
by Scott SimpsonLike some sort of Thoreauignorance, I am here-- I hear,in my cabin in the wouldsand shoulds, doing nothingworth the price of my realestate, with mortgage I cannot even pay--I hear on my television, those chosenpeople and their fugitives dieaspora-aspirations of promisenow woven into what’s Readof our Bibles, the White of unflownflags, the gun-Blue of anthemslaunched above poverty’s head,and of dying babies.Silly me, I went into the wouldsbecause I wished to livede-liberate-ly.Scott Simpson is a former high school teacher, college professor, camp director and lay-minister who attempts to live a contemplative lifestyle on a planet that views quietness and stillness as destructive ideas that could potentially undermine the fabric of society. He, indeed, hopes to undermine the fabric of that society with quietness and stillness. Scott lives on a planet called Earth. Scott's poems have appeared in Switched-On Gutenburg, BigCityLit, and New Verse News, and anthologize...
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INSTEAD OF A POEM FOR INAUGURATION DAY
2009-01-16 09:04:00
by David ChorltonLet someone meditatewith all the nation watching. Let someonebe seen to look inward.Between the fanfare and the public prayerlet someone sit cross leggedand recall what has been done in all our names.Keep poetry out of this. The artof speaking truth to power can’t translateinto speaking for power as truth.Let someone contemplate the wayof handshakes and whispers masqueradingas democracy, but don’t ask poetryto mark the occasion. It has a reputationto uphold. Let someone hold a blanksheet of paper to saythe poem that would have appeared herewould never have been allowedto be read with so many listening. It wouldhave been too graphic, too honest, too intenton seeking justice. It would have spoiledthe day. Let silence ring.David Chorlton has lived in Phoenix for 30 years and come to love the desert around it. He recently won the Ronald Wardall Award from Rain Mountain Press for The Lost River, a chapbook whose contents reflect his unease with what is happening to o...
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THE ACID TEST
2009-01-15 08:43:00
by Earl J. Wilcox"My parents told me to keep coming to school even if I am killed.The people who did this to me don’t want women to be educated.They want us to be stupid things"--Shamsia Husseini, 17, who has returned to school in Afghanistandespite being injured in an acid attack. (NYT, 14 Jan. 09)Today we study Economics and World History,subjects not dear to my heart, not even closeto my love of music and the stars. Yet, if Idon’t go, they will win, those who threw acidat me last week, those who walk up to meand give me a nod just before blowing themselvesinto Allah’s eternity. But my mother is right:if I don’t go today, I won’t go tomorrow, andsoon not only this battle, but the war is won bymen who don’t want women to have a chance,now or ever. Out the door I go, head covered,eyes averted, holding my breath, hoping Imake it to school with my lunch---and my life.Earl J. Wilcox writes about aging, baseball, literary icons, politics, and southern culture. His work appea...
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CHILDREN OF GOD, CHILDREN OF GAZA
2009-01-14 07:24:00
by Mary SaracinoBands of bloodied brothers wage war,circles of sorrowful sisters singof senseless feuds, ancient grudges.Greedy fingers grab for land, water, food, power.No cease-fire, no peace,too many dead-end promisespollute the death-drenched air.Bombs explode, freedom implodes,terror seizes every soul.Israeli, Palestinian grief shroudslifeless bodies, lost dreams, shattered futures.The children of God are the children of Gaza who wail, shiver in fear, seek solace, safety, shelter.In whose godly arms do they find refuge?In what godly chambers of the human heartcan their hopes hope to reside?Mary Saracino is a novelist, poet and memoir-writer who lives in Denver , CO . Her most recent novel, The Singing of Swans (Pearlsong Press 2006) was a 2007 Lambda Literary Awards Finalist. Her short story, "Vicky's Secret" earned the 2007 Glass Woman Prize.___________________________________ _______________
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AFTER
2009-01-13 08:43:00
by Khary Jackson aka 6 is 9After the riot,the streets are a milky haze,the morning blurred in golds and yellows,impressionism meeting sobriety,rage wishing for a hangover.Clouded yellow faces,shadowed brown faces,still streets covered in glass,and the boy is still dead.Store owners hoping their insurancewill keep them afloat,car owners estimating the costof new headlights beforework, teachers weighing therelevance of lesson plans,and the boy is still dead.They said the system was to blame,and the system justified assault uponthe livelihood of a city barely making one.Hundreds of numbing hospital bills,millions lost among friends,this is all worth the life of one boywho is still very dead. Yet millionsdie daily of starvation, of filthy water,of systems that view them as numbers,where are our riots then?If one man can throw shoes,can not a nation provide them?If we're going to waste millions,take them from the very handswe kissed two days ago,I know of a few nationswho need it more ...

THE END TIMES
2009-01-12 09:00:00
by Robin E. SampsonIt was tough for everyone.Wall Streetwalkers, Big Three guzzlers,mortgaged bankers, surreal estate brokers.But when the purveyors of porn went under,civilization as we knew it collapsedinto a quivering heap.At first everyone snickered,the smut peddlers neededa hand out. A money shot.Yeah sure. We thoughtthey were joking, but…we should have listened.Flynt and Francis were right.Depressed, we quit having sex.For recreation. Then procreation. The end.Robin E. Sampson’s poetry has appeared online in Bent Pin Quarterly, New Verse News, Wicked Alice as well as various print locations. She also has an essay included in the book Poem, Revised: 54 Poems, Revisions, Discussions (Marion Street Press, 2008). She is one of the hosts of the Bethel, CT Wednesday Night Poetry Series, and a member of the performance troupe Shijin. She lives in Sandy Hook, CT._______________________________
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FOR OAKLAND: AN OPEN LETTER TO OFFICER JOHANNES MEHSERLE
2009-01-11 09:00:00
by Emily Kagan TrenchardJust a few days after, one of the wealthiest men in Germanydid it because he had lost his fortune to a con artist.There was a man in Texas who did it after Americawatched him ask a 13 year old for a blow job on television.In fact, when a naked man, crazed, standing on the roof of a buildingin Brooklyn threatened a group of police officers with a neon light bulb –the kind with the long incessant buzz and the ability to washaway your life under its glow – when this shriveled threat of a manwas tasered and fell off the roof to his death, the commanding officeron the scene did it. Not the cop who pulled the trigger.And I bet your wondering about him, too.About that beat cop who took the order, unsnapped the taser from his belt,shot it and thought, "Maybe this will shock some sense into the guy,"A good joke he planned to share with the boys after they got the hell off that roof.That cop who grinned as all that naked chaos stumbled backward,tugging at the blue-...
More About: Oakland , Open , Letter , Open Letter , Officer

MATTERS OF CONTROVERSY
2009-01-10 09:00:00
by Tony BrownGazais approximately25 miles longand between 4 and 7miles wide, containsaround 1,500,000people, is the 6thmost densely populated areaon the planet with around4200 people per square kilometer;due to issueswith access and administration,many of those figuresare a matter of some controversy.It is controlledby Hamasand that is a matter of somecontroversy.Hamas has frequently launched rocket attacksfrom Gaza into Israel. In recent days(speaking now at the end of 2008)said attacks have killed 1 personand wounded dozens,although numbers may change,and the figures remaina matter of some controversy.Airstrikes by Israel against targets in Gazahave led to the deaths of at least 275 peopleto this point, with the Israeli government promising thatoperations will be continuing for some time.This is a matter of some controversy.The pronunciation of the word"Gaza"is a matter of some controversy.Some pronounce it"My Lai," or "Sand Creek,"while others pronounce it "necessaryif regrettabl...
More About: Controversy , Matters

AND NOW THESE CHIMES
2009-01-09 10:45:00
by Simon Perchik And now these chimes have that stench the dead --all night the rain falls for them, calling out till even the sky wants to fly followed by armies. What's left is some mountain a stream falling backward and the sky again a star, its light too slow --what you see already passed --soldiers need this mud, a climbing starts and whoever looks up now hears these slow chimes lifting the Earth loose from its first death and the stillness.Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review, The New Yorker, and elsewhere. Readers interested in learning more are invited to read Magic, Illusion and Other Realities at www.geocities.com/simonthepoet which site lists a complete bibliography_____________________________ _____...

THE INVASION OF GAZA
2009-01-08 09:00:00
by Buff Whitman-BradleySamaria shall become desolate; for she hath rebelled against her God: they shall fall by the sword: their infants shall be dashed in pieces, and their women with child shall be ripped up. --Hosea 13:16 The strong always crush the weak and call uponThe court poets and priests to invent fairy tales that justify the carnageAnd to hire some two-bit god with bad breath poor impulse controlAnd serious personality disorders to consecrate the slaughterOnce upon a time God chose us because we are the righteous ones He tells us we can have whatever we want Even if we have to take it from the Others because The Others are wicked and deserve none of God’s treasuresThe powerful blame their victims while claiming to be victims themselvesAt night they grow transparent and cannot see themselves in mirrorsBut they hear their own heavily armed shadows everywhere in the streetsWhispering secrets and sneaking up on them in t...
More About: Gaza , Invasion , The Invasion

GAZA
2009-01-07 14:08:00
by David RadavichThe terrorist aggressorshave no homes, no food, no hospitals.The victims have warplanesand bombs, tanks and body armor.The terrorists burytheir dead.The victims fly overand hold press conferences.The terrorists seekmartyrdom through God.The victims seekterritory with no Other.The terrorists have electedthe wrong leaders.The victims won’t toleratethe choice of terrorists.Now they meetas dark brothers.Rubbleand aggrieved.One day they will homein the same earth.David Radavich's poetry publications include Slain Species (Court Poetry Press, London), By the Way (Buttonwood Press, 1998), and Great Hits (Pudding House Press, 2000), as well as individual poems in anthologies and magazines. His plays have been performed across the U.S. and abroad, including five Off-Off-Broadway productions. He also enjoys writing essays on poetry, drama, and contemporary issues. His latest book is America Bound: An Epic for Our Time (Plain View Press, 2007).______________________________...
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DOG YEARS
2009-01-07 09:00:00
by Howie GoodThe war has enteredits second decade.Maddened by the futility,the dogs run away.Few people seem to noticethat they’re gone.Three times a day,if not more,their former ownerstake empty leashesout for a walk.Just this morningthe old widow stoppedto let a polite little boyon his way to schoolbend down andscratch behind the earsof what wasn’t there.Howie Good, a journalism professor at the State University of New York at New Paltz, is the author of six poetry chapbooks, most recently Tomorrowland (2008) from Achilles Chapbooks. He has been nominated three times for a Pushcart Prize and twice for the Best of the Net anthology._______________________________ ___________________
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SNAKES AND LADDERS
2009-01-06 09:00:00
by Peter BransonYour mother smiled:"In constant fear of debtyour grandparents."Back there the shameit bought bit deepenough; twice shyof something worse.She'd used her 'never-never' planfor leatherette armchairsand cheap broadloom,few bob a weeksalting an old tobacco tin.These days folk surf big waveson credit cards.The market drives:rich get first pick, but somewill filter through;false prophets feed closed minds.When things go criticaldown the old 'Bull an' Bear',monopoly with loaded dice,lives fall apart.Cards marked, quick change of hats,the dark ones and their acolytes,jump ship unscathed, loot stashedin virtual carpetbags.Peter Branson is a creative writing tutor. Until recently he was Writer-in-residence for "All Write" run by Stoke-on-Trent Library Services. He began writing poetry seriously about five years ago and has had work published by many mainstream poetry journals, including Acumen, Ambit, Envoi, Iota, 14, Fire, The Interpreter's House, Poetry Nottingham, Red...
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THE LAYOFF
2009-01-05 09:00:00
by Mary Kathryn MorgeneierSecurity Guards were on the marchTelling people to pack their stuffThe rest of us watched in frightLike involuntary new paratroopersNever imagining we would be hereWaiting anxiously on the jump flightSurprisingly, few scream as they fallThey say some made it safely to groundI wait my turn and try to stay coolUntil the next layoff comes aroundSure hope the chute opens when I pullWill I enjoy floating into freedom?Mary Kathryn Morgeneier from Phoenixville, Pennsylvania, has been published in TrendMad and Poet's Review. She is co-host with Joseph D'Orazio of the Phoenixville gathering of Mad Poets Society on the first Tuesdays of the month at Steel City Coffee House in Phoenixville_____________________________ _____________________

ECO-NOMICS
2009-01-03 09:00:00
by David ChorltonI pinch myself to proveI’m real. There, I felt itas a flash of grieffor the tigers in a habitatshrinking around themlike a noose, or for the birdsreturning from migrationto a forest smallerthan they remembered.Never mind; the game showhost is smilingas he raises the stakesand the audience holds its breaththe way investors dowhen they roll dicewith people’s faces wherethe dots once were. It’s allplay-station economicsshrink-wrapping imaginationfor a market in whichanything’s for salefrom happiness pills to the furoff a fox’s back.It’s virtual moneywith genuine debtwhen the price is right for a dealor no deal will occurwhen the wheel of fortune spinsout of controland we can’t afford to saveeven what sustains us.David Chorlton has lived in Phoenix for 30 years and come to love the desert around it. He recently won the Ronald Wardall Award from Rain Mountain Press for The Lost River, a chapbook whose contents reflect his unease with what is happening to ou...

ON THE BOMBING OF GAZA
2009-01-02 09:00:00
by Judy Katz-Levineand though I am a Jew, and am sure I am hated,in Gaza , I see the image of a Palestinian child wounded, with limbsscarred or torn,and know its wrongthe war machines churn, and though I prayfor peace in Israel, and know the rockets spew forthfrom an underground resistance, and I know nothingof the suffering of the Palestinians, onlyfrom where we come, from what horrors we come fromwe should not create horror, the prophet Micah said"walk humbly with your G-d" but this is an arrogancebuilt on arrogance upon arrogance, that cannotbe understood by this Jew who hears a Gypsy violinwailing, "NO, No, this is a rage that creates more painthan one can understand"Judy Katz-Levine's most recent book is Ocarina. Her poems have appeared in The Delinquent, The Sun, Salamander, 96 Inc., and many other magazines and anthologies._____________________________ _____________________
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LOVE AT LAST SIGHT
2008-12-31 09:00:00
a new year's resolutionby Scot SiegelIs there such a thing?Can it happen more than once?What if it happens every day?and has nothing to do with lust,     or envy     or democracy     or godforsake     o ur country…This is how I might strike-up a new conversationwith the worldIf we can do it all over againbut differently…Scot Siegel is a poet and land use planner from Oregon, where he serves on the board of trustees for the Friends of William Stafford. He is the author of Some Weather (Plain View Press, 2008), and Untitled Country, a chapbook due out from Pudding House Publications in 2009._______________________________
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NEW YEAR'S EVE, 2008
2008-12-31 08:00:00
by Earl J. WilcoxFor once, then, let’s not toastthose arcane resolutions. OK,maybe one or two, say somethinglike we hope for the best in thenew year for the young familydown the street, who had to puttheir house up for sale, moveaway without telling us wherethey went because the dad losthis job, the mom couldn’t find one,and their little guy that we lovedwatching play catch with his dadis gone, too, God knows where,and we’re left holding emptycups nobody’s going to fill up,no matter how much toastinga new year we do.Earl J. Wilcox writes about aging, baseball, literary icons, politics, and southern culture. His work appears in more than two dozen journals; he is a regular contributor to The New Verse News. More of Earl's poetry appears at his blog, Writing by Earl._______________________________
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BODY COUNT
2008-12-30 09:00:00
by David Plumb New Year 2009Each day he cuts outthe New York Times Dead in Iraqand places them in a green metal dishto rest with the restof the silence in between.David Plumb’s latest fiction book is A Slight Change in the Weather. He has worked as a paramedic, a cab driver, a, cook and tour guide. A long time San Francisco writer, he now lives in South Florida . Will Rogers said, “Live in such a way that you would not be ashamed to sell your parrot to the town gossip.” Plumb says, “It depends on the parrot.”_______________________________ _________
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APPROACHING DECEMBER 31
2008-12-30 08:00:00
by Phyllis WaxThe old year’s gotplenty of testosterone left,enough for a surgeof violence in Gaza ,in Sri Lanka, in Pakistan ,and God knowswhere else andwhat’s He going to do about it,just send the new lad into continue the job— and wherewill it all end?Phyllis Wax keeps up with the news from Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Her poetry has appeared in numerous magazines and anthologies. Most recently, she has been published in Out of Line, Free Verse, Wisconsin Poets' Calendar and The New Verse News.____________________________________ ______________
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THE DUSTBIN OF HISTORY
2008-12-29 08:08:00
by Jon Wesickactually a rusty dumpsterbehind the SmithsonianSoggy newspapers, broken glass,black banana peel on its lidThe last deposita dripping garbage bagcoffee grounds, apple cores,the TalibanBefore thata broken comb tangledwith Karl Marx’s unruly hairWhen the lights go outdumpster divers crawl insidesearching for anything they can sell:thumbscrews, Spanish boots,Hitler’s old razor blades,dead sparrows, backyard blast furnaces,Herbert Hoover’s musty economics text,vials of phlogiston, the recipeTyphoid Mary used for ice cream,McNamara’s board games,Stalin’s toenail clippings,Pol Pot’s busted stereoBad ideas get a quick rinsein the waters of forgetfulnessand a fresh coat of PR.Then grocery carts bulgingwith Lysenko science,crusades, jihads, and Thirty Years Warsthe shadowy junkmen scurryto the marketplaceor political conventionto start a new roundof famine, disease, and warJon Wesick has a Ph.D. in physics, has practiced Buddhism for over twenty years, and has publish...
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SNEAKERS
2008-12-27 09:00:00
by Earl J. Wilcoxafter Robert FrostWhen I see white sneakers swingingfrom low hanging wires, I like tothink some kid grew tired of wearingthem and heaved them high, or wascelebrating a first kiss, maybe thebaseball coach named him the team’scatcher. You must have seen theseshoes here and there in the hood, evenin unlikely places. But a boy with onlyone pair of shoes summer and winterholds on to them, would never throwaway his sneakers just when he gotthem broke in. Gangs do that, I am told—toss shoes up on wires---signaling anearby hangout, where members dowhatever. But I was going to saybefore reality broke in that I wishinstead the shoes were a boy’s whosegraffiti scuffed soles, smudged tongue,prayed for someone to draw his namefrom an office pool ---size, color,brand don’t matter—and would sendnew sneakers to that boy who tossedthe old, paper thin pair up high, a newornament dangling from a wire, aburnished, bright star at Christmas.Earl J. Wilcox writes about aging, ba...
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