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DREAMS FROM MY OBAMA
2008-11-22 09:00:00
by Donna HilbertOn the first night we celebratevictory on the reservation.Even my brother dancesthough he is Republican.I drink too muchand must be helpedfrom the stage.On the second night my loveand I give birth to a baby boy.We are surprisedto find the babyis Bolivian.This is Obama ’s first miracle.Donna Hilbert’s latest book is The Green Season, newly released from World Parade Books. She is the subject of the documentary Transforming Matter, by director Christine Fugate, which is nearing completion.______________________________ _
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THE WAY TO WIN IS TO LOSE
2008-11-21 09:00:00
by Gary LehmannIn the days of rising winds, about 500 BC,the Viscount of Wu was faced with anoverwhelming enemy at his gates.Wu calmly arrayed his 3000 soldiers in the fieldand commanded that they cut their throats.When they all obeyed, the enemy was so horrifiedthey ran away, refusing to enter a city of madmen,and leaving Wu in command of his city.Sun Tzu says the essence of effective warfareis not destruction, but disorientation.Twice nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Gary Lehmann’s essays, poetry and short stories are widely published. Books include The Span I will Cross (Process Press, 2004) and Public Lives and Private Secrets (Foothills Publishing, 2005). His most recent book is American Sponsored Torture (FootHills Publishing, 2007)._______________________________

WALL STREET
2008-11-20 09:00:00
by David Radavich Something keeps spiraling down down beyond words or images seasons almost a rain dance black snake coiling or uncoiling in sun that glints into a solemn smirk outside the cold windowDavid 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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GOLDSTD DENTISTRY
2008-11-20 00:37:00
by Bill Costley“Capitalism's an extraction process,”explains Dr. Gold, GoldStd dentist,solar-powered drill in R-hand,“relentlessly attacking all decay(crumbling within a system),removing dross, replacing it w/goldwhose purity is self-protecting,an agreed upon standard of purityfilling vaults in the world’s banksuntil they're sufficiently golded-up,(I like to say), or backed by gold.Those that aren’t get eaten by thosethat are; some countries’ treasuriesnow stockpile purest platinum,of absolutely no use, dentally.”Bill Costley serves on the Steering Committee of the San Francisco Bay area chapter of the National Writers Union.___________________________________ _____
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WINTER SOLDIERS
2008-11-18 11:02:00
by Howie GoodCan’t you feel it,the troops dimly massingon the border,horses the color of doomdragging cannonsalong old lumber roads,their hooves muffled with cloth,as the collaborators among uscount down the daystill manic petals of snowwill be falling murderouslyeverywhere.Howie Good, a journalism professor at the State University of New York at New Paltz, is the author of six poetry chapbooks: Death of the Frog Prince (2004), Heartland (2007), and Apocalypse Mambo (forthcoming) from FootHills Publishing; Strangers & Angels (2007) from Scintillating Publications; the e-book, Police and Questions (2008), from Right Hand Pointing; and the e-book, Last Words (2008), from Gold Wake Press. He has been nominated twice for a Pushcart Prize and twice for the Best of the Net anthology._______________________________ ___________________
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EXIT POLL
2008-11-17 09:00:00
by Scot SiegelI had a dreamwe were sweating bulletsOakland. 1973soul-music-afro-sheenNixon. PanthersGrandmotherDidn't trustblacksCalled themshvartzes --*Twenty yearsgrandma deadNow I wonder howshe would have castHer ballot:white/blackBush administrationsays fear Is our greatest asset.Waged warFor war's sake.Said:be afraid*Today, I keeppinching myself,Wanting to believemy grandmotherLied. I pinch myselfuntil I bleedBlack bloodblood of our brothersBlood of our sisters:Black. Brown. Yellow. Jew --Blot my eyeswith the rest of you --Overcome, andwet with joyScot Siegel is an urban planner and poet from Lake Oswego, Oregon where he serves on the Lake Oswego City Planning Commission and the Board of Trustees for The Friends of William Stafford. His first full-length poetry collection Some Weather is forthcoming in 2009 from Plain View Press._______________________________
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THE EMPRESS OF AFRICAN SONG
2008-11-16 09:00:00
by Mary Saracino“I will sing until the last day of my life.”--Miriam Makeba Mama Africa sang her final song on stage in Italyher seizing heart snatched away the musicpata patamalaikaqongqothwanefor over 30 years Miriam Makeba lived in exilebanned from her African homelandno longer a refugee, the cry for liberation stillriffed from her 75 year old tongue:joy & sorrow, justice & jazz notes,the syncopated solace of South African rhythmsdeath is not strong enough to silence her;the whispering wind reminds us: the sins of apartheidare the sins of the world; no nation is absolvedmourning shouts her name: Makeba!sing loudly for freedom wherever you are;choirs of angels greet her resplendent soul;may her vision outlast her last breath;on Earth, sorrowful voices pray:pata patamalaikaqongqothwaneMary 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...
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RETURNEE: LAST WORDS
2008-11-15 09:01:00
by Spielroberts is so glad to be freeof those god-forsaken sandstormsglad to sink his heels into real dirthe has worked beforebut he cannot know these bodiesoccupying the same addresswhere he’s been mailing his checks they have the same names as thosehe’s been receiving goodies fromjen and tiffy and billy lou and johnthey watch tv at the same addresshe’s been paying big rents onall these yearsbut even though they havesomewhat familiar faceshe’s got nothing to talk aboutwith these strangersand the square truth is:he just doesn’t have to kiss      & nbsp;   nobody’s ass      &n bsp;   no moreand he’s already said his “last words”every ten breaths of his life for the past one thousand daysNeither the NEA nor an MFA influences Pushcart Prize contender, the poet Spiel, in his diverse works of personal conflict and social consciousness, published frequently online and in independen...
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BACKYARD WEDDING
2008-11-14 10:50:00
by Buff Whitman-Bradley The silverware’s back in the drawerThe dishes are all put awayThe house has been swept cleanand the broom’s in the closetThe garbage can is stuffedThe tablecloths and napkinsare hanging on the clotheslinein the back yardwhere the wedding took placeThe newlyweds are traveling southon Highway 1The relatives from far awayare boarding airplanesand the friends from nearbyare headed back to workThe bride was beautifuland the groom was handsomeand as they waited to say their vowsthey trembled a littleand gazed at each otherwith such tenderness and intensitythat they seemed almost overwhelmedby loving someone so muchThe night was warmThe waning moon roseover the neighbor’s houseThe fig tree was strungwith pale orange paper lanternsConversations and music mingledin the dark branches of treesThe toasts were generous, touching, funnyNo fighter jets or attack helicopters or dronesstrafed and bombed the wedding partyas the U.S. has done in Iraq and Afghanistanand as...
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BUILDING IN THE GREEN
2008-11-13 12:36:00
October 2008by Linda LernerThey came with saws, drills, a truckload of illegalsand plenty of 1990’s cash . . .an old couple, their two family house vanishedas I slept . . . green disappeared in the greenthat pushed up a building thru neighbors' angerthru the dusty noise ignorance purified;jackhammering echoed thru the citycrossing state lines; everyone waited forthis building that resembled every other onegoing up to be finished;a tree centuries old lay on the dead grassbehind a fence separating that property fromwhere I lived, leaving a concrete areaI looked out on, everythingcold, hard, and gray, felt like November in March, April, any monthof that year, the next and the one afterwhen green shoots rose upthrough cracks so small it didn’t seem possiblecame up through a drain holeand a sudden flowering of weeds, morning gloriesbroke thru the unfenced sidestangled on the cellar banister wherecats lined up to be fed, eyeing the squirrels,and sparrows perched on overhead wires;is...
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PROP 8 / PROP HATE
2008-11-12 09:01:00
by Mary SaracinoThe wedding bells have been silenced;The rice meant for jubilationis now confined to canistersor cooked in a pot for Sunday supperby women who love womenmen who love men.People of every color, kind &persuasion, who love life & honor families,don’t give a damn who signs the marriage licensewhen one true heart reaches out to another,promises steadfast devotion — for betteror worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness & in health,‘til death do they part.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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MONKS BRAWL IN HOLY SEPULCHER
2008-11-11 09:01:00
by Daniel E. WilcoxRiot police enter the pewed rowsIn Jerusalem, the city of piecesOn earthWhere faiths forever conflict;Armenians and Greeks monk it out,Separate those reversed for loveFilled with uncyclical violence;Splinters of the cross nail So and So again,No keys to Heaven to open the door,But plenty of blessed brawling,'Holey' vestments,Vermin, and invested viceSo universal.Daniel Wilcox earned his degree in Creative Writing from Cal State University, Long Beach. A former activist, teacher, and wanderer--from Montana to the Middle East, he casts lines out upon the world's wide shores in Mad Swirl, The Writer's Eye, Erbacce, Scruffy Dog Review, ocean diamond, etc. Poems will soon be published in Moria and Word Riot. A short story, "The Faces of Stone" based on his time in the Middle East, was published in The Danforth Review. Currently, Daniel is finishing a novel and a poetry collection. He lives on the central coast of California with his mysterious wife and youngest son...
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SONG FROM OUT OF UR
2008-11-10 08:23:00
by Rochelle Owens           1Speak to a configuration of stainseven a silk shirt of the man from Marrakecheven a configuration of stains will bemade to speak sublime yellow-greensmears of avocado pulp the man fromMarrakech enemies at his feet the sonof a Macedonian his peach porcelain chinits cleft pierced by a thorn piercedis the man from Marrakech the son of aMacedonian he crouches over a vanity sinkdappled with mother-of-pearl bearingthe weight of a nightmare a nightmareabout iron stairs about a long rowof embryos luminous organs fibrous pitsNarcissus purgingjabbing his two-inch pinky nail evil it feelsinto the cleft of his china levantine hook on a rampagefrom out of Ur into the hotel his privatequarters red hot mosaic tiles hooks forevery hang-up made by master craftsmenthe man from Marakecheyes of pale gray-green pale gray-green eyesson of a Macedonianmummified is his code of honorIn ancient Phoeniciaa woman holds a sublime yel...
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MURDER BY THE (WRONG) NUMBERS
2008-11-09 09:01:00
by Christina Pacosz“My point is that it has to be both: beautiful and political.I’m not interested in art that is not in the world.”--Toni MorrisonOne spring night not longago, a barred owlhooted from the ailanthus treeoutside our window.Now weaponry of assorted caliber is what I hearas I try to sleep soundlyenough to dreamand remember.This past Augusta man was found dead in the street.I heard the shots that killed himat 56th and Garfield –three loud pops in a row.Then, only a few nights agoanother man.Gunshots and submachinegun fire, a briefand deadly duet.And last nightwindows opento the darkstreet, vehiclesat high speed –maybe cop cars –but turning over is difficult and painful.Without my glassesI can’t be certainbut swift cars at 3 AMtear up and downthe narrow street. You wake long enoughto ask, “What’s wrong?”Facing easttrying to explainmy uneaseas if dawn itself was a menace.Despite October’s chillthe triplet of old windowsis open still.Our butterscotch ...
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TAXES
2008-09-13 02:16:00
by David ChorltonWhat don’t you like about low taxes?Our neighbour isn’t watchingthe Republican convention. Sayshe doesn’t need to. Always votesstraight ticket, checking off the boxesarranged on his ballot as neatlyas the discount coupons stacked on his porchwhere he invites us to share a glass of the winehe can’t tell from the expensive brands.Why pay more? Never misses a deal.Gets his shoes from a company that sends themto him in return for a reporton how they fit. He likes to sit and talk.Another glass? He likes to tell uswhat’s free and where to get it.Then turns the conversation to the waytaxes only benefit thosewho want something for nothing.Like the socialists in Europe. He never had childrento send to college. He’s affable. Just enjoysan argument. Teases us about our views.Disparity between rich and poordoesn’t bother him. They must have worked for it.And he doesn’t care that the Republicans he votes forare always talking about a godhe doesn’t believe in. S...
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TRIOLET: LIPSTICK ON A PIG
2008-09-12 13:07:00
by R. S. DunnSure, I once put lipstick on a pig.“It’s not my shade!” the porker squealedIn anger; and danced a frightening jig.Sure, I once put lipstick on a pig,But lost my nerve about the red fright wig—It would have meant somebody’s doom was sealed …Sure, I once put lipstick on a pig.“It’s not my shade!” the porker squealed.R. S. Dunn is the editor of the journal, Asbestos; former Editor of Medicinal Purposes Literary Review, the erstwhile host of the Poet to Poet cable television show, and has appeared in such publications as Krax, Imago, Mobius, Art Times, Rattapallax, Nomad’s Choir, Critical Perspectives in Accounting, and Pegasus. His full-length collections of poetry include Zen Yentas in Bondage, Guilty as Charged, Cannon Fodder (Cross-Cultural Literary Editions), Playing in Traffic (Founders Hill Press), Sunspot Boulevard (Xlibris), and Horse Latitudes (iUniverse.com)._________________________ ______
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MOO-SLIM O'BAMA
2008-09-12 13:04:00
by Bill Costley“I know you’ll play it proud, “says Attilla McCain,” as proudas Mrs. Punch of being called‘a pig in lipstick’ by moo-slimO’bama, who can’t eat pig.Who‘s he think he’s kidding?”Mrs. AAA-laska belittles him:“O’bama can’t lay a hand on me;eyes closed, I can out-slap him,now he’s got himself in a corneryou know I can lock him in,'strategically speaking!' "over a sweet mess of spare ribs.Bill Costley serves on the Steering Committee of the San Francisco Bay area chapter of the National Writers Union._______________________________
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UNSETTLED
2008-09-11 10:00:00
by Robert M. Dilley"The tallest buildings ever," my father's voice rising higherhis hands spinning the wheel of a Buick Skylark Sportwagonwhen a fill-up cleaned the windshield with a smile and a squeegeeWe emptied our attentions into Manhattanthen filled them up again with twin tower visions across the horizonfrom Sunday to Sunday, along the turnpike, and over the Pulaski skywaywe drove rivets through girders to Grandmother's in Jersey CityHardened structures of steel, and men of similar originwere swinging by nerves, hanging by the courage to forge Americainto the future, for my father, and his children's childrenThey filled our eyes again, with seething horrorwings and concrete crumbling with loved onesundone into dust, piled into rubblelost years aloft, dust doesn't settleAnd still, it's not easy to lift these eyes skywardto ferry them across the Henry Hudsonor drive them south on the Westside Highwaysearching east, through debris, and shattered memoriessending them far off ...

SOMETHING IN THE ECO-MADNESS . . .
2008-09-10 10:00:00
by Earl J. Wilcox “Experts Fear Dwindling of Fireflies”--AP, August 30 2008 . . . is dousing fireflies’ lights,global warming experts warn.When glowworms no longer glow,When lightening bugs no longer light,Soon to follow will be backyard rompsWithout ropes and rubber tire swingsIce cream not hand-cranked,Kool-Aid pre-made in a kit,Lemonade in a pillCanned laughterFake tears, fake turf to mow,Wind-up birds, rubber snakes.On a ranch in Texas,Mechanical bulls.Earl J. Wilcox writes about aging, baseball, literary icons, politics, and southern culture. His work appears in more than two dozen journals; he has contributed 39 poems to the New Verse News.____________________________________ ____
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BUSHY WAR BUCKS AND LITTLE ORPHANED FANNIE
2008-09-09 10:00:00
by Carmen TafollaLittle Fannie is crying.There are holes in her clothesand holes in her shoesand a skinny hungry lookon her tear-smudged face.Daddy’s mad at me, she sobsCause Freddie and me lost thepenny he gave us last week.Daddy Bush-War Bucks says we wasted it, wereirris-plausiblean stupid.Says we can’t play outside no more,can’t play at all till we learn how to work.“It’s all yore fault,” he said,“That Mama Gum-Mint an I are sufferin so much.All yore fault for squanderin the stuff we sogenerously give you.Money is serious bid-ness. Needs to be used on important things,”that’s what he said.Daddy’s not home right now. He’s gone out to play.Don’t know for how long. Doesn’t come home earlyusually.Fannie and Freddie keep lookingfor the penny they lost, sweeping every corner of the housetill way past midnightWhile Daddy tipsies homedropping billions at every step,drunk on his way home to bedafter squanderingeverythingat the exotic new casino calledIraq .Carmen...

DREAM OF AFTER HOURS
2008-09-08 10:00:00
by Marion Deutsche CohenIn New York City there's a poor old woman in a wheel chair who, every midnight, and on 'til 3:00 or 4:00 AM, hangs out in the various schoolyards. She's old and disabled but educated, and she loves education. So she's just there, available, to teach anybody who happens to come along and want to be taught. All the teenagers and young men who would otherwise be out doing drugs or nothing go to her. Nobody kills her or mugs her, they love and respect her, little kids too, and parents of kids who don't want to go to school bring their kids to her night school. She does this every night, in as many schoolyards as she can get to.Then, back home in Philly... well, you know how the buses run pretty late but not all night, so there's this young man who, after hours, climbs aboard one of the buses, Septa leaves the key for him, is happy he's doing this, he drives that bus around, for those who have to get to work at 4:00 AM or who just like riding the bus at 3:...
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HEROIC STRUGGLE
2008-09-07 10:00:00
PoeArtry by Charles Frederickson & Saknarin ChinayoteLess hyped yet equally importantParalympics ignites Flame of HopeServing as Agent of PromiseExhibiting boundless courage mindful strengthThese very special gifted athletesMaking most of God-given talentsRigorous training empowers buoyant resilienceDetermined to better personal bestsDefeatist attitude the real disabilityAnything is possible overcoming handicapsExpectations set far too lowWeighty challenge uplifting derring-do barsMaking an impact arena differenceVictors simply refuse to loseAlso-rans brave in valiant attemptsGaining confidence next time victoriousFacing every endurance test head-onGoal not to have conqueredBut to have fought wellPrideful smiles emanating from withinThe dynamic duo of always toptimistic upstARTs, Charles Frederickson & Saknarin Chinayote edit AvantGardeTimes.com, an eclectic cosmopolitan poeartry quarterly EZine. Check out Dr. Chazz’s No Holds Bard website: PoetryArtCombo.com, and Saknarin...

BLUBBER IN A PALE
2008-09-06 12:40:00
(since you didn't ask)by Scot SiegelI think Palin pales in comparison to Bidenwho pales in comparison to Obamawho pales in comparison to Clintonwho pales in comparison to Kennedywho pales in comparison to Lincoln, a Republicanwho pales in comparison to thoseNative Americanswho pale in comparison to thosewho came before themacross the land bridgefrom Russiato AlaskaWhen neither existedand had no need for oilbut had whales and sealsand endless ice, and realnames, like:     Aleut& nbsp;    Koyukon  ;    Haida   ;   Gwich'in  &n bsp;  Tanana   & nbsp; Ahtna    & nbsp;Tlingit      ;Yup'lkDon't believe me?     just ask the InuitScot Siegel is an urban planner and poet from Lake Oswego, Oregon, where he serves on the Lake Oswego City Planning Commission and the Board of Trustees for the Friends...
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The CHENI@D:Volume Eight
2008-09-05 11:50:00
by Bill CostleyClick here for Books I-XII. Click here for Books XIII-XXIV.Click here for Books XXV-XXXVI. Click here for Books XXXVII-XLVIII.Click here for Books XLIX-LX.Click here for Books LXI-LXXII.Click here for Books LXXIII-LXXXIV. Book LXXXV: CHENEY Bakes Mrs. AlaskaAlaska’s armedest hockey mom,programmed w/Zapruder's clip,draws a cold bead on Obama,& gets taken into custody byMIBs for an attempt on the lifeof a presidential candidate. McCain rages: "Getchya hands offmy own Alaskan Candidate!"& jabs a VP-destruct button;CHENEY bakes Mrs.Alaska.Book LXXXVI: CHENEY: Georgia Will Join NATO[newspoem]"Georgia will be in our alliance," CHENEY said,stressing America's "deep, abiding, & strongcommitment to Georgia’s overcoming invasion.You were fearless during Russian occupation,& steadfast in your principles. We respect you."US officials stressed US aid would not rebuildGeorgia's military which will be decided in Dec.when Georgian NATO membership is ...
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DAY THREE
2008-09-04 02:00:00
by Jan PettitThey are vacuuming the sidewalkoutside the hotel next door.It’s the Republican National Convention andthe sidewalks must be clean, very clean.To be honest, it’s a rubber-backed rugthey’re vacuuming. Red of course, the red carpet metaphorin suburban vernacular, rolled outfor the Republicans. I can’t decide which is more absurd, the rug on top of the sidewalk, or the vacuuming.On either side, topiary elephants—adornedwith Christmas lights—look on, while the vacuum glidesaround their fake moss feet. They wonder what’s gone wronghere in America. They want to go back,not to their native Africa, since they are neitherreal nor African, but back to their pre-synthetic lives, the iron ore and petroleum and stuff in the ground.Before they were pointless, too.Jan Pettit lives and writes and fumes in Minneapolis, MN. Her poetry has appeared in journals including Great River Review, South Dakota Review, Rosebud Magazine, Tusculum Review and in Nebraska Presence, an ant...

ALASKA, SUMMER 2008
2008-09-04 01:35:00
by Steve Hellyard SwartzShe loves the unbornShe loves to killShe loves to fightShe loves being whiteAnd the long long summer days which up there pass for nightShe loves a bucket of bloodAnd long long draughts of water cold as iceShe loves Alaska And would never ever goIf 18 million cracks in the floor she called homeHadn't flung her into waters she had never knownShe loves lifeSo much so that she swims for seven days and seven nightsUntil she can swim no moreUntil(as is reported by the people in copters above the warming waves who are tracking the death of polar bears)Until the very end of her lifeWhen she goes down and doesn't come back upAs long day becomes longer nightSteve Hellyard Swartz is a regular contributor to NewVerseNews, Best Poem, and Haggard and Halloo. His poetry has been published in switched-on guttenberg and The Kennesaw Review. In 2008 , he won Honorable Mention in the Allen Ginsberg Poetry Awards, an honor he also received in 2007. He will soon be published in T...
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DELFINA EXPLAINS GLOBALIZATION
2008-09-03 09:59:00
by Robert AnbianWhen you enter a maquiladoraat Otay Mesa, the first thing you noticeis women, lots of them. Most of uscome from the south, where there are no jobs.There aren’t even men, except old ones!The others went north, looking for workand finding mostly grief and temptation.If ever I see my husband again,I will slap him, then kiss him.Then slap him again.We women were alone!We knew nothing about what awaited us!We brought nothing but children and naïve hopes!The lords of the maquiladoras welcomed us,we had small, agile hands, and would be cheap and docile.They even denied us bathroom breaks, we would suffer in silence.Or so they thought! But it wasn’t long before we women,young, uneducated, abandoned by everyone,began to speak up for our rights. We beganmaking a little trouble. Above all,we found we had each other – they couldn’t deny us that!But a factory woman’s life is a cheap thing in this world,just like the cell phones we assembled and the pantyhose we pac...
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ANALYSIS OF THE BUSH PRESIDENCY
2008-09-02 11:36:00
by Michael ShorbBush is the arrogantwhite puppy in thoseAdvantage flea treatmentTV commercials.He walks across a vacantlot where an Americansteel mill once stood,smirks at some unemployedfactory dogs sittingin a tavern scratching:"Well there may be bugson some of you mugs,but there ain't nobugs on me," he announces brightly.At summer camp, he leapsfrom a sinking canoeto the pier in the nick of time.He slips in and out of Iraq.He pees on the lawnof the foreclosed house.He sniffs the edge ofthe VA hospital parking lot.As the economy sinks andall the other dogsbegin to scratch and scratch and scratchhe's an inspiration:      ;well-invested,    &n bsp;ranch paid up,     speaker fees loominglifetime kennel clubmembership.He smirks into a mirror.Michael Shorb's work reflects an abiding interest in myth, history, and the lyrical form, as well as a satirical focus on present day trends and events.His poems have appeared i...
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DIGGING LABOR'S GRAVE
2008-09-01 10:00:00
by Bill CostleyTo Karl Kadie, for reading meAlice Winters’ poem “The Displaced of Capital”Americans can't call a spade a spade;they criticize the economic crisis nowupon us, without ever indicting viciousneoCapitalism, still shielded by Cold Warideological armor, no matter what it doesto whom or where: Red China’s relentlessneo-Capitalism’s sweat-shopping millions,just like all the other Asian-Pacific 'tigers'as once-American multi-nationals contractwith them for the world’s cheapest labor,driving a vicious race to the bottom, digginglabor’s grave with neo-capped spades.Bill Costley serves on the Steering Committee of the San Francisco chapter of the National Writers Union.___________________________________ _____
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McCAIN'S SECRET RECIPE
2008-08-31 10:00:00
by Earl J. WilcoxTake one part outright madness;Add three parts beauty;Two parts guts;Four parts middle finger to the party.Stir until well mixed.Serve before one week.This party favorite tends to spoilover night unless keptin a cold place such as Alaska—or in John McCain’s brain.Earl J. Wilcox writes about aging, baseball, literary icons, politics, and southern culture. His work appears in more than two dozen journals; he has contributed 38 poems to the New Verse News.____________________________________ ____
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