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FASHION STATEMENT
2008-12-19 09:00:00
by Matthew QuinnIf I were Bushand ducked a 10 inch shoebut the Secret Service crewdidn't rushtill after loafer number two,I would note thisand never shop at Payless.Matthew Quinn is a freelance writer, editor and researcher. He resides in St. Louis, Missouri, with his muse and a menagerie of disembodied voices.__________________________________ ________________
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:COLON: OSCOPY:
2008-12-18 09:20:00
by David FeelaSo it’s true that it’s not truethat 90% of all colon proceduresidentify cancerous growths.So it’s also true that being 50gives you only a 50% chanceof finding polyps in the tractwhere men (mostly) sufferthe indignities of beingprobed for alien life.Nothing, it seems, is conclusiveexcept that final breathwhere all the fiber you atemakes no differenceand the trouble you’ve fearedsneaks up from behind.David Feela is a poet, free-lance writer, writing instructor, book collector, and thrift store pirate. His work has appeared in regional and national publications, including the High Country News "Writers’s on the Range," Mountain Gazette, and in the newspaper as a "Colorado Voice" for The Denver Post. He is a contributing editor and columnist for Inside/Outside Southwest and for The Four Corners Free Press. A poetry chapbook, Thought Experiments (Maverick Press), won the Southwest Poet Series. A new poetry book, The Home Atlas, will be released in 2009.___________...
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SOMETHING BETTER ABOUT TO HAPPEN
2008-12-17 09:59:00
by Scot Siegelhard to believe an entire generationof American childrenhave grown up in a foreign countrywhere the anti-war poets, feeling nostalgic& pathetic, thud our sooty windowslike finches drunk on toxic hedge fundswhile the unemployed, mentally ill, and othersincarcerated in upside-down mortgageswipe the daily grime away and drink froma cracked urn called the-American-Dream-on-Trickle-Down-Lies-A mbush-Economics& other toxic drivel too disturbing to name here . . .hard to believe so many still get up and go toschool or college or what's left of the jobsmost mornings believing somethingbetter is about to happen . . .O these days, what I would givefor a new administration, my grandfather's generationO what I would give for a few rogue epiphanies!an early inauguration; the next WPAScot 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), ...

THREW SHOES?
2008-12-16 09:00:00
by Bill Costley“So what if he threw shoes?”says cheekily defiant Dubya,missing the symbolism aftera Cairo TV-reporter threwhis shoes at Dubya duringa Baghdad press-conference,one shoe forcing Dubyato lame-duck, the other sailingover Dubya’s head & slamminginto the wall behind him. Throwingshoes at someone is the worstinsult possible in the Arab world:shoes cover the body's lowest part,tread on animal dung, are removedon entering a house or mosque.What’s lower? Just the dung itself.Bill Costley serves on the Steering Committee of the San Francisco Bay area chapter of the National Writers Union.___________________________________ _____
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THESE SHOES ARE MADE FOR THROWIN'
2008-12-16 03:13:00
by Earl J. Wilcoxafter Lee Hazlewood and Nancy SinatraYou say you’ve done something for usSomething we can’t seem to see is true.You been messin’ where you ought not to be messin'Now I’ve got something here for only Y O U.These shoes are made for throwin’And throwin’ is what I’ll doI take both of ‘em off right here todayAnd throw them both at Y O U.You keep lyin' when you ought to be truthin’We’re losing and you know it’s trueBut I got a pair of number tens on todayThat I’m throwin' right at Y O U.These shoes are made for throwin’And throwin’s what I’ll doI’m takin’ both of em’ off right here todayAnd throwin’ them both at Y O U.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._______________________________
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BIRTHRIGHT
2008-12-15 09:00:00
by Scott Simpson Jacob stole his birthright, being clever and tricky and gets the bad rap on account of greed, but what about the sin of Esau who sold his birthright for a single bowl of soup? And sure, at the time it seemed reasonable Esau seeing nothing but his hunger         ;      &nbs p;      — gut wrenching hunger but emptiness doesn’t alwaysrender us clear of sight— sometimes it shapes desperate eyes and snatching hands. I imagine Esau there at table, hunger sated, realizing now the emptiness of the bowl the emptiness— what he’d given up…         ;      &nbs p;      or maybe not, maybe Esau simply belched and excused himself, because satiation doesn’t always render us mindful of consequence. Keep brother stuffed; he’ll never know he’s being taken. And sometimes my own...

CAPPUCCINO SMILE
2008-12-13 09:00:00
by Peter Branson"The opinion that art should have nothing todo with politics is itself a political attitude."--George Orwell, “Why I Write.”Young Costa girlwith fashionable dreadlocksand early morning eyessits down, no customersabout, asks whatyou write: a poemon 'Tolpuddle',at least you're trying to."They pay the minimum,this lot. No unions here;"melt-water over stone.The coffee bar warms upso she must leave,missing your mulledapology by miles.Robbed of their common wealth,farm workers starveon seven bob a week.These fields were hedged with greed.No combination laws,the charge is fixed and primed:transported seven years,but not for what's been doneand said, grapeshot acrossthe bows. "The Safety ofthe country is at stake,"the Judge points out.In 1984,"The enemy within,"life imitated art.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 year...
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DEEP IN PINEY WOODS
2008-12-12 09:00:00
by Garland StrotherForty years ago my friendHenry chained himselfto the courthouse stairsin the timber townof Bogalusa chantingfreedom now in the keyof Dixie, getting himselfwhipped across the poorwhite skin of his burntbald head all the waydown the justice stepsof Washington Parish.Forty miles south of herelast month deep in pineywoods, the Klan killeda woman who wantedto join them, but then changed her mind. TheKlan said no with a gun,killing her to keep her.A native of Tensas Parish in north Louisiana and a retired librarian, Garland Strother currently lives in River Ridge near New Orleans with his wife, Liz, also a librarian. Strother’s poems have appeared in Louisiana Review, Arkansas Review, South Dakota Review, Texas Review, Common Ground Review, Big Muddy, and others._______________________________
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PAPER TIGER
2008-12-11 09:00:00
by Bill CostleyIn Silicon Valley's Cupertino,a dutiful grandson eagerly awaitsan annual U.S. Savings Bondfrom his indulgent grandfather,a manufacturer in Shanghaiwho shuffles yuans, readinghis falling quarterly ordersreport on the United States.This year his indulgencewill bear the 2-tongued-Eof a Eurobond instead.Facing the Chinese in Beijing,Paulson involuntarily shuddersat a hint of chill across the table.Something’s morphing. Paper ’sno longer just promissory scrip.Bill Costley serves on the Steering Committee of the San Francisco Bay area chapter of the National Writers Union.___________________________________ _____
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DOWNTURN
2008-12-10 09:00:00
by Howie GoodEverywhere I go, it’s the same thing,pockets filling up with dirt, with tears,with small, gray feathers of smoke,crowds in the background murmuringa familiar prayer, a powerful name,impatient for the century to at last begin,or at least for this dry season to end,and as I stare out across the page,I wish I could remember a timewhen shadows were merely shadowsand our skin was blue and goldlike the gorgeous raiment of sacred kings.Howie Good, a journalism professor at the State University of New York at New Paltz, is the author of six poetry chapbooks, including 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._______________________________ ___________________

SETTLERS
2008-12-09 09:00:00
by Mary Dingee FillmoreThe chainsaw rips the airof this quiet quarter where treesare already scarce.When the lumberman ropesa locust tree's concentric layers,I'm sure I've seen him before.Asked why cut, he replies"We're cleanin' up the land - it belongs to the owner."Defeated, I walk home undermaples whose crownscan't be seen overhead -survivors of woods men cleareda century ago to make the gardenI love and live by.They cut even more in the vanishingVermont forest: cedar to shingle my house,spruce to frame it, and golden pineand birch for floors -     yes, birch, its snowy bark peeling     &nbs p;in the darkened woods -I live in this calamity of cutting, and nowI remember the lumberman's nameIt's carved on my great great greatgrandfather's gravestone he's the manwhose hard-swung axe hewed outthe place we savages knowas Canada.Mary Dingee Fillmore earned her M.F.A. at Vermont College after a twenty-five year career ...

SOCIALIST POKER
2008-12-08 09:00:00
by Bill GarveyThe sweet sound of an Obama speech –words soothingly spoken, the weight he gives eachsyllable as if articulation can reachinto our souls, as if reaching into our soulsmatters to him – eases my fear about losing my jobor every dollar I’ve saved in my 401K…which reminds me of a guy named Mikewho won three hands in a row at our Friday night game.Stacking red, white and green poker chips,he averted his eyes from the glare of his friendsand then, as if uncomfortable with sudden prosperity,tossed chips to the poorest among usas if he were Obama spreading the wealth –and how I love to utter Obama! Maybe Ivoted for the sound of it, knocked on doorsfor it, called voters, like Margaret, who ragedinto the phone Obama and Biden! Osama bin Laden!I shouted Change! Argued against for moreyears of pasty-faced men who don’t careabout syllables, I actually said, and thenI tossed to Margaret the O in Hope! Bill Garvey lives in New Hampshire with his wife. Their grown chil...
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CRY
2008-12-06 09:06:00
by N.C. HaiduckAround and around the world it goesto Africa, China , England , Malaysia ,a hole in its pocket, sitting in hard polished shadows,a cry for peace.We are people, unemployed, in peril,trying to master rents, insurance,our lives interrupted by a televised glimpse,crying for peace.Oily gloves count all of the signsin all of the streets, worth trillions of dollars,on every continent,a cry for peace.We want jobs, clean air, water,to teach our children,to answer each, in the unprecedented cathedral,with a cry for peace.It staggers through Serbia , Korea , Russia ,careens, through Turkey , Arabia , America ,black shoes scuffed by the cold, white Artic Circle ,a cry for peace.Ignoring the voices of nuclear dust,newspapers tease us a bit,Hiroshima unravels, Nagasaki falls and we allcry for peace.N.C. Haiduck teaches writing at The City College of New York, where she won the English Department’s Outstanding Teacher Award in 2007. Her poetry can be found in the Paterson Literar...

LETTERS FOR JUSTINE MASIKA BIHAMBA IN THE DRC
2008-12-05 09:00:00
by Kaci Elderin honor of Amnesty International's Global Write-a-thon, December 2008Was this the man who laid himself upon your little girl,He, whose belt nearly unbuckled itself in a feverish haste to get something,Something onto her, into her, through and around and between herTightening tightening thighs?Was this the man who locked eyes with you when you'd suddenlyRUN into the room?Was this the gun he used to break into your homeInto the safe and protected space you'd set aside from the world you usually roam,With the risks you take to defend we whose cunts are called shameWho are still scrubbing down the walls inside ourselves to feel clean again?Was this the gun he held to your children's heads, your six trembling babesNOW fearing death?Was this the uniform he wore on the night he stormed inside,His matching buddies by his side as he shouted "Where did Justine go!"They wanted you, yes, you know, because you work to stop rape, you work against the pain thickly slapped against...
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TWINKLE
2008-12-04 09:00:00
by Lori DesrosiersDoctors in India are baffled as to why a young girl spontaneously bleeds through her pores without being cut or scratched, the Telegraph reported Tuesday. Twinkle Dwivedi, 13, sometimes wakes up in the morning covered in dried blood that has seeped through her eyes, nose, hairline, neck and the soles of her feet. She has undergone several transfusions. --AOL Health News, 1 October 2008Mystics and Krishna won’t cure youHalleluiah child of bleeding poreschild of India, mother holds your handin blue and fuscia striped pajamaswaiting for another transfusionanother doctor to say he doesn’t knowask the Sufi saintswho sing and dance for youal hamdu’l ‘illah but nothing happensyour face is lovely I see why theycalled you Twinkle and the red stainruns down your cheek like a teardropthat won’t come off, but at the same timeyou smile for cameras hoping someone willbring the right medicine, poor little starso the children will play with you againso the saints will go...

OF COURSE THIS NEVER HAPPENED
2008-12-02 09:00:00
by George Spencer2 black cops come to check a suspicious white guyat the country clubhe's armed with a driver, a 5 ironstarts to pull something out of his golf baghard to see white guys in the bright sun100 bulletsfifty from each gunGeorge Spencer lives in Ecuador half the year where he started its first poetry slam. Recently, he had poems in CLWN WR, Stained Sheets, Rain Tiger, 63 Channels and Poetry MidWest. PWP is publishing his chapbook Obscene Richness of Our Times in '09._____________________________________ _____________

EARTHSHINE
2008-12-01 09:00:00
a found newspoem by Scot Siegelbased on "Doorstep Astronomy: Venus Shines Bright" by Joe Rao at Space.comThese days, there is much adoabout Venus & Jupiter hoveringaligned in the near sky. Never mindthat planetary spectacle.Monday night, shift your lensto the right and you might spotthe full globe of the darkened moongloating, its shadowy portionGlowing with a blueish-grayhue interposed between sunlitcrescent & the not muchdarker skyThis vision,some call "the old moonin the young moon's arms"Scot 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._______________________________

TO THE MAXX AT WAL-MART
2008-11-30 01:52:00
by James Penha"When they were saying they had to leave, that an employee got killed,people were yelling `I've been on line since yesterday morning,'"[a witness] said. "They kept shopping."From the first crisp November morning tacklethat brought me down onto the stairwell floorstrewn with the glass confetti of firecrackered doors,I felt proud with every boot to my teeth,heels grounding down my eyesand kneecaps, toes hummered into my groin,again and again, I felt proud with every explosionof my spleen and the unfurling of my gutslike leftover Turkey stuffingto give my life even temporarilyat a minimum wage to jump-start the economyfor 9-11 pilgrims and terror warriorsin need of black-light bargainson this most American holiday.James Penha edits The New Verse News._______________________________
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JUST TRYIN TO GET THIS STRAIGHT
2008-11-29 09:49:00
by Steve Hellyard SwartzSo the guy who didn't desert his lover of two months time when that lover saidI'm sick and may be dyinThis guy who stayed with him through thick and thin, for six yearsOr was it seven?When on a snowy Sunday mornin the angels came and carried him up toBack-a-the-bus heaven, this guyAnd the two women who adopted the little boy with the fiercest cowlickAnd the most godawful tickTaking his sister, too, who had MSThe little boy in a dark blue suitThe little girl in the prettiest dress,These two women cuz of their love for each other(And for their kids, better than any 20 other mothers)All the on-and-ons, the Janices of Joplin, and Johnsof Elmira, the guys with their soft eyes and softer smiles,The women whose hearts are red and blueJust like me, just like youOnly a little better, just a little betterAs hearts are when they've been in useThrough years of silence, the science of abuseCome onHave the goddamn gutsFor now, now and forever afterSquatting on your haun...
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MUMBAI BURNS
2008-11-28 00:35:00
by Vivek SharmaDid you see the sobbing reporter describe how the Taj of Mumbai burns?How many will Asuras cause to die before O Vishnu as avataar returns?The fanatic bullet hunts gazelles everywhere that nostalgia mourns.Where is the machine crafted that chokes our unfinished yearns?Differences are astonished at the atrocities flowing in their name.Can anyone explain it to these cubs, where this feud begins?Words loaded into Kashalnikovs explode in believer's brains.What savage desires issue death sentences to their sons?You fight your kith and kin, seeking separate land-holdings.See our heritage now desecrated by our own selfish actions.Tearful ocean is filled with the ash of my extinguished loves.My hurt is the chorus of subdued sighs of colossal nations.There is absolutely no God who honors assassins.He is all powerful. He needs no help from tainted persons.Courage is in protecting, in fighting limitations, in peace.Who is using this chicanery to teach the faithful satanic lesso...
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VENISON
2008-11-27 09:00:00
by Thomas D. ReynoldsMy ancestors were hunters,Walking wooded paths at dusk.In lean times their eyes turned to sky,at squirrels leaping from weeping willow branches.Catfish tested their bobbers atop the Buffalo River,and across the fields stared glassy-eyed from stringers.Hogs were slaughtered just beyond flower beds,and amidst carnage, people gossiped about weddings.So when my brother the hunter brought venison steaksto be cooked with turkey and ham on Thanksgiving Day,That was only fitting.Still a few of us leaned over as they sizzled on the stove,detecting wildness unloosed into the kitchen--rain dripping from pines and dried leaf piles,the biting briskness of the first autumn snow,dedge smoke drifting in from a distant line shack.My brother recounted the hunt in western Missouri,how the doe trailed off for miles after she was shot,finally falling beside a stand of scrub oak.My brother and the others immediately set to with knives,first dragging her onto a sheet of new fallen sno...

LARGE MAN SMALL DOG
2008-11-26 09:00:00
by Buff Whitman-BradleyA very large man is walking a very small dogAlong the sidewalk in the business district of townHe may be going to the post office or to the store to buy a jar of mustardAnd combining the errand with the dog’s walk for the dayAt one end of the taut leash the little dog is all energy and alertnessEars up looking around smartly and importantlyAt the other end of the leash the man looks disconsolate shuffling alongGazing at the pavement his large belly filling up the front of his Hawaiian shirtPerhaps the man is thinking about the shattered economyPerhaps he has lost his job and is wonderingHow soon or if he’ll be able to find another oneAnd how he’s going to buy dog food and pay the rentOr is he thinking about the weather and what it meansThat a day in late November is warm and sunny and rainlessWhen by all rights it should be cold and dreary and wetWith storm after storm filling up the creeks and reservoirsNot far from here are creeks where salmon return e...
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LETTER TO PUCCINI
2008-11-25 09:00:00
by David ChorltonDear Giacomo, after much resistance I came aroundto accepting the premise that beautyis most beautiful in tragedy. Poor Mimi, coldand terminally ill, touches us where no inspirational speakercan reach. Earning what we deservedoesn’t sound so attractive after listening to her dieand there’s something vaingloriousabout the way people strut their successes and talkinto cell phones to set up the next dealwhile the spotlight shines on a dying aria and theydon’t even know it’s happening. Give mea story with tears; I’m tired of victory marches,of boasting as a qualification to be president, of compoundinterest as a way of life, let me enjoya good long cry. It’s a shame that Madama Butterflykilled herself, but it feels good to see it.The Buddhist dies. The Navy lieutenant lives.The sympathy and music are hers.You liked exotic settings, but they’re hard for us to reachwith travel agencies turned into counter-terrorismunits these days. You might have found a plo...
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LEAVES
2008-11-24 09:00:00
an ode to e e cummingsby Earl J. WilcoxHere,whereleavesby the tonfallevery fallnobody can solvethe mysteryof when leaveswill fallor how to tame ‘emonce the fallis underway.This fallleavesseem slowerbut brighterin hues,fallingslowly one day,faster the next,insisting ontheir own paceuntil they allfalldowndowndown.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 43 poems to The New Verse News._______________________________
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THE LAMB CHOPS OF GOD
2008-11-23 09:00:00
by Joseph DorazioThe word God spelled-out in the seeds of a slice of eggplant—that regal and chaste purple beauty. Now ask yourself,could that ever happen in a cucumber?The blessed Virgin Mary appears as a grease stainon a pizza pan, or on a toasted cheese sandwich.While the world hungers for meaning,God simply hungers. And why shouldn't the Lord appearin our food? The Devil certainly does: E. coli in spinach,salmonella tainted peanut butter jars,prions and mad cows. While obese Americans battle the bulge,the powers of good and evil are duking it out in our food.It's a Biblical struggle for our tines: extra virgin olive oilversus tabasco sauce. Sur la table apocalypse style for thesecond coming of Child, and Nostradamus' third anti-pasto.Ah, such is life in these endive times.Joseph Dorazio studied anthropology at the University of Pennsylvania, and served as a docent at Penn's Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology. His poetry has appeared in a number of regional poet...
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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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