Every Day Poems

A Poem A Day

Political Poems

Something by Robert Ronnow

by

Something by Robert Ronnow

Something

by Robert Ronnow

Something created. Does the creator think ahead
or spill a storm. Rain happens. We supply the
reasons. Evaporation of water collecting over
huge expanses, condensed and pushed as clouds
over the land. We say it makes us sad or depressed.
We want to cry.

You describe the America you know and if you
are ashamed of yourself for what you see, you lie.
Or don’t look. Loud noises of automobiles and
fumes. Today in Riverside Park, leaning on a rail,
the dead leaves and snow reminded me how far
from nature and life I am. The snow blew
in from the west. People passed in a smooth
slow line in front of me. Dogs trailing one
another. People hiding until crises bring them
out. Their dog smells another dog between the legs.
The master runs over to stop him. Maybe he
thinks they’re going to fight. Doesn’t want his
big German shepherd to hurt her dachshund.

Guy runs past in gray sweats on his tip-toes.
Glances at me. Another passes in blue sweats. Looks
longer. They think I’m a mugger. They are not
sexually attracted. I’m an opponent. I want something
they have. I look surly. Why aren’t I out
running, disciplining myself, making myself healthy,
doing something. What brings you out here. You’re not
doing anything but watching us and staring at the ground.

Walking down Broadway I realized I’ve never lived here and still don’t. Two women
window shopping is strange to me. They talk about the clothes. They are friends. I slow down, I
don’t feel so cold. Stroll, looking at people is like a sunny day and it’s a carnival. Streets
different in different weather. Rainy nights are good. Cold rainy nights. Bars filled and warm.
Streets empty and cold. People pass and look as members of a fraternity. They need someone and
don’t hide it. They will try anyone out for one night. They have tea together. They go for a drink
in some neutral place. They go straight to bed in the dark. They can’t see the face.

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Robert Ronnow’s most recent poetry collections are New & Selected Poems: 1975-2005 (Barnwood Press, 2007) and Communicating the Bird (Broken Publications, 2012). Visit his web site at www.ronnowpoetry.com.

Peer Review, Curfew by Shelia Murphy

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Peer Review, Curfew by Peer Reivew, Curfew

by Shelia Murphy

I learn best
From people without
Feelings.

They shape me
By remote
Hardware.

We trade stories
Just in time
To store whatever

We hope to sell
All the time
comparing notes

and calling notaries
to come and stamp
the proof nobody minds.

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Shelia Murphy is A Gertrude Stein Award winner and the co-founder of the Scottsdale Center for the Arts Poetry Series. She is both a poet and a visual artist. For a more complete bio see her Wiki page.

The Wall by Joseph K. Wells

by

joek

The Wall

by Joseph K. Wells

Super Tuesday soon…
Climb high “wall” republicans.
Jump! Hillary-ous.

Cuban smoking Trump.
The governor, mid- dull class.
Doc- brain retired.
###
Joseph K. Wells is a businessman, doctor of occupational therapy, adjunct professor and many wannabes. He believes he can write, so he does. He just hopes that people will read them, too. Luckily they publish in print and not his handwriting.

Bookstores Are Closing by Bryan Bradley

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Bio Picture

Bookstores Are Closing

by Bryan Bradley

Still some try to pile a stack of road maps and new apartments
To try to cover the roots that trace back to where we come from
Starting new life after new life
until the old ones are blown apart like clouds in the winter
Time is doing it’s best to destroy
our sentiments
Book stores are closing,
Art is easily skimmed through on quick trigger mediums
I fight not to forget,
I like the scars and the ink and my past,
The beauty felt through pain and joy
I like the tangible we carry with us
Bearing witness to the life we have stamped into the earth

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Bryan Bradley is a junior marketing major at the University of Pittsburgh and was raised just outside of Philadelphia. He believes that the worst characteristic a person can have is an inability to laugh at themselves. He prefers to write later at night and considers himself an “insomniac poet.” His favorite poet and current literary idol is Allen Ginsberg. His major vice, which was passed down by his father, is Bruce Springsteen concerts. As friends and former teachers will note, he is friendly, “but never shuts up.” He envies your beard-growing abilities.

Notes to the NTSB by Vicki Iorio

by

kaeti

Notes to the NTSB

by Vicki Iorio

 

When the plane crashes
I land
in my mother’s kitchen

Ma, at the sink
shifts flour for a yellow cake
to match our yellow curtains

Dinner is in the oven

She is not surprised to see me
or the nose of the plane
cartooning our ceiling

Sitting at the warped
fomica table I do
long division

Perpetual transistor radio
plays Paul Anka
Connie Francis
time-lines to the the Kennedy Assassination
Freedom Marches
The first blackout
The second blackout
911

and the shootings
the shootings
the shootings

Ma faces the sink
I watch her back and know
which apron she wears
by the apron strings:
consciousness-raising apron
burning bra on her chest

Scrabble apron
bib stitched with a board winning bingo

There is the crackle of roast beef cooking
Gastric temptation of searing fat
The old boil of vegetables

I find home

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Vicki Iorio, a native Long Islander is a graduate of Hofstra University. Vicki’s poetry has been published in the San Pedro Review, hell strung and crooked, Uphook Press, Great Weather for Media, Tattoosday, Long Island Quarterly, Toward Forgiveness Anthology, Whispers and Shouts, Boone Dock Review, Performance Poets Literary Review, Bards Annual and Spillway

This past spring, Vicki published her first full length poetry collection, Poems from the Dirty Couch.