POEM OF THE DAY BY PAUL ROLA

HOT NIGHT ON THE PRAIRIE
 

Nights out here this year have been terrible hot,
Kinda’ like hell,
But without havin’ to put up with all the deceased family members.
Tonight is one of those nights when
You wished you only had one leg
So’s it wouldn’t have to lay up against the other one.

You almost hate to try to go to sleep
Cause when you close your eyes
It makes your eyeballs sweat.

The humidity is truly hangin’ heavy in the air,
Makes your clothes heavy.
Hell it makes everything heavy.
Even Willie’s singin’ seems to be about a half a tone low
By the time the sound gets to me.

That coyote has developed a sinus cough,
Kinda’ gurgles when he howls.
Why even the cattle have been beggin’ us to skin ‘em
So they can get some relief
From them fur coats.

The only thing that keeps me a goin’ through the night
Is that I know it will be day break soon
And even though we’ll have to face the full force of that sun
It gives me a certain kinda’ relief to know
I can bitch and cuss out loud
Without wakin’ anybody up.


-Paul Rola

POEM OF THE DAY BY GEORGE WALLACE

WAIST DEEP IN THE DOO WHA DIDDY
protect the rich -- join the party!
come on out it’s the fourth of july
it's pioneer days & a mighty fine
country we live in, why yes it is!
-- took it from the indians & the
old cistern of capitalism is doing
its thing -- boys we live in a good
damn country, boomerangers &
misadventurers start your engines
of opportunity -- cruise the streets
drink your poison -- we’re waist deep
in the doo wha diddy -- all night long
all axe-handle night -- why you're
looking ram tough tonight, darling!
sing it out while the people of color
smoke their angry cigarettes & hang
around outside the county courthouse --
sing it out with kate smith belt it out
people! hands over your god bless
america hearts! it’s the seventh inning
the home team’s alive & the home team’s
winning -- poppa drink your beer -- momma
dish out some more of that good green stuff.
freedom’s for the taking! easy opportunity!
why listen to filthy protestors on wall street
when you can vote for the smiling man
who robs you over and over again in
the name of freedom? the good stuff
trickles down boys & girls the oil wells
pump magic into your veins o let the
rowdies have their fun let the good
times roll laissez les old folks scoop
their cat food dinner tin cans -- let
the children & grandchildren of
immigrants take their place on
the wrong side of the picket line.
cross the line, serve thirty days in jail.
o beat down the suckers & the cop-baiters
let the troublemakers & the infiltrators
the provocateurs & bible beating shotgun
wielding cowboys run wild in the land of
the free -- & who among us’ll blame them?
who? who’s that waiting in the dangerous
shadows of the rio grande? who's that guy
jimmy-jamming the voting booth? why it’s
just me, folks -- another good american
trying to protect the american way!
fuck that boy stuck waist deep
in the doo-wha-diddy.


-George Wallace

POEM OF THE DAY BY DEZ TENHAM

A Reason Not To Love

Satisfied with understanding the general gist of things
there is so much to look into, stars suns and faces
how could you expect the trauma of sentience
to not come with the anxious powers of observation
so inclined to attempt to take on the import of
more, the universe coax-pushing
the body
the self,
ground against pavement-synthesis
steamroller that does not crush but drives
pressed by the gravity of organic-magnetism
Scrape-shaven into road-rash dust and debris
Less than a blink-becoming of basic chemical compounds again
Building blocks for mushrooms and echoes of thought.


-Dez Tenham

A HESITANT ODE TO A BUMBLE BEE

You there,

ya big, fat grumblin’
bumble bee,

you sound to me
like the chronically fuzzed-out
electro-static feedback
of a beat-up ’62 Fender Strat
(or maybe a ’63).

I see ya, there,
buzzin’ around the shimmering,
glistening early morning air,

sniffin’ about, here and there,
bobbin’ and weavin’, in and out
like a Mexican or South Korean
featherweight, in and out
and all around the newly blooming
Marigolds and Hyacinths
and those incessantly perfuming
Mimosas and Spearmints
and eros-inducing Linden trees…

Now, don’t you be
stingin’ on me!

-Jason Ryberg, 2012

POEM OF THE DAY BY JOHN MACKER

Diego

 

We buried my old dog Diego

on St. Patrick's day, next to the arroyo
one of the driest of devil winters. he
looked like any other dog in New Mexico,
like the Santo Domingo pueblo dogs,
asleep on the dusty earth in the shade,
dreamy respite
from the Corn Dance heat.
I wanted to write:
I wept tears of Irish whisky on his grave but
all I kept thinking was the Great Spirit must've
discovered that placing his soul on earth
for a spell
during my life,
beat
having to answer for all the sorrows
of the world, if only for a moment,
any day.

 

-John Macker

PABLO CONTEMPLATES THE PARADOX OF THE HARVEST MOON

Hey you.

Yes, you.

Tell me how it is
that the moon
can be both
rose and blue,

this strangely luminescent
night-blooming fruit,
suspended so serenely, there,
in the sweaty, swampy,
nearly-liquid
midnight air,

there, just above
the darkly churning
blue-green
broccoli-stalk
horizon of trees.

And, what with the ghostly
tangerine glow of streetlamps
and the invisible ocean
of oregano, mimosa and mint,
basil, lemon and hyacinth

(and of course
all these dangerously tart
and ripe tomatoes
lolling about
the scene)…

well, the world tonight,
must truly be
a veritable
vegetable garden

of urgent
and earthy
delights.

-Jason Ryberg, 2012

POEM OF THE DAY BY EZHNO MARTIN

What Now, Turkey?!

 

I'd like to whisper into your gaping neck-hole
a reminder
that my mother
the insufferable suburbanite
who fisted you full of breadcrumbs,


is in her bedroom
on the phone with her squirrel voiced sister on Long Island
screeching at the top of her lungs

and now it's just you
and me
with a bottle of scotch
the bible
and this box full of power tools

Don't you try and hide in the oven...
this is an inquisition
and I know where you been!!!

What you got to say for yourself?

Answer me, damn't

Who sent you?

Was it Obama?!
I bet it was Obama
that faggot loving socialist


You're lucky you're already dead,


but damn't
if you don't start talking,
I'm going to make you ever deader!

Maybe you won't talk to me...
but what do you have to say...

TO MISTER SAUDERING IRON?

I'm gonna do you like you were a Beauty Queen
and I was Mike Tyson if...

Stay back Bitch!
This is between me and the Communist Turkey!

Hit me with that harpoon full of face-plant if you must
but don't think a syringe of sedatives
is gonna put a dent in my holy patriotic investigation
(owww, shit)
into the satanic and subversive goals of this flightless mole
and his obvious collusion with the queers
the mexicans
and...
and the little green men from outer-space
who want to take our jobs
and ruin our families...
and make tax evasion
and forcing your secretary
to have sex with you illegal
and free healthcare
adequate public education
blood money
Ronald Reagan...

Ronald
Reagan

Ronald..
Reeeaaaaaaa....

(SPLAT)

 

 -Ezhno Martin