Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 025

Often, poets write with an eye to timeless subjects, such as love, loss, war, death, etc. In college, I was often warned against being too timely in my writing for fear that my fiction and poetry would eventually need a thousand footnotes to explain it. I understand that point of view, but I think there’s a danger in ignoring the culture and world in which you live.

So for today’s prompt, I want you to pick something from our current events and write about it. You can write a poem from the perspective of Darth Vader or an ode to the Internet (maybe even an elegy for typewriters). Anyway, make it current–and, as always, have fun with it.

Here’s my attempt for the day:

“Jason Vorhees”

Technology will not keep you safe:
Your cell phones have dead zones,
and I will never die and stay dead
for I am as timeless as Lazarus or
the water in Crystal Lake. You can
drown me, chop off my head, bury
me deep in the ground, shoot me
into outer space on a rocket, but
I will return. As long as there are
teenagers unafraid of death, I will
return. Someday, you will learn.


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49 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 025

  1. Taylor Graham


    Outside the conference room, plaintiffs and defendants
    are making small talk, waiting for lawyers and the judge.
    It has to do with right-of-way on a steep winding one-
    lane road, the road that leads me home. Still, I’m on the
    fringes, as plaintiffs and defendants trade news of a
    connector planned from Hutchins Corner to link with
    interstate – three miles as the steel-bird flies, but
    a long half-hour by country road. A lady on the other side
    of the question is into banking, transferred here from a
    city that used to be alfalfa fields. It’s all country club
    and condominiums now. I know the place, it’s where I grew
    up. I tell her I used to ride my horse through the alfalfa
    fields. The banker-lady nods and smiles. She’s all for


    This is poetry day at the grotto, Gold Rush caverns
    carved into bedrock, with a coffee house built on top.
    Once a week we poets gather, and follow the rough-cut
    steps down, out of the espresso flow of traffic; pebbles
    underfoot, a single lightbulb to illuminate each table.
    Here we mine word-gold.

    But today I’m called to courthouse, to pass judgment
    on a stranger who sits mute without a word to transform
    what happened indelibly on some date in his past. Can
    metaphor save us? Gold-rush of trout arcing up from
    dark waters to bright hook, making of a slice of earth-
    worm a rainbow.

  2. Monica Martin

    My generation is witnessing
    an historic election.

    The most money spent,
    the most mud flung?

    The first black man,
    the first woman.

    The longest campaign,
    the largest voter turnout.

    It won’t be long now
    and all of this will end.

    Or will it?

  3. Jolanta Laurinaitis

    Talk is no help.

    The butterfly opens
    Its wings, so slight
    So small and insignificant
    Lifting from the orange can
    It sadly mistook for safety
    And nutrients
    Drifting through the greyness
    Of the city smog
    Soaring high above the black
    Soot of the day
    Dodging roaring machines
    And settling down by
    A small puddle
    Where humans gather
    Desperately by
    To wash their cars
    Wailing to themselves
    About the destruction around
    Eyes sewn shut
    Mouths engaged as they watch
    With eyelids stuck to
    Where politicians now gather
    And put up expensive stands
    To exclaim their promises
    For the puddle
    They listen and cheer and
    They join each other to discuss
    Whilst they
    Sponge the last drops
    Onto their buicks
    And zoom away with
    Bumper stickers reading
    ‘Save the Murray River’
    The butterfly lies down
    Too exhausted to fly
    And dies without meeting
    Its mate, or laying its born
    The last of its kind
    Little and insignificant
    In this world.

  4. corinne

    Once, in an Indian restaurant in Ottawa
    I got chatting with the owner
    about things philosophical
    (as we always did)
    and he told me
    that in Sanskrit,
    the word for "tomorrow" and the word for "yesterday"
    are the same word, and there is a different
    word only for today.
    I wish I knew that word, for it is the only
    currency dear to me.

    I hold fast to it while the tumultuous
    gusts of happenings and events
    rush at me, wishing their mischief my way.
    Neither regret nor predict do I wish to practice,
    for the only appeasement to doom is in this moment.

    And holding fast, I then release it, face upturned for the next.

  5. Rodney C. Walmer

    Thank you Michelle. I really enjoyed your poem about netflix. It brought back memories, of Saturday mornings, sitting and watching that funny half hour, while my sister drooled over Davy Jones. An interesting thing about Mike Nesmeth. Most probably know this, but if you did not, his mother invented liquid paper. It’s true.


  6. Rodney C. Walmer

    The day it all went to hell

    The day the market fell,
    was a beginning, and not and end
    however, this particular day
    marked the beginning
    of the day it all went to hell
    consumers could no longer spend
    Many had so much to say
    while their retirement funds thinning
    they all knew what the writing on the wall
    had been trying to spell

    For the drivers,
    they would not suffer at all
    but, there would be few survivors
    of this living hell
    as this would mark the day
    the worldwide economy fell
    oh, everyone had a story to tell
    someone to blame
    even someone to name
    yeah, they named names
    but, it’s seems they forgot the most important name
    it’s an easy one
    all the same
    there will a long wait
    to recover from what’s begun

    What about everyone else
    Jobs will be lost
    everyone thinking of themselves
    how much will this Christmas cost
    when there’s no money to pay the rent
    and what is left, is already spent
    Was it the mortgage crisis
    A war that we have no business in
    the quick fix to suffice is
    all but what’s been
    now a new debt
    the taxpayers cannot pay

    Certainly a year will never forget
    life savings down the toilet
    A president with nothing worthwhile to say
    Best he was on his way
    well, it won’t be long before that day
    and the man who inherits this mess
    how he will hand it is anyone’s guess
    but, one things for certain
    everyone is hurtin’ . . .

    Rodney C. Walmer 10/28/08 written for current event’s prompt. Sorry, been sick, but, I am caught up.


  7. Karen H. Phillips

    Deaf Cries

    I can’t hear you, the TV’s on.
    I can’t see you, I’m looking at my laptop.
    I can’t taste your tears, I’m eating spaghetti.
    I can’t smell your dying breaths, I’m spraying my hair.
    I can’t feel your skeleton frame, I’m putting on my leather coat.

    Somewhere, a woman’s crying.
    Her man was shot in Darfur.
    Somewhere, a family seeks shelter
    after the typhoon.
    Somewhere, a mother holds her dying child.
    Somewhere, two street urchins
    beg for food.
    Somewhere, the little boy tries to wake
    his mother, who has AIDS.

    OK, I’m ready to go to the party.

  8. Carla Cherry


    can you put on that pretty
    $2500 cream colored silk
    Valentino jacket–
    it’s a bit chilly in Rhode Island–
    there’s a family I want you to meet.

    Four members have lost five jobs
    one needs health insurance;
    he had prostate problems.
    Another is a single mother;
    she can’t afford hockey for her kids.

    Can you come, Sarah,
    when you get a minute?

  9. Iain D. Kemp

    Well with a current affairs prompt you would expect some poli-tics but its timew to get real. Down to what really matters…

    Dear Moosehead,

    So what gives exactly wid yo family?
    And don’t lie to me yo no good SOB
    I know where you at. You sitting home
    with a six pack and chips and you got
    ya Mama and ya sister right along side
    and y’all think it’s cool watchin’ that BS
    on ESPN! Godammit, don’tya know when the
    Yankees are out of it: it’s over. Done! End of the Game!
    Ooohyee bro! I am so pissed wid y’all!
    I can like dig how yo cousin is still jiggin’
    it nice with the Nicks cos that’s pretty much
    her way but how you and your Mama and that
    slut whore sister of yours who let us not forget
    is technically my wife; How y’all be chillin’ with beer
    and nuts and somehow justifyin’ that the Phillies vs Rays
    adds up to a World Series at all is purely beyond me.
    I only thank the Lord that your Aunt turned up around here
    with some Ice-sides and a pennant fo’ the Jets and as much
    as it pains me I have nothing better to do this winter than
    to curse yo’ ass and enjoy the Hockey season. Your Aunt got
    me four tickets so if you see the light I’ll pick you up at seven;
    bring money for dogs and beer and a thick coat (its cold down by the rink).

    Yours cold and depressed

    Ringo the Howler

  10. Devon Brenner


    On the way to the concert
    there was no talking,
    no answers to questions
    about his day at school
    how band practice went,
    just the quiet click-click-click
    of thumb against keypad,
    messages to Jenn or Matt,
    I’m sure bemoaning the waste
    of a Friday night watching his sister sing music
    no one cares about any more, in Italian,
    I mean, for real, WTF?
    But after, after hunching in the corner,
    glowering for one hour and twenty-three minutes of
    solos and chamber singers and my god the harmonies,
    after, when he could have walked home
    the mile in the dark with his phone back in his left hand
    and the entire tenth-grade network back in his reach,
    he let us cajole him into late dinner downtown.
    He was hungry anyway.
    And when the garnish was one long string of carrot
    served in a tousled nest beside his chicken caeser salad,
    he used it to make line drawings
    on the polished wood of our table,
    a spiral, a cat, a carrot made from a carrot,
    a pair of saggy boobs with nipples,
    then he laughed.
    We all laughed.
    It’s what families do.

  11. Terri French

    Change can almost buy a cup of coffee
    a newspaper
    or a quarter of a gallon of gas

    You talk of change
    you politicians with your pockets lined
    with the green backs of special interest groups
    and corporate megalomaniacs

    You talk of change
    that moves mountains
    and shakes foundations

    Your change is worthless
    Like that trick quarter
    glued to the floor of Ed’s hardware store

    You only fall for that trick once
    Stooping to pick up that quarter
    believing with all your heart
    that it will be yours

    But you never stoop again
    and you cease to believe

  12. Terri French


    Change is something I sometimes find
    in the pockets of old jackets
    and purses
    and between the cushions of the couch

    Change can almost buy a cup of coffee
    a newspaper
    or a quarter of a gallon of gas

    You talk of change
    you politicians with your pockets lined
    with the green backs of special interest groups
    and corporate megalomaniacs

    You talk of change
    that moves mountains
    and shakes foundations

    Your change is worthless
    Like that trick quarter
    glued to the floor of Ed’s hardware store

    You only fall for that trick was
    Stooping to pick up that quarter
    believing with all your heart
    that it will be yours

    But you never stoop again
    and you cease to believe

  13. Jane penland hoover

    Polling Place

    voting time is here
    and this year
    we have gone early
    to say so clearly
    who and who and who
    we think can will do
    the jobs that will require
    working way past tired
    when tasks are complex

    but those that we select
    deserve everyone’s respect
    we have voted early
    it’s an exciting day
    time for all to have a say

  14. Connie

    I’ll have to read all your poems when I get back home. I’m at the conference and an agent and an editor asked to see proposals for two of my projects. So at least I got to first base so far. I’ll attempt a poem.

    Who Really Died?

    Heard a speaker today,
    Martha Bolton.
    As she had about
    two-hundred writers
    in stitches I had an
    odd feeling knowing
    that though Bob Hope’s
    dead and gone, his humor’s
    still alive because she
    wrote many of his jokes.

  15. Heather

    This may not seem like a "current" poem but it IS and I’m sad to post it but feel the need to put it out there. Not for myself . . . the person knows what it is about and why it needs to be here . . . cheers everyone.

    My Thin Heart

    The point stabs me
    Through my thin heart
    The same heart that has weathered
    Storms unimaginable
    Only to see the same
    I remember so well
    Staring me in my . . .
    I would love to say “face,”
    But it is “back”
    Because he doesn’t have the nerve
    To call it how he sees it
    How he thinks it should be,
    To work it out
    To have a meeting of the minds

    He’s better than all of us
    On top of it
    (And) He has the meds to prove it!
    To keep him right,
    He’s not drinking,
    Not drunk,
    Not out of his mind
    Like I am?
    Like she is?
    Like we are?

    I don’t know how much time
    I have left to live
    My mother says
    It isn’t long
    She had a dream ,
    I passed away
    She might be right,
    She might be wrong,
    But I know my thin heart
    Can’t take much more

    Heather 10-23-08

  16. Sherm

    Too much T.V.
    Satellite or Cable
    pay that bill
    if you’re able.

    Pay the rent, mortgage,
    gas or food
    this whole econommy
    is not really good.

    A lay-off again
    A shut down there
    Will the next
    Pres. TRULY care?

    He will be warm
    in his new house
    While the rest of the country
    may be forced out

    of one too many things…

  17. Paige

    Posted at the usual place; Writer’s Digest Critique Poetry— A day late and without a dollar in my pocket to bribe y’all with. But if you should happen to want to have a look it is titled

    Death & Disappearing Paper

    Now I will take a bit of time and read all your poem postings.

  18. S.E.Ingraham

    I Met Him on the Train

    I met him on the train in the dining car,
    We watched the sun slide up
    And over French toast and porridge
    We got into talking ‘bout politics;
    He told me he’d seen Obama in Berlin
    It was purely amazing to see this man from Holland
    Speak with such hope for the future
    Pinning his optimism on another country’s
    Fate, yet seeing nothing strange about this
    For that great land, dwelling south of ours
    Is thought throughout the universe to be
    The repository of all that’s good and noble
    In the whole wide world and when it goes right,
    (no pun intended) so goes the rest of the world
    His enthusiasm was infectious and I was swept up
    Drawn in, even though I’m not quite that naive
    But like people everywhere, I too want to believe
    That this time, this time will be different
    This time the cynics are wrong – the ones who think
    The anointed one will take the country
    down the road to ruin
    Apparently not noticing the country
    is in ruins already
    They tell me repeatedly to follow the history;
    that it will bear them out
    But only if you believe the Republican spin,
    the rhetoric being spewed
    In particular against the liberal lefts –
    have they forgotten that Lincoln
    Was a liberal? When did that become a dirty word?
    The Dutch man wondered all of this and more,
    as we sipped our coffees, on the train, all morning
    Mostly I just listened as he told me how all,
    or at least most of Europe is democratic
    And cannot understand the concept
    of the Republican agenda at all
    He kept coming back to his day in Berlin
    and when he did, his whole face changed
    All planes and angles, it softened as he spoke,
    and his eyes lit up from within
    The crowd was alive with hope and wonder,
    he told me, and I could tell he felt it still
    The warmth of our talk stayed with me all day
    and as I kept going over it in my mind
    I wondered why it has to be so complicated,
    why the rest of the world sees it so clearly,
    why…oh why…oh why

  19. Earl Parsons

    As a follow up, I would like to say that I will stand up for Christ and what’s best for this country. I will not vote for the chosen one, because he is not running in order to make this nation better, he is running for personal power and payback. And God help this nation if he gets in with a majority in Congress.

  20. Earl Parsons

    I don’t normally write poems from the perspective of people such as this, but this was the challenge, so this is what I wrote.

    Madeline Murray O’Hare

    You can thank me, if you’d like
    Though I did not start this fight
    I got things rolling down this hill
    My plan, our plan nearly fulfilled
    My name in print on the front page
    I caused the religious community rage
    By bringing an issue to the magistrates
    To the Supreme Court of the United States
    Against this issue I took a stand
    And changed the law across the land
    No longer could your daughter or son
    Hear stories about the Chosen One
    No longer would they stop each day
    To bow their heads and together pray
    For I did not believe in your God
    So the highest court gave me the nod
    And took the Book out of public schools
    Silencing the believers in the teacher’s pool
    Depriving the students of morality
    All because the high court listened to me
    And though I’m no longer with the living
    My selfish tantrum just keeps on giving
    Students no longer learn right and wrong
    You can’t even sing a real Christmas song
    Your God’s been banished from school grounds
    Your teachers’ Bibles can no longer be found
    Morals are relative, pregnancy on the rise
    The curriculum filled with left-wing lies
    Kids not learning what they need to know
    Our standing in the world increasingly low
    Self esteem no longer taught
    The guilty don’t get punished when caught
    Counselors attempt to reason the wrong
    Some rebel, some play along
    Some gather guns and bombs and hate
    School massacres spark harsh debates
    But still no one blames me for their plight
    For I was the one that started this fight
    And you can thank me for this mess
    But it’s your fault, you must confess
    For standing down when I stood up
    The high court served you an empty cup
    You Christians didn’t stand your ground
    The law changed and your school was bound
    To do their best without direction
    Without God’s help or His reflection
    You know what’s happened since that day
    When me and the high court sent God away
    I hope you’re happy with what I’ve done
    You see, my lawsuit was what begun
    The liberal takeover of your child’s mind
    They have no sense of wrong or right
    No difference between what’s dark or light
    No direction in life, just living for the day
    Without God to guide, they’ve all gone astray
    And now they’re adults, in charge of this nation
    Three generations deep of godless incarnations
    Our plan near completion, one more step to take
    The last in our plan, but best for our sake
    We must rid the country once and for all
    Of your God, that Jesus, and build up the wall
    That keeps them from ever entering again
    Just one more step, bring Christianity to an end
    And you can thank me for getting it going
    For causing the liberal ball to start rolling
    So close to the end, so close to our goal
    So close to extinguishing Christianity’s soul
    So close to bringing this grand plan together
    So close to the vote that could change us forever

  21. Michelle H.

    Thanks Lori!
    Enjoying everyone’s poem’s as usual!
    Nice Acrostic Iain – kind of reminded me of a email I just received titled "From the Queen" it’s quite lengthy and funny but it basically is about how we’re going to lose our independence if we don’t elect the right candidate…anyway don’t really want to get into politics…
    Sara – loved ‘You Spun’ – my girls called them disc when I pulled out me vinyl’s and I had to explain the difference to them – they found the needle fascinating! 😉
    Patti – I agree – justice was finally served…

  22. patti williams

    Two grizzly, bloody, senseless
    Murders? No problem.
    Assemble the team,
    Dispute the facts,
    Cast a shadow of doubt
    Then he’s off scot-free.
    But kidnapping,
    That’s a little more complicated
    Especially in Vegas
    Where all bets are off
    And his Queen of Hearts
    Just got Aced by the King.

    What happens in Vegas
    Stays in Vegas
    Unless you’re O.J.
    And have to deal
    With Fate making sure
    Justice for the Juice is finally served
    On a hot steamy platter of
    ‘What comes around goes around
    And this time, you’re going down.’

  23. LKHarris-Kolp


    Have you ever texted in the nude?
    Or on a plane, train or bus?
    Could you, would you
    text in a boat?
    Or in a movie
    that you wrote?

    I could not, would not
    text in the nude,
    or on a plane,
    train or bus,
    how rude!
    And a movie or a boat,
    I will not ever,
    you’ve got my vote.

    How about texting
    while driving,
    skiing or
    on the job, in school-
    wherever you text,
    don’t worry
    it’s cool.

    No, no, I will
    never ever text
    in a car
    or at work.
    Give me a break,
    you are going to far.

    Well, everyone does it
    here or there-
    everyone texts
    Why can’t you?

    I guess I could try
    to text some place
    it doesn’t matter anyway
    because you’ll
    never know
    from where
    I sent.

    I kind of
    like this
    thing called
    I can take a shit
    and keep them

    Laurie K.

  24. Sara McNulty

    You Spun

    You were black and shiny,
    in the groove, could spin
    around a needle. Round and
    solid, I counted on you.

    When I put you on, you
    played the sweetest music,
    while I studied your unique
    cover and style.

    Now an album is for
    pictures, cover art is
    a thing of the past,
    along with liner notes.

    I sure do miss you, vinyl.

  25. Iain D. Kemp

    WHOOPS Sorry, some how the cut & paste missed a line… try again…

    Obama is gonna get ya (Acrostic)

    Ohmigod (all one word now) a
    Black man is takin’ the White (that’s WHITE) House
    And, oh my what changes we
    Might see in the world when he comes
    A-walkin’ in there

    In God do we trust but
    Some trust in him to save us from…

    Ghetto boys and their like but I say
    One flag means
    Now, one people
    Not a divided people
    And that’s the only way

    God love it, that’s the only way
    Everyman gets what Lincoln decreed
    Til the Lord say otherwise
    Yes Sir

  26. Iain D. Kemp

    I’ve never written an acrostic poem before so just for fun, here goes…

    Obama is gonna get ya (Acrostic)

    Ohmigod (all one word now) a
    Black man is takin’ the White (that’s WHITE) House
    And, oh my what changes we
    Might see in the world when he comes
    A-walkin’ in there

    In God do we trust but
    Some trust in him to save us from…

    Ghetto boys and their like but I say
    One flag means
    Now, one people
    Not a divided people
    And that’s the only way

    God love it, that’s the only way
    Everyman gets what Lincoln decreed
    Yes Sir


  27. Iain D. Kemp

    I love all of these so far. I don’t say often enuff that Sal & Steve I envy you both for your talent.

    When I was small I wanted to be Davy Jones.

    Looking forward to the rest…


  28. Steve LaVoie

    Lori-Yes it is pretty bad, all we can do is just be ourselves and hope others will follow suit.

    Shirley-"on all the Hope Hollywood is buying" that is just a perfect line. Kinda wish I had thought of it though.

  29. Lori

    Steve- I completely agree. But what makes it worse is that so many of our generation are completely willing to accpt, and become, the sterrotype.

    nancy- "Bath and body adventures" by britani just doesn’t have the same ring :). Loved it.

    Michelle- this particualar modern conviences is one of my personal weaknessess. Loved your poem

  30. Michelle H.

    Movies Via Mail

    I discovered a nifty little trick
    Once a month for eighteen-fifty
    Three little silver disc arrive
    Packaged quite neatly

    Current or classics
    They have them all
    So I picked a minor little classic and
    Shared it with my girls

    Now on Friday nights, my girls
    Giggle and sigh, just like I did
    Over little Davy and admire
    Mike’s blue stocking cap

    How lucky they are to watch
    Six episodes at once
    When I was young it was
    A once a week treat

    And now thanks to modern conveniences
    My daughters can waltz thru
    The house, singing
    “Hey, hey we’re The Monkees…”

  31. Nancy


    I can’t avoid giggling at the manuscript,
    a Victorian bodice ripper, aheroine
    named Brittni—with an i. ( I imagine
    the author search for a font that would
    dot her i’s with tiny hearts.) Exiled from
    the castle of her evil stepfather Justin,
    Brittni encounters Brandon, her manly
    Fabio clone, in the moors of—can it be
    true?—West Virginia. But he leaves
    her stranded alone, living only on
    Snickers bars (no doubt the first!),awaiting
    his return on his wild Mustang (300-hp V-8?)

    My imagination takes over and I wait
    with her, straining my eyes ‘til he
    reappears, his wind-tousled mullet
    flowing down his muscled, waxed-
    smooth back. Perhaps my form
    letter of rejection is a kindness,
    though no doubt, she’l l not see
    it as such, unaware of the comments
    I could leave: Don’t you know that
    Brittni works weekends with Heather
    and Jessica at Bath and Body Works
    in the mall? Instead I’ll give age-old
    advice, the kind she needs worst:
    Write what you know.

    Nancy Posey

  32. Steve LaVoie


    "Young, dumb, ignorantly happy, and addicted to cell phones"
    Is what is branded on a whole generation,
    They locked us all in a room,
    Kept us like prisoners until they were ready
    To burn a label onto our skin.

    I tell them that not one of those four
    Describe who I am.
    I may be young by the numbers
    But where vitality is concerned I feel old, world weary, tired.
    They don’t care they just keep walking forward.

    I say to them that while
    I am not smart by any means I am
    Not dumb either.
    But they still advance on me.

    I hold my open palm out,
    And I warn them that I am
    Not completely ignorant,
    I know who is doing the branding,
    And I am sure as hell not happy.
    They don’t even bat an eye.

    I told them I hated my cell phone.
    It never wanted to ring and end my
    Isolation, so I killed it.
    They just expose my skin and
    Burn words into me.

  33. Shirley Alexander

    The Bob Hope Auction

    When today’s news is full of worry
    over stocks and war and political slurry,
    it’s diverting to spend a little time spying
    on all the Hope Hollywood is buying.

    Charity auctions can bring out the bold,
    especially when history is being sold.
    Golf clubs, photos, and letters from friends
    were readily available to those who could spend.

    Bob would be smiling if he could see
    all the money raised for his charities.
    But, the burning question of the day:
    Nixon’s cufflinks sold for 10K?!!

    Shirley Alexander

  34. Iain D. Kemp

    Lies, Damned Lies & Statistics

    Four score and seven years ago
    a wise man told me of a dream.
    The worst of Mankind’s sins had been left behind
    the future was bright with hope
    and a promise was made: Man left this world for another.
    Then came Statesmen and scientists who
    fed me their lies. They too had promises.
    A Brave New World, flying cars and a house on the moon.
    More liars came and more wars were fought although
    some were only Police Actions (and one was
    just a training mission).
    Still we struggled on, good times and bad, ever hoping that
    the promises would hold out, that the future would be secure.
    But our greed grew as our toys got smaller and smarter
    And we watched; still watch now as millions die from famine
    and disease and the Drug Companies rake in the cash and
    Feed us yet more lies. The last war is a lie that
    few can deny and none will stop and now terror and fear and hatred grip what was once called Civilisation
    but as ever our heads are easily turned by promises. Promises
    that soon the good times will return and the sun will shine…

    …the storm clouds gather, a crisis is looming the bust
    is booming and people gloomy not knowing what’s left to hope
    or pray for, not knowing if this time the starving masses will
    be found on our own sacred shores. Each day the Man in The Box
    tells us more lies and all me see are rich man’s tears
    watering down the reality of the suffering that is the ordinary man; Bob the Builder and Joe the Plumber striving just to make one more meal, make one more payment to
    a bank that has a poorer credit rating than the poor bastards paying to keep it afloat….

    … The storm clouds gather at the changing of the guard
    and as they say in the north country “it’s black o’er our Jack’s house” and even now as the eleventh hour approaches
    I wonder if it wasn’t Jack that was the last good man
    and true that had the decency not to lie to me?


  35. Lori

    Microbs that make clothes
    and kill bugs off plants without chemicals
    type in ATGCGCATT on your keyboard
    and get a tripeptide ready made.
    No more stunted growth or smallpox or
    dead seven year-old diabetics.
    Mysteries of the Human Genome
    solved daily. Paper made from
    bacteria without killing trees.
    Not the future- just look around.

  36. Heather

    “In the Ayer”
    Blares from my computer speakers,
    Fingers frantically typing,
    Searching through iTunes
    For Flo Rida,
    Akon’s, “Right Now,”’s “I Got It From My Mama,”
    Kanye West’s “Love Lockdown,”
    Concentration escapes me,
    The beat demands my attention
    My iPod is going to be very happy

  37. Salvatore Buttaci


    We have bought too many used cars
    From too many shifty-eyed salesmen
    Or sad to say battered ships of states
    From politicians we’d’ve died for.

    One would think we’d not go so far
    In our acceptance of these talesmen
    Who trick us with glib tongue, that we’d take
    A cautious moment to question more.

    They promise fools the moon and stars
    And we are blind to their failings,
    see little what they bring to our plates,
    Are too timid to ask, “How long‘s the war?”

    Let us bring back those feathers and tar
    As a deterrent to those whose wailings
    Smack of lies. Or perhaps bring back the stake
    And with some fire even out the score.