Editors Blog

2014 April PAD Challenge: Day 17

Yesterday afternoon, I posted about the value of poetry (at least in my eyes). Spoiler alert: It’s more than just publication credits and rolling around in hundred dollar bills. In fact, it has nothing to do with either. Click here to check it out and share your thoughts.

For today’s prompt, write a pop culture poem. I guess I broke out the Bon Jovi a day early, eh? But hey, write a poem about Bon Jovi or Van Halen; write a poem about the Kardashians (or don’t–and say you did); write a poem about a popular SNL skit; write a poem about Dr. Who or Downton Abbey; write a poem about any kind of popular culture thing-a-ma-bob you wish. In fact, write three! (Just kidding; you only need to write one poem–but seriously, write three and be sure to add a little more cowbell.)


Workshop your poetry!

Click here to learn more.


Here’s my attempt at a Pop Culture Poem:

“Much Ado”

I wanted to write a poem on James
Franco, but it turned out too obvious,
because he writes his poetry the same
as Jewel, and I’m not the fool who’ll discuss
what is or is not good poetry. My
poems have their own flaws and unspoken
laws of engagement. Shia LaBeouf cried
in his paper bag over Miley’s tongue–
they’re both young, and I do not understand
kids these days [or adults, for that matter
(like I fell asleep and a complex strand
of the '80s took hold--but it's sadder,
more self-aware)]. I miss all the good times
when poems were filled with funtastic rhymes.


Today’s guest judge is…

Mary Biddinger

Mary Biddinger

Mary Biddinger

Mary is the author of multiple collections, including Saint Monica and O Holy Insurgency. Her collection A Sunny Place With Adequate Water is due out in May. She’s also the founder of Barn Owl Review.

Mary has received two Ohio Arts Council Individual Excellence Awards in Creative Writing for her poetry: one in 2010, the other 2007.

In addition to all this, she also edits the Akron Series in Poetry and the Akron Series in Contemporary Poetics for the University of Akron Press.

Learn more here: http://www.marybiddinger.com/.


PYHO_Small_200x200Poem Your Heart Out

Poems, Prompts & Room to Add Your Own for the 2014 April PAD Challenge!

Words Dance Publishing is offering 20% off pre-orders for the Poem Your Heart Out anthology until May 1st! If you’d like to learn a bit more about our vision for the book, when it will be published, among other details.

Click to continue.


Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community and author of Solving the World’s Problems. He writes by the motto: When in doubt, write a sonnet. Learn more about Robert here: http://www.robertleebrewer.com/.


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564 thoughts on “2014 April PAD Challenge: Day 17

  1. jacq

    Like a Jane Austin Novel by Jacqualine A Hart

    Like a Jane Austin novel
    I have been bewitched
    fallin’ in love without
    warning that you existed,
    ignoring the voices
    of our heart, our bodies
    tango until our pride
    and prejudices set aside to
    cut open our beings and
    bleed as one in an upward
    stream, of lies

    Hiding your other life
    your wife, as Bertha
    hidden away at Thornfield,
    have set my soul in flames
    blackening its shell as my
    inners bubble over in reds of
    desire and lust that is out of
    reach, I depart from this
    maddening spell to find my
    independence, knowing one
    day, I shall return

  2. IndiFox

    Televised Live

    If I forget all my memories
    When I’m old and grey
    Except pop culture
    It won’t be so bad
    I’ll remember all the chick flicks
    My sister Tia forced me to watch
    Disagreeing with my mother’s choice
    To watch Big Bang Theory
    I’ll remember my nephews
    Enacting Family Guy scenes
    And horror movies with my brothers
    From a young age
    I’ll remember Hannibal with my cousin, Bradley
    Adventure Time with boyfriend, Bryan
    And the late nights we had
    I’ll remember my friend Michael’s obsession
    With Game Of Thrones
    And how I refused to get involved
    I’ll remember Mean Girls and Simpsons quotes
    Laughing at American Dad
    I’ll remember Disney movies
    With Tia’s family
    And My Kitchen Rules with my mother
    Ogling over Manu
    I’ll remember afternoons with my nieces
    Watching Peppa Pig
    Adult Swim with my brother Ian
    And just the football with my brother Waz
    I’ll remember the fun night I had
    With Bradley and Michael
    Watching The Room
    I’ll remember super hero movies
    With Ian’s family
    And Bryan’s shock
    When he learned I haven’t seen Lord Of The Rings
    Or Star Wars
    Or The Lion King
    So just remembering the television
    Won’t be so bad
    Because one day those memories
    Might be all I have

  3. Earl Parsons

    Through the Modern Ages

    It’s an oldie but a goodie
    Just an old fashioned love song
    About Jack and Diane
    Livin’ in the heartland
    Livin’ off the land
    Workin’ for a living
    Can’t get no satisfaction
    Workin’ for the man
    Nowhere to run

    Then Jack said to Diane…..

    Hey Laudy Mama
    Let’s live for today
    Gonna’ bread away
    It’s a brand new day
    Come fly with me
    Gonna’ take you higher

    You ain’t seen nothin’ yet

    © 2014 Earl Parsons

  4. ianchandler

    take on me

    relive the sunny words
    remaining oblivious to their meaning
    never mind that
    everything you love
    will leave
    find the hook and impale your lip
    planted into folly
    dressed in parachute pants and skinny ties
    even though
    it’s not new wave
    it is an old tsunami,
    ravaged with life,
    whose face knows
    what it means to come home

  5. gus

    Day 17: The Impala

    Saving people,
    Hunting things;
    The family business.
    Across the country the Winchesters go,
    Rescuing people
    From that which goes bump in the night.
    Many have crossed their paths,
    And many have died
    Or have since gone their separate ways.
    But one faithful companion,
    Though to hell and back
    Its shiny black chrome has been,
    Has stuck by their side
    Through thick and thin.
    From carrying their weapons
    To driving the Winchesters across the country,
    The impala is always there to help them
    Save people
    And hunt things;
    The family business.

    -Gus Gonzalez

  6. gus

    Day 17: The Impala

    Saving people,
    Hunting things;
    The family business.
    Across the country the Winchesters go,
    Rescuing people
    From that which goes bump in the night.
    Many have crossed their paths,
    And many have died
    Or have since gone their separate ways.
    But one faithful companion,
    Though to hell and back
    Its shiny black chrome has been,
    Has stuck by their side
    Through thick and thin.
    From carrying their weapons
    To driving the Winchesters across the country,
    The impala is always there to help them
    Save people
    And hunt things;
    The family business.

    -Gus Gonzalez

  7. L. Anne Wooley

    By, L. Anne Wooley

    I miss the days when
    “Video killed the radio star”
    when Madonna first crossed that

    When everything was possible;
    we were the kids who believed
    we could “…rule the world.”

    MTV began
    revolutionizing the way
    we listened to music;
    through our eyes
    as well as our ears.

    I was between two generations
    Baby Boomer and X,
    feeling part of neither.

    It was a time of naivete
    and thinking I was “Old and Wise.”
    Before life knocked me down

    Looking back across the years,
    I realize that things were simpler.
    Those were my “Glory Days.”

  8. JRSimmang


    at once recognizing
    self-respect replaced by
    and seeing
    (what is that?) pride
    on a mother’s face.

    -JR Simmang

  9. emmaisan0wl

    Galaxies Of Ice And Fire/ A Song Of Daenerys And Drogo
    he was born in the heart
    of a star; 25 million degrees
    burning through his veins.
    she, the cold satellite rising
    as he blazed through the fire signs,
    began to smoulder slowly –
    began to ignite –
    began to fear the supernova.

    but the billions of years from
    nebula to white dwarf to black dwarf
    condensed into hours.
    too close to the sun, yet
    unburned, she rose
    from the grave of the galaxies
    and will not be so kind
    as to incinerate only the sky.

  10. Connie Inglis

    The Hunger Games

    The entertainment world is a-
    buzz over the
    dangerous plight of
    Katniss and Peeta,
    witnessing their creativity, strength
    and intelligence in
    hunger game.

    Meanwhile, the real world is a-
    numb to the
    meaningless plight of
    near one billion starving,
    witnessing war-torn conditions, weakness
    and hopelessness in
    being defeated by
    hunger game.

  11. Angie5804

    A Pop Culture Ditty

    Culture that pops might just explode
    With reality and Daily Shows

    There’s Gilligan and Spiderman
    Captain America, Batman

    HBO, Saturday Night Live
    Sponge Bob, Mad Men, all those Housewives

    American Bandstand, Dick Clark
    The Brady Bunch and Marky Mark

    Netflix, Redbox, and Jeopardy
    Facebook and the Paparazzi

    Take Friends to Cheers or Hollywood
    Visit Hogwarts or Bollywood

    Sabrina and Harry Potter
    They’ll just have a sparkling water

    Huxtables, Simpsons, and Bewitched
    The Voice, Idol, falsetto, pitch

    Amazon, eBay and Google
    Popsters are so far from frugal

    Anime, Disney, on and on
    Your turn now, I pass the baton

  12. LeighSpencer

    The Meanest Thing

    My ex-husband
    had a way of belittling me


    I don’t suppose he was trying to be gentle
    he just spoke
    with a tight economy of words

    So many barbs

    But I will never forget
    that afternoon

    I was musing
    about the magical universe
    created in the pages of Harry Potter

    when my owl might finally arrive
    and what Snape looked like naked

    When I must have said aloud

    “Wouldn’t it be great if Hogwarts were real?”

    Without looking up from his paper
    he sneered

    “Maybe it is and you’re a muggle.”

    That was the meanest thing
    the Dementor
    ever said to me

  13. David Walker


    What? Cowbell? Will that be
    the difference between cold
    sweats all night and peace
    for the first time in ages?

    I’d like to say I believe you,
    Chris. I mean, you have been
    an engaging comrade – who
    can forget your dedication

    smuggling that watch out
    of Dodge – but I have to say
    I don’t think that tink, tink,
    tink, has the medicinal

    qualities you claim it to have.
    You’re telling me that all
    those Civil War surgeons
    had to do was call their army

    band’s percussion section
    over and have them bang
    as hard as they could. I’ll
    concede that music may

    well be the food of love,
    but I’m hard pressed to say
    it’s the salve of life.

  14. lethejerome


    Convince me; do your best,
    Be Jimi Hendrix.
    Make me feel your life your living,
    Reach me in the silences in the ringing of chords,
    Leave images leave fire and leave some death
    So I may find you again.
    Do your Pink Floyd best,
    Stretch out what deserves to be felt,
    Reach me in the elevation of sound into a wake,
    Leave the absence of faces and leave out the ending of notes
    So I may join you again.
    Convince me!

    Jérôme Melançon

  15. horselovernat

    According to the Movies by Natalie Gasper

    It’s become a way of life for most
    to obsess over the latest cinematic wonders,
    twitter stalk their favorite actors
    and spend all their free time creating fan websites.

    Alas this life is no good for me!
    In trying to see the new Captain America
    I lost my way, twice, to the theater.
    Upon arrival, the man at the parking garage
    informed me that I shall not pass without a ticket
    bought in advance. Fools.

    Braving the sidewalks on my way inside
    I caught sight of a Jackson in a sewer;
    not all treasure is silver and gold, mate,
    and all that is gold does not glitter.
    When I stepped over to grab it
    I stepped on an ant who had no chance to quarrel
    with my boot, poor thing.

    Finally seated, now time for the previews.
    The usual, with a spy on a tall bridge over a highway.
    I wonder if he has that feeling one gets when standing
    in a high place, the sudden urge that makes him want to jump?
    His motives are either madness or brilliance, the plot
    more remarkable if those two traits coincide.

    As the climax arrives a stray bullet gets its mark
    causing a beloved character to die, probably in the hands
    of someone he thought was worth melting for.
    He breaths his last breath, and leaves the girl
    wondering how things might have gone differently.
    Surely the past can hurt, but the way I see it,
    she can either run from it or learn from it
    (and with no gun, the former is inevitable).

    In the final hair raising moments, the villain mocks
    the hero for not trusting the dishonest man, the one
    he should have known to trust because one can
    always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest, honestly.
    Not one to fear death, he manages the impossible
    and hopes someone saw because
    he will not be doing it again.

    Happy I can finally leave the theater and all
    its predictability behind, I walk as though I
    am burdened with glorious purpose because
    I stayed out past my curfew.
    Accepting that I will punished for arriving late,
    I simply let it go.

  16. larrywlawrence

    Sunday Nights on HBO

    Meet me in the living room, it’s almost nine.
    You know where to find me, I’ll be in my chair

    The weekend is over, but it’ll be fine.
    Others think about Monday, but I don’t care.

    Tony Soprano had to bump off his friends,
    but we don’t know if he got it in the end.

    Dick Winters, Nixon, Guarnere- Band of Brothers
    greatest generation, braver than others.

    Stringer Bell, cops couldn’t get him on The Wire,
    in the game until Omar opened fire.

    Nucky gives orders, runs his Boardwalk Empire
    greed, corruption, a professional liar.

    Game of Thrones, poor Rob Stark, rotten King Joffrey
    found out weddings are deadly places to be.

  17. suddenleigh

    Poke’ Paradise

    Imagine if
    We really could
    Leave home at ten
    With a creature-y friend,
    Like Ash Ketchum
    And his yellow electric mouse-type.
    If the world was full
    Of fire-breathing, psy-beaming,
    Ice-shooting, tackling,
    Biting, scratching
    That you could befriend
    And love
    And lead a life around.
    Something that could change
    Like butterflies (or was it butterfrees?)
    Into something different
    If you cared for it enough.
    What would you choose
    To do in life
    If every day
    Was a journey?
    That would be nice.

  18. Aberdeen Lane

    my Lego
    you blockhead

    Lucy will always pull the ball away
    but you can count on me

    The wrecking ball is coming
    but we will be brave.

    We can transform, energize, AVENGE!

  19. TuLife

    “Pop versus Culture”
    By: Tuere Aisha

    I’ve never know a person more cultured than me
    who lacked so much luster for popularity.
    Evidently, today’s pop culture can be easily
    summarized as sex, supernaturals, and “reality” tv.
    Reality TV can be entertaining,
    with Mary,Mary singing,
    Dancing Dolls dancing,
    Abby Lee and her Dance Moms screaming.
    But what’s with commercials for “family” shows
    giving my kids nightmares
    with their demons and gargoyles?
    And if we’re up past ten o’clock,
    forget about it.
    A dozen new “hot singles”
    have charmed their way in.
    I get it – sex sells,
    vampires and fake “reality” ensure
    top dollar ratings. Just wish for
    a little less pop, and a tad more culture.

  20. Yolee


    I wanted to be like Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!
    Her blue eyes and smooth blonde hair
    tinted my kaleidoscope. But her trouble
    with famous/silly boys or inconsiderate
    siblings reminded me I was too skinny,
    too Pentecostal too brunette, too
    homemade and too plantain to think
    I could mix with Marica arts.

  21. Snow Write

    Mass appeal is what they say
    pop culture means – in its own way
    It changes based on time and place
    Inductively, on age and race
    It influences media
    to show what people want – well, duh
    but who those people choose to be
    will still remain a mystery
    for few fess up to liking it
    “Not me, not I, no, not one bit”
    though somehow Hollywood thrives still
    with lives of delegated thrill
    The pawns will always play their roles
    The puppet master meets his goals
    and yet we watch to see what’s next
    Drawn in, diverted by pretext

  22. PatsC

    No Thank You

    I’ve put it off,
    Inspiration lacking,
    Mild disgust,
    The thought of pop culture.

    I think of Miley,
    Adding an unnecessary,
    Word to my vocabulary,

    I think of Justin,
    The plaster of hair,
    Innocent entitlement,
    Mug shot.

    I think of Rob,
    The stupor of Toronto,
    Under the influence,

    Paris and Kim,
    Sex tape fame,
    Intellect purposefully hidden,

    The veneration of celebrity,
    Appearance lauded,
    Intelligence mocked.
    Pop culture.

  23. Blaise


    My ears play my popular hits –
    the popping cap of a cold microbrew,
    that splarsch of draft hitting a glass.

    TV glare and Twitter stare
    do not pop my buttons,
    Facebook okay maybe once a day.

    Here’s to a swirl of fine local ale.
    Y’all take the Grammys and all of that fluff,
    I’ll take a fresh beer and call it enough.

  24. Emma

    Thank you note to Mindy Kaling

    It’s a routine: on Tuesday
    Evenings, I settle on the sofa with
    A mug of tea, and laugh hysterically.
    I owe a lot to this half hour.
    A friend once said the brilliance of the
    Show was that it made it ok to be
    Tacky and classy at the same time.
    It dissolves my own pretentiousness:
    The T.S.Eliot/Ezra pound insistence on
    Obscurity over popularity.
    (and yes I still make annoying literary references,
    but I’m at least bearable now)
    The point is, I don’t feel an ounce
    Of guilt for my romcom addiction,
    Or for binge watching Secret Diary of a Call Girl,
    Or for dancing round my bedroom to
    Taylor Swift and Beyoncé at 3 am.
    These days I live in a world of pink glitter
    And I fucking love it.

  25. Angela Kidd

    RIP Michael J

    Somewhere there’s a father and son
    Looking up at a black sky
    A white moon
    And a pop star just on the edge of it—
    The boy wishes on
    A star that sparkles like
    A white sequined glove on
    A hand as black as night.

    Born into light,
    Surrounded by family members
    Making music—
    A boy singing with
    The voice of a man,
    But he had no childhood.
    His starry eyes twinkled
    While everyone watched—
    Pinned by a spotlight,
    Learning his alphabet in front of a camera
    But always a dark shadow over him
    When the lights went out.

    A boy unable to be a man
    Looking at the man in the mirror
    Seeing ugly, seeing black
    Hearing the taunt, “Hey, Big Nose!”
    Seeing a clown with a painted face
    Rubbing the makeup off—
    Underneath the black skin,
    A white skull.

    He said to his sweetheart, Lisa Marie,
    “We’re going to Neverland,
    Hand in hand, flying
    To see the lost boys.
    If you’ll be my Wendy,
    I promise we’ll see stars.
    I’ll fight the pirates,
    If you’ll hold me in your arms.”

    If he could give the boys anything
    A home
    Slumber parties, balloons—
    If he could make them
    Feel loved
    Hold them in his arms
    Like a father should hold
    A son

    Not the first to walk on the moon,
    But the first to do the moonwalk.
    Studying the greats
    Fred Astaire, Sammy Davis
    Moving like lightning
    Bolting across the stage
    Immortalized like Elvis
    And Sinatra
    Singing like a rocket to the moon—
    Dying of an overdose too soon—
    Always the heart goes first

    There’s a man, just a man
    Sitting on the edge of
    The moon
    Trying to figure out how to
    Get down from there
    With the millions looking up—
    We made him
    We held him up there with our hands
    Our peeping eyes
    But we don’t want to
    Take responsibility for him

    He falls like stardust
    We wipe it from our eyes
    Exhale it from our nostrils
    But we don’t apologize
    For using it to fuel our own dreams

    Somewhere there’s a black sky
    And a white moon
    But there’s one less star tonight—
    The “King of Pop” carved into
    A star on the pavement
    Next to the Queen of England
    And the Pope—
    If influence had a voice,
    It could heal the world.

  26. Julieann

    Justin & Mylie, et al

    Disney stood for more
    Than Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck
    He stood for morals and virtue
    What was right and proper
    Versus wrong and vulgar

    A different world back then
    When most performers
    Honored terms of their contract
    Held their head up proudly
    And believed in what they stood for

    It seems today fame and glory
    Are not enough
    They crave their names in lights
    And headlines but headlines
    Of a different kind

    Instead of being looked up to
    Setting the example for others
    They leave their contracts and
    Seeming self-worth behind
    Making for themselves a name of another kind

  27. breeswitzer


    I don’t watch TV.

    Well that’s not quite true.
    I never used to.
    But now I’m hooked, like the rest of you!

    It happened slowly in the course of one year.
    I moved into a place where everyone living there watched TV
    The TV faced the kitchen, so when I made food
    the TV was on, and soon I was watching it too.

    It didn’t take long before I felt like I knew
    the people in two of the before-dinner shows.
    I tried not to care, I even tried not to see,
    but I started to not want to miss the shows on TV.

    I told myself, it was something to share
    with the people who lived there, who were nothing like me
    (People who watched TV).

    A few months later, I went for a trip
    to visit my cousins and uncle and aunt
    who are all very spiritual, very moral people.
    When it came time to eat dinner they sat down to find
    their favourite program for free
    on illegal, downloadable TV!

    It happened to be
    one of the programs I liked
    from my household of people who all watched TV
    And we sat down to watch, and my moral family.
    We laughed and we hooted, we had such a good time,
    so every night I was there, we downloaded a show to share.

    Later that year I moved somewhere new
    A place on my own, which thankfully
    didn’t even have a TV!
    But I do like to watch movies
    and then I got sick
    I had seen all the good ones the library carried
    so slowly I started to consider Netflix.

    They give you your first month for free
    and I was sick for almost a month
    so I figured I got my free month’s worth
    and then I decided it couldn’t hurt
    to keep it going as long as I still found good movies to see.

    And then I discovered Netflix TV!

    And now, I am rather ashamed to say,
    that I, who once claimed, “I don’t watch TV”
    have finished eight seasons of two different shows
    Three months it took me
    to watch years of episodes!
    Every night when my dinner is made
    I skip run and jump to my skinny Mac Air
    I type in N.E… with skill and speed
    and Netflix comes up automatically.

    And I sit and I eat and chuckle and smile
    Yes, I, who was once a true hippy child,
    I watch sitcoms with dinner
    and I truly don’t know
    if I can ever go back to a life without shows!

    – Bree Switzer

  28. Mariya Koleva

    OK, no one is featured here, but myself
    April Poem-A-Day 17 – Pop Culture

    Wearing my torn-off jeans with
    that loose T-shirt
    and the leather jacket I bought
    with my own saved money
    never game me more self-confidence
    (which was exactly the reason
    I would wear them,
    especially the jacket)
    than at the moment I stepped up
    to a belated date,
    only my eyes asking
    his friends had told me about his
    other girl-friend
    they saw him with
    last night
    or why
    he was an hour or so
    for our date.

    That speed beat in my head,
    the heavy mainstream of the day
    saved me from my teenage collapse,
    more than once.
    :-D :-D

  29. cam45237

    I long for the apocalypse
    So I can be a cool girl With a dark braid
    Who can shoot a straight arrow

    so I can re – invent myself
    As wise or selfless
    Honest or brave

    So I can stomp the delicate shell
    That was humanity into the nearest
    Convenient curb

    Or so it can just be over
    And I can just be done
    And the world can just be gone
    A puff of desert sand
    In a hot Australian wind.

  30. bookworm0341

    “80’s Pop Culture”

    Pogo Ball, how many times could you hop on it while jump roping?
    Operation and Girl Talk, kept sleepovers fun and parents insane
    Pixy Stix and Pop Rocks, the perfect sugar high while playing above games

    Cassette Tapes made with mixed songs from your favorite local radio station
    Understanding that the New Kids from “Beantown” had “The Right Stuff”
    Learning the “Moon walk”, “Safety Dance”, “Electric Slide” and “Cabbage Patch”
    Telephones with glow-in-the dark buttons and extra-long cords for hours of fun
    Using your rainy days to watch “The A-Team”, “Full House” and “Family Matters”
    Radical new high tops with neon laces and Jelly Shoes for those summer days
    E.T. phoned home, as Darth told Luke he was his father, while Goonies never say die!

    By Jennifer M. Terry
    April 17, 2014

  31. rreags


    Playing the Candy Crush

    game is the opposite of writing

    a poem. It is also the opposite

    of reading a poem. What it is

    exactly is hard to say. Except to

    say that it reminds me of when

    we could not get our colicky

    baby to sleep and the solution

    we reached was to run the raucous

    vacuum cleaner, a white noise

    of the worst kind. From that

    brash chaos the baby found

    a strange secret musical peace.

    The video game provides me

    with conundrums with real

    world complexity like my own

    life. The game problems are

    mine as are my life problems

    but the joyful option of

    any conclusion–winning,

    cheating, giving up–are

    only choices in the game.

    The game.

  32. jclenhardt


    If I could simply
    just paint you
    a watermelon,
    then you know
    I would,
    because then
    I would be like him,
    who was once
    the President,
    now turned a Painter,
    and who knew!
    that a watermelon
    could grow
    in your stomach,
    if you swallowed
    the seed.

  33. jean2dubois

    by Jean Dubois

    unlike others of my generation
    faded blue jeans ripped at the knee
    I was cradled in domesticity

    bridge club faculty wives and the PTA
    I was cradled in conformity day by day

    but at least I had a window on the world
    a brand new invention had just been unfurled

    we at the bridge club gathered round to see
    a little black box they called the TV

    and yes you’d better believe it we were all appalled
    when right out in public for everyone to see
    Elvis the Pelvis gyrated on TV

  34. PSC in CT

    Beach House on the Moon
    (Jimmy Buffett / 1999)

    Pulling it from the clothes dryer,
    this tattered t-shirt – memento over a decade old –
    I ponder (again) the frayed edges, torn seams,
    evidence of many years of wearing, washing
    and reconsider tossing it.

    It’s not fit to be seen in public (has been reassigned
    as sleep apparel) and yet, despite multiple holes
    still it holds many happy memories –
    touchstone to times and people
    gone by, out of reach, passed on.

    Each wearing takes me back some 14 years ago
    to a balmy summer evening: Labor Day Weekend,
    crazy concert, Margaritaville, bouncing beach balls, Fruitcakes,
    friends gathered, laughing under the stars.

    It’s faded, but I fold it carefully,
    put it in the basket,
    to be worn once more.
    One day, it too will be gone,
    but for now, I hold on to it
    for as long as I can.


  35. sbpoet

    [format did not carry over: see at http://www.sbpoet.com/2014/04/poem-a-day-17-cherries.html for formatting]


    The clumsy Victorian where I gave
    away my cherry & received one
    in return (sweetened by innocence
    & eagerness) nearly half a century
    ago, has been defaced by white
    vinyl siding, its heavy grace
    As I passed, the car
    radio proclaimed “Just somebody
    that I used to know.”
    I stopped
    at the Dairy Queen (same one,
    same place) a few blocks from
    the old high school & ordered
    a chocolate shake and a long
    dog (“Now All Beef!”) with
    Striped toppings:
    each in a bright, clean line.
    The shake capped
    with whipped cream
    & a cherry.

    It wasn’t the same.

    ~ sharon brogan

  36. mbramucci

    Pop Blitz

    Top forty hits
    Top ten lists
    List from Craig
    Listerine soak
    Soak test score
    Soak up sun
    Sun salutation
    Sun paper clip
    Clip art pics
    Clip of the week
    Weekend at Bernie’s
    Week of weather
    Weather for sweaters
    Weather the storm
    Storm troopers
    Storm chasers
    Chasing mavericks
    Chasers for shots
    Shots fired
    Shot in the dark
    Dark chocolate’s good
    Dark horse is Perry
    Perry Edwards sings
    Perry, Tyler acts
    Acts of violence
    Acts of kindness
    Kind of a Funny Story
    Kindle reader
    Readers Digest
    Reader Rabbit
    Rabbit hole
    Rabbit ears
    Ears are ringing
    Ears are burning
    Burn after Reading
    Burn Notice
    Notice me Senpai
    Notice to vacate
    Vacation destinations
    Vacant expressions

  37. mimzy13


    Once I saw Dolly Parton in the bathroom of the Ritz Hotel in Philadelphia. She was friends with the parents of the boy whose Bar Mitzvah it was. Later, when she performed she would say his name in her song. He was not a popular kid but this week at school he would be more popular.

    Years before that incident I told this same kid that my mom was a cop and that I was going to chop him up in a blender. The upper schoolers on the bus couldn’t think we were in love. Also, I wanted them to laugh. Instead, his mom called my house and I had to say sorry on the phone in that way that does nothing.

    Maybe that’s why she’s here, Dolly Parton, adjusting the straps of her deep blue ruffled chiffon dress and staring right at me where I gape behind her in the bathroom mirror. I notice for the first time how my elbows stick out like broken matchsticks. How she can both see and not see me in the same gunmetal sideglance. It is understood that I am never getting out of that glance and that in it I will be born-killed. Over and over, forever and ever, the end.

  38. lionetravail

    “Minute- To Win It!”
    by David M. Hoenig

    The thrill of someone winning game
    and gaining fame
    for their fifteen
    makes game shows keen.

    It’s Roman coliseum show-
    to win or go
    to bloody death
    with tight-held breath.

    The classics like the Wheel or Price
    are just too nice
    for current crowd
    which wants kills loud.

    The gladiator’s should rejoice
    at simple choice:
    just win the grail…
    or epic fail.

  39. Puja

    Sorry to POP your bubble

    angels and demons
    morphed into asuras,
    fanatics of Meluha,
    fifty shades covering a chance at original
    in their eyes,
    mulling over
    mistakes of their life,
    ‘Can Love Happen Twice?’
    (Of course it can…
    till people say otherwise!)

    they progressed
    from Metallica to some
    fourth-world music,
    adored superheroes and blood-thirsty predators
    with a heart, mind you,
    fighting over
    warriors of Barca and Man U,
    bonding over
    cupcakes, heartbreaks and dealer issues
    (and vying for any dysfunctionality
    too bad to be true!)

    Before that,
    Captain Planet and the Addams
    were our good and bad,
    and Scooby Doo, our ugly,
    Backstreets, Enriques and Bollywood
    weren’t too lame,
    Maggi in tiffin
    brought you fame,
    Enid Blyton and Tinkle
    kept the indoors tame,
    Friendships were non-judgemental,
    innocent and sane,
    That will always be a part
    of what we finally became
    (and sorry but you’re part of it too
    just the same!)

  40. Jay Sizemore

    Disaster Porn

    Just an unspeakable tragedy September 11th, 2001
    on slow-motion repeat, September 11th, 2001
    a skyscraper for each pupil September 11th, 2001
    devoured by gray billows of ash, September 11th, 2001
    watching people jump from windows September 11th, 2001
    to escape the heat. September 11th, 2001
    Do you believe in God? April 20th, 1999
    Answer with a bullet in the head, April 20th, 1999
    the sounds of burst rounds April 20th, 1999
    echoing down a high school hall, April 20th, 1999
    black and white CCTV footage April 20th, 1999
    like a silent film recorded in Hell, April 20th, 1999
    an unspeakable tragedy. April 20th, 1999
    Watching the edge of the water December 26th, 2004
    suck back like a deep breath, December 26th, 2004
    minutes before the tidal swell December 26th, 2004
    filled 460,000 lungs, December 26th, 2004
    entire villages scrubbed off the land December 26th, 2004
    like old paint from a house. December 26th, 2004
    Such a horrible tragedy. December 26th, 2004
    Over 400 rounds of ammunition, April 16th, 2007
    two handguns, a knife, and a hammer, April 16th, 2007
    time to go home and change clothes April 16th, 2007
    after the first shots were fired. April 16th, 2007
    Barricading the doors, April 16th, 2007
    blocking bodies with bodies, April 16th, 2007
    thirty-two lives gone, April 16th, 2007
    an unforeseeable tragedy. April 16th, 2007
    Hillside slums built on an atom bomb, January 12th, 2010
    no infrastructure to prevent mudslides, January 12th, 2010
    300,000 buried in the shifting ground, January 12th, 2010
    debris opening like a mouth January 12th, 2010
    to swallow the sleeping. January 12th, 2010
    Such an unspeakable tragedy. January 12th, 2010
    The capillaries pulsate and irises open, today today today
    the heart rate quickens today today today
    as breaths grow shallow. today today today
    Throats run dry, demand drinks be served. today today today
    The channel never changes today today today
    from the unspeakable. today today today

  41. Kit Cooley

    Will Not be Televised

    What is popular today
    is passé tomorrow,
    chewed up and spit out
    by the bored and idle,
    looking for the next hit,
    in the hit parade.

    Unplugged, don’t follow,
    let the mind rest, thoughts
    form and flow without
    the tortured twist of fashion,
    or the approval rating
    of the trash-trained viewers.

    Reality is you living,
    not watching actors
    pretend on the screen.
    Pry your eyes away
    from the train wreck,
    and watch the road ahead.

    ~ Kit Cooley

  42. SuziBwritin



    Boom boom
    Fizz fizz
    Bang bang
    Whiz whiz
    That’s pop culture!

    Twerk twerk
    Rap rap
    Work work
    Bop bop
    That’s pop culture!

    Ching ching
    Whang whang
    Bling bling
    That’s pop culture!

  43. cobanionsmith

    I Do

    I’ll pledge my eternal love for 55 hours
    if we do it in Vegas, baby,
    but give me corporate sponsorship
    and I’ll give you 72 days,
    magazine cover real estate
    next to the top 5 ways to drive
    a man wild, and a portion of another
    season’s worth of 15 minutes because
    my heart is worth something,
    even if it is on cable.

    (c) Courtney O’Banion Smith

  44. PKP

    From the dust

    From the days and months
    and years of
    dust and destruction
    rose the only antidote
    to twenty-four seven
    loops of loss
    and aching arms
    opened to embrace
    in joyful respite
    the inane doings of

  45. Alaska Christina

    Ode to Lady Gaga

    And she struts
    On heels high
    Toes martyred inside hot, pink leather;
    Breasts held firm
    Behind bound lace
    Nipples scratched against the material;
    So she pouts
    Lips pursed and red
    Chapped beneath the glossed exterior;
    While she struts
    Nipples scratched
    Chapped against her pale skin
    – Soft femininity percolating just beyond the seams of her tight, white dress

  46. carolemt87

    Counter culture

    Call me old school if you like
    I just don’t get the Kardashians.

    Kim is apparently famous for her body, mostly
    her ass, but everyone has an ass.
    Granted, some are nicer than others
    like Colin Farrell’s or Channing Tatum’s.
    Oh yeah, they’re more my type.

    How does that make you famous enough
    that people pay you just to show up?
    She doesn’t really act or take off her clothes,
    or all those sisters Kourtney, Khloe, Kendall, Kylie
    do they get paid too, just for showing up?
    Where do I sign up for that?

    What about mom, Kris Jenner, brother Rob
    and androgynous stepdad Bruce Jenner who
    was an Olympic decathlon champion now
    adrift in the Kardashian unreality.

    Who said they could be famous for
    doing nothing. I guess there is a video
    of Kim and her ass having sex on a pay-per-view channel.
    And if someone wants me to look,
    to see once and for all
    if her ass is real, I will simply smile,
    stare deep into their eyes
    and tell them NO!

    Carol J Carpenter

  47. BezBawni

    My Scream (sorry, Screen)

    make me laugh,
    square flickering thing,
    make me forget all the troubles
    I had today,
    oh, make me laugh!

    make me cry
    over a made up death,
    let me forget for a moment
    my real pain,
    oh, make me wail!

    make me love
    or rather be loved,
    find me somebody I could believe
    is mine,
    oh, give me love!

    make me live,
    tell me I’m worth a shot,
    give me a number to call and
    a site to check,
    oh, help me live!

    make it real,
    square digital thing,
    all this incredible world that
    you call our life,
    please, make it real…

    by Lucretia Amstell

  48. lethejerome

    “Song of Songs”

    There is a line between what needs to be said and what can
    be heard. There is a line between what needs to be sung
    and what can be hummed. There is a line between what
    will last and what can be forgotten. There is room between you and I.

    You know what bears repeating
    You know what bears repeating
    You know what bears repeating
    You know what bears

    There is room between your feet and your line
    of sight. There is room between your body
    and places for the rest. There is room between
    what will last and what we can enjoy. There is time for you and I.

    You know what bears repeating
    You know what bears repeating
    You know what bears repeating
    You know what bears
    You know what bears the weight of time
    You know what bears the charge of the past
    You know what bears

    You know what bears repeating
    You know what bears repeating
    You know what bears repeating
    You know what bears

    Jérôme Melançon
    (Trying something different)

  49. sharon4

    Oh Jimmy Fallon, boyish grin flirting at the edge of your mouth,
    six-year old glee beneath your New York cool–is it all for show
    because you cause a buzz, a YouTube stir—or is that really joy
    I see upon your face as you bang ABC blocks together
    playing rhythm with the Roots on a new Disney hit?
    And when you don
    the limp suede hat and hunch upon a stool and echo
    Neil Young’s nasal whine, is the bullied boy in you crowing,
    “look at me now!” to the swaggering boys back then who
    metaphorically kicked dirt your way as they tore down a field?

    Part of the pleasure watching you is to recognize the girl
    in me who sat on her front lawn in Jersey, strumming
    the three chords she knew over and over, as I made up
    songs about the neighbors coming home from work those
    long June dusks. Before YouTube, Idol, The Voice, made music
    and the making of it just another commodity to be sold
    to all the wannabes.
    I played because I loved
    the callouses that grew upon my fingertips, because
    to raise my voice while my large family rowdied
    In the house meant maybe I’d be heard, because to
    sing meant soul and substance, the chords
    resonant and vibrant in my hands.
    ~Sharon Fagan McDermott

  50. Michael Wells

    A Pop Culture Primer

    If you want to talk pop culture
    you gotta be more specific—

    there are several ways
    this discussion can go.

    We can talk about Coca-Cola
    whose signs are obvious
    even overseas in foreign languages

    and Pepsi who does a respectable job
    rivaling Coke in the cola wars.

    There are colas of a lesser god—
    Diet Rite, and variety of store brands.

    If you want the caramel color
    but not a cola, there is Dr Pepper
    or Mr. Pibb—

    but some adverse to colas
    and the dark color go
    for the clear clean taste of
    a 7-Up, Sprite, or fruit
    flavored beverage.

    But maybe when you said
    you wanted to talk pop culture
    maybe you meant Bill Cosby
    AKA Heathcliff “Cliff” Huxtable,
    or maybe David Ortiz
    AKA “Big Papi”

  51. Anders Bylund

    You Talkin’ To Me?
    Him: Hello, gorgeous! May the Force be with you.
    Her: You talkin’ to me? All I wanna do is go the distance.
    Him: You’re gonna need a bigger boat.
    Her: Houston, we have a problem. Soylent Green is people!
    Him: You can’t handle the truth.
    Her: Surely you can’t be serious.
    Him: I am serious…and don’t call me Shirley. I’m the king of the world!
    Her: Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
    Him: You had me at hello.
    Her: …I’ll be back.

  52. poetrycurator

    Here is my Pop Culture Poem for day 17


    Take a journey thru
    Your imagination at
    The Magic Kingdom

    By Denise Fletcher Copyright © 2014

  53. ASperryConnors

    The death of AI

    Trite saddled shower singers
    Pepper-jacked homey videos
    Judges rah-rah and blah-blah
    It all needs to go

    Flush the Old Predictable
    Banish singing sap
    Can’t take a minute more
    Of mewling on my lap

    Farewell Jay-Low
    Good Bye Mr. Keith
    See y’all later, Harry
    Your IDOL has hit the heap

  54. Gabrielle Freeman

    Dinners & Movies
    by Gabrielle Freeman

    I’m trying to think about what pop culture smells like
    and I realize it smells just like the inside
    of my car, a little dusty, the dull scent of grease
    from a few lost french fries like someone’s worn leather couch,

    just like our tv room. Fading furniture polish
    and old dog, my son’s wet head. It tastes like lazy dinners
    eaten from a platter in the middle of the plank
    coffee table made heavy and square by your grandfather,

    like curly fries and your panko crusted shrimp, like ranch
    dressing, salt. It sounds like the roar of an animated
    dragon and the thwack of an elven arrow in an orc’s
    thick neck. Like the shudder and rumble of wind rushing

    over robes and aerodynamic sticks on the tail
    of a broom, like the metallic flutter of a sneaky
    snitch. Like our children’s voices, so similar now
    they can be mistaken for each other, pitched up

    in questions about legends and stories stored so deep
    in our minds as to be ours. Like our earnest answers.

    Check out the full post at my site http://www.ladyrandom.com. Thanks!

  55. lidywilks


    with narrowed eyes
    i see a blue marble
    spinning on its axis
    colonized by a race
    of instant gratification
    and zero pleasure,
    and compromised
    beings. their heaven
    is my hell, and to
    escape i close my
    eyes and burrow
    searching for
    a new world
    to call my own.

    by Lidy Wilks

  56. gloryia


    Do you remember those halcyon days
    misty mornings and summer sun
    but most of all –

    ‘All I Want is Love’

    echoing from room to room,
    and then we danced close, my head
    on your shoulder to –


    feeling sad, but not for long
    as we kicked up our heels
    with smiling faces, and with laughter
    that wouldn’t stop sang –

    ‘Can’t Buy Me Love’

    meaning every word
    as we clung and slowly
    wasted away our evening
    you and I and –

    The Beatles

  57. CLRichardson


    Reality is not scripted
    Nor presented in the best light
    Reality does not exist in a bubble
    Or always visible in plain sight

    Glamour is just a covering
    That can be purchased at the mall
    Your glamour is not for the masses
    Or a depiction of reality for us all

    Fame is what you’re after
    But a high price you will pay
    The cameras watch unbiased
    As I watch you slip away

    Christy Lynn Richardson

  58. alana sherman

    Day 17 Pop Culture

    Didn’t think I’d have a poem for today. But I’m really impressed by how creative people were about this prompt and it got me going.


    It will be new whether you make it new or not
    Alice Fulton

    I don’t care enough about LiLo
    to write anything about her (but look—
    she’s here in my poem!) Really, celebrities
    don’t interest me, neither do the currents and eddies
    of songs and images that inhabit our everyday lives.
    Still, there’s no escaping housewives, hillbillies
    and those who hunt ducks. It’s a flaw
    in my character this lack of feeling for TV
    and what’s trending—I feel bad having nothing
    to dole out around the water cooler. We’re awash
    in a river of memes. So, Why tell you mud season
    is here and yesterday there were daffodils?
    Why should distinguishing between woodcock
    and robin be more important? All this is ordinary stuff.


  59. Karen H. Phillips

    Day 17
    Reality vs. Escape

    Long-time marriage partners separate amid kids’ turmoil,
    another son and family move in with parents to evade mold,
    Asperger’s teen is bullied,
    his mom runs for mayor. Plenty of drama, humor thrown in.

    My husband doesn’t understand my
    fascination or at least devotion to “Parenthood,”
    though he encourages me to watch it in the same room,
    while he busies himself on his laptop.

    Too much drama for him, he says,
    preferring the escape of “I Love Lucy,”
    “Everybody Loves Raymond,” “Friends,”
    or “The Big Bang Theory.”

    I don’t mind real.
    On TV is better than in life,
    even if not resolved in an hour.
    Season finale wraps up some plot points.
    That is all.

  60. Kevin D Young


    The top forty
    reasons I hate
    the Top Forty

    is a list of
    reasons I hate
    a list of

    anything. They
    are all specious.
    Anything they

    propose will last
    are all species
    I propose will last

    not at all. Times
    will change, tunes will
    not at all times

    groove us all. You
    will change tunes. Will
    groovy us, all you

    sixties pop-heads,
    grow out of the
    sixties, Pop? Heads

    know better. We will
    grow out of the
    know. Bet we will.

  61. Connie Inglis

    The Hunger Games

    The entertainment world is a-
    buzz over the
    dangerous plight of
    Katniss and Peeta,
    their creativity, strength,
    and intelligence in
    hunger games.

    Meanwhile, the real world is a-
    numb to the
    meaningless plight of
    near one billion starving,
    war-torn conditions, weakness,
    and hopelessness in
    being defeated by
    hunger game.

  62. EbenAt

    Pop Culcha

    Truth be told,
    I knew she was a square but
    Nancy Sinatra’s boots
    still turned me on.

    The Dry Look still is, because
    I got no hair anymore.
    Neon died, thank the Gods
    but like all bad pennies
    it keeps turning back up.

    Only welders and catchers
    wear their hats backward, son
    and you ain’t doin’ either of those jobs.

    Lava lamps were cool and
    they still are;
    who’d have thunk it?
    I’ve got no idea where
    my Nehru jacket is;
    probably behind
    bead curtain number one.

    Pop top cans still do,
    Campbell’s still makes tomato, and
    45s turned Möbius;
    they’re just one long song.

    And because I must;
    I don’t know how
    you kids call that shit music, and
    while I’m on a roll,
    hitch up your drawers
    you look like an idiot.

  63. pamelaraw

    Why I Don’t Twerk

    You’ll never see me move it round, wave
    my big round mound fast, slow, up
    and down like a flag to raise your salute.

    I am not going to wriggle my tail
    like some coon as you swoon
    and gape like an ape, but wait

    you already think I’m a monkey–
    play a little music and watch me grind.
    I might as well put myself back on the block,

    let you poke and prod each part,
    size up what this body can offer
    as your field worker, wet nurse,

    or worse. Have we forgotten all the cream
    master forced in the dark past of our coffee?
    And now you want me to twerk it, werk it,

    jerk it, fulfill some chocolate fantasy?
    I refuse. It’s hard enough to deal with this
    stuff, or try not be tough, angry or loud.

    At the end of the day, I want
    to be proud when the mirror
    reflects the only Black face I see.

  64. jsmadge

    Pop Goes the Kultcha

    Warhol’s 15 minutes
    Are i n t e r m i n a b l e
    Now nanoseconds
    144 characters
    Lck f vwls
    Speed it up, Andy.
    Everyone’s an art director.
    The Factory is all around.
    Palookas are jet setting
    So who’s gonna envy?

    Jo Steigerwald

  65. Heidi


    He popped the question
    over black cherry soda pop
    as the jukebox crooned Roberta Flack’s
    top 40 single, “Killing Me Softly”.

    I popped my wad of bubble gum
    picking a bit of popcorn stuck to
    my pink poodle skirt, you know,
    the one with the pop of black.

    I swooned over his story
    about popping a whole handful
    of jawbreakers in his mouth
    as he careened his baseball bat,

    hitting a pop fly. His eyes popped wide
    open when he told me his Pop gave him
    permission to pop in the soda joint
    just to pop me the question.

    I guess those jawbreakers
    did a number on his stomach.
    He keeled over and popped off as
    soon as I said yes.

    Heidi R. de Contreras

  66. Mokosh28


    My neighbor speed-dates Zombies. A friend
    has joined a Vampire Chat Club. Aunt
    Thelma, refugee from the ‘50’s, is channeling
    Dick Clark. For me, it’s all Aliens. On E-bay
    I found a silver body suit and a complete set
    of X-File episodes on DVD. I believe
    in government cover-up and march for
    Full Disclosure. My pilgrimage is to Roswell
    where an inflated green disc crowns the
    WalMart Superstore. I have begun to sleep
    days so at night I can sit out in my
    lawn chair under the Pleiades, tracking
    planets, stars and satellites, the occasional
    meteor, tuning into sister worlds. Whether
    They bend time or space, travel through
    wormholes or up from dragon tracks, I’m ready
    for my Close Encounter. Here is my MUFON
    membership card. Come on, Extra Terrestrials,
    try on my paltry genes.

    – Joanne M. Clarkson

  67. CLShaffer

    Growing Up Wonder Woman
    “Wonder Woman/All the world is waiting for you,/and the power you possess . . .”
    from Season 1’s television series theme song, 1975

    My mother was queen of our island
    where no man had set foot for long
    since my father left our small town,
    entering the fog-filled land of myth.

    Wonder Woman visited each week,
    jumped cars and buildings
    without mussing a hair,
    towered over men in uniform, politely

    listening as they gave their orders
    then pulling them from countless fires,
    sprays of bullets, clutches of cunning females
    without a smirk.

    We spent years chasing
    snakes and bats back outside,
    draining our basement of flood water,
    commanding leaks to dry up

    while Linda Carter,
    eyes blue as the sea hiding her Amazon home,
    met enemy fire with a flick of her wrist,
    free as the golden eagle on her chest.

    How her alter ego must have wondered
    at the ease of invisibility, blue eyes
    gleaming behind large glasses, camouflaged
    only by a modest navy suit.

    What she never asked
    the men she bound in her Lasso of Truth:
    Are you sorry for what you have done?
    I twirled round and round, waiting for change.

  68. stargypsy

    My current TV obsession is Scandal … tonight was the season finale … oh my, what a long wait we have for the new season. An acrostic seemed the way to go.


    A – AND
    L – LOVE

    © 2014 Annie Original Poetry
    Always…I wish you peace, joy and happiness, but most of all I wish you Love.
    As Ever, Annie

  69. lshannon

    4.17 write a pop culture poem

    Make it work, you designers
    some how and someway
    Tim Gunn and great fabrics
    will help save the day.

    Group trips to Mood
    for fabrics and notions
    Say Thank you to “Swatch”
    and get your ass in motion.

    The Challenges are timed
    going from hard to insane
    Michael, Nina and Heidi
    critique without shame.

    The last three standing
    will create and display
    their collections on stage
    featured stars for a day.

    It’s fun and It’s art
    no matter what you may say
    I found my own fashion
    on project runway.

  70. robinamelia

    Pop Culture: A history of advice

    ”Harvard my Harvard boy Harvard Harvard,”
    “Plastics my boy plastics”
    “Boobs my girl, boobs and taxi fare”

    Robin Amelia Morris

  71. lionmother


    I’ve lived through it all
    The Beatniks with their
    black on black and triangle
    The Hippies with their long
    skirts and flowing shirts
    their long hair festooned with
    flowers and arms trailing in
    the air proclaiming peace and
    The war protests and the
    sit ins visited but never involved
    The self awareness of the 80’s
    with its big hair and big shoulders
    The disillusionment of the 90’s
    and the rise of Goths wearing
    black nail polish and black
    The despair of the turn of the
    century when our world blew
    up in front of our eyes and
    a piece of our country dissolved
    in the rubble
    I’ve been to see The Rolling Stones,
    the Kinks, the Who and the Beach Boys
    and their music has been the
    soundtrack of my life
    and I have experienced both
    Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen
    in person and Leonard Cohen with
    his soulful laments
    I listen to country and rock music
    and get carried away by the strains
    of Mozart
    Musical theater is my favorite as
    I hear familiar tunes
    I am dual centuried with one half
    in the twentieth and the other
    striding along in the twenty-first
    anticipating all it will bring

  72. lionmother

    Ode to Betty Boop

    She came out of an inkwell
    Probably no one under the
    age of sixty remembers
    and as he the cartoonist
    drew her features and this
    big eyed fat cheeked and
    impossibly thin woman
    came onto the movie screen
    I fell in love with her.

    Her boop oop a doop
    and her red rosebud mouth
    makes me smile and I have
    surrounded myself with
    statues of her in every possible

    She is the ultimate American girl
    with her satin gowns and feather boa
    She can be a soldier or a nurse
    a stewardess or pop out of a
    champagne glass with her legs
    kicking in the air

    Her eyes are big and round
    and she always looks surprised
    Frozen in ceramic beauty she
    brings me joy in all sizes

  73. drwasy


    They call
    the Beliebers
    their messiah
    a shaggy blond boy
    (he is a boy)
    in gold
    who sings
    about girls
    & break-ups
    & all that teen
    emo stuff;
    in ‘real life’
    he tokes pot
    & pops pills
    & races
    fast cars
    too fast
    so 10,000
    ‘send him home’
    but I hope
    he stays
    for how great
    were my days
    the Dead?

  74. FaerieTalePoet


    My favorite toy
    when I was a little girl
    wasn’t Barbie,
    nor Care Bears,
    not even the colorful
    Rainbow Brite
    could hold a candle
    in my imagine to
    My Little Pony.

    I would even pretend
    I was a pony
    and prance around
    the school yard.
    It was my personal
    precursor to LARPing.
    My pretending to be
    a pony evolved into
    a fascination with
    Mage the Ascension
    and Vampire the Masquerade.
    I’d go to conventions
    and role play with my friends.

    Now that I’m in my thirties
    I hear they have PonyCons
    Friendship with Magic
    as brought us bronies
    and this Pegasister
    from back in the day
    welcomes her brothers
    with hugs and hoofs.

    And when you meet me
    at a PonyCon my badge
    will read PixieTales
    I see myself as
    a purple pony
    with a rainbow mane
    and a book as a
    Cutie Mark.

    Dana A. Campbell

  75. P.A. Beyer

    Do or do not…

    The world waits
    ‘til 2015.
    The return
    of the Force.
    The continuing saga –
    Evil versus good .

    Will the mask
    be worn? Will the light
    saber be
    red or green?
    Will Mark Hamill be shunned
    like William Shatner?

    Time, only,
    will reveal itself.
    will sell out.
    And I’ll still bitch about the
    damn price of popcorn.

  76. Linda Hatton

    Clubbing in the 80s

    Mom and dad told me to come inside
    when city streetlights shined up the night.
    Instead, I (Du)ran out into darkness
    as strobe lights blinked on, stumbling
    over 10,000 Maniacs and a Flock
    of Seagulls rushing across the front lawn.
    Those were the days, Driven to Tears
    on My Own Secret Journey sprinting
    from Police, then Walking Like an Egyptian
    with Bangles dangling on both rigid wrists.
    I passed Stray Cats strutting in alleys,
    on sidewalks, and on teenaged car roofs,
    and then cried Tears for Fear
    of men after Tom petted my ego
    and then turned aloof. I Squeezed self-
    consciousness into black tights and big hair
    daring to fit into a League beyond Human,
    dressed to impress my Loverboy
    constructed of a Simple Mind. Now I suppose
    that was all right, nights forgotten across river Styx
    after growing up attending Spandau Ballet,
    left behind to become the nineteenth member
    of the town’s secret Cult, praising charcoal-eyes
    and forty-ouncers in hormonal back seats, still waiting
    on Tom, too tiring for me, sucking his Red Hot
    Chili Peppers, I snuck back inside
    before morning came and Mom flipped
    on my bedroom light.

    –Linda G Hatton (who really wasn’t this much of a rebel) :-)

  77. seingraham


    After Survivor lost its lustre,
    I thought that would be it
    for me;
    Then along came American Idol
    and I was enthralled with that
    nasty bit of business for
    a number of years,
    Listening to Simon criticize
    people for being overweight
    instead of telling them
    what he thought about
    their singing
    But that soon paled too
    And no other reality shows
    really grabbed my attention
    until a couple of years ago
    when The Voice first started up

    I really love the idea of people
    being selected for their voices
    Of the Judge’s not swinging
    their chairs around for any
    reason other than they think
    they hear a voice with a
    certain something…
    And that something might be
    a winning quality

    It doesn’t matter what
    the person looks like,
    it could be an old person,
    a teenager…
    And it’s wonderful
    to see how surprised
    the individual judges are
    when they do swivel around,
    sometimes, obviously expecting
    a woman, and it’s guy
    Or they think it’s a
    soulful black person and instead,
    it’s some white chick or guy
    And the judges are honest usually,
    They slap their foreheads
    and say something like,
    “Well – I’ll be, I just cannot
    believe that voice
    came out of that body!”
    It’s refreshing, and I guess
    it’s so-called junk TV
    but I don’t care, I like it.

  78. mshall

    Be present in the moment
    Posteth the Dali Lama on Facebook
    I read his daily update
    In the three odd moments
    When the stoplight had turned red

    Thou shalt love thy neighbor
    Tweeth the Pope to the world
    Little does he know
    I haven’t seen
    My neighbor since November

    Spread the beauty of the word
    By poems, rhymes and tales
    Capture the human experience which
    Indeed you’d not be reading
    Were it not for Internet

  79. MyPoeticHeart

    The humor of Pop Culture

    I was born at that time of life
    You know when parents were the rule(rs)
    A time when pop culture was a box of cracker jacks
    The time teachers really taught
    And the time where we used (gasp) pencil and paper

    We carried big heavy bags of books
    Long before backpacks were the rage
    Oh and rage meant a hit
    Unlike roadrage
    Children never hear of reality shows

    Pop culture would be a chemistry class gone wrong
    Or Peggy in Home Economics sewed her fingers together
    Ed Sullivan had guests like Perry Como
    Or! (heart throb) the Beatles!
    The only pop culture we knew was when Jimmy pulled a girls pigtails.

  80. starrynight3


    I got nothing.
    No status update today.
    Not even another selfie;
    I’m tapped out.
    I’ve been talking to you
    Like you’re out there.
    But you’re the 21st century
    Mirror, mirror, on the wall
    You’re the post post-modern
    Religion; a prayer posting

    1. grcran

      oh yeah, this is how I felt about facebook from the first friend forward, I go there now mainly to keep up with what my grown kids are doing, and see photos of my granddaughter… but you nailed it, in short order, in your poem… and really, it hits a broader shallowness than just facebook…

  81. Taylor Emily Copeland

    Girl Power

    It is easy to revert to my ten
    year old self the minute I hear
    “Wannabe” on the radio. My long
    blonde hair tied in pig tails,
    a lollypop in my hand and soon,
    I’m Baby Spice all over again,
    singing with the radio in my car,
    not caring enough to break the
    role at a red light. I took the
    idea of Girl Power seriously back
    then, and my parents humored me
    by buying me a guitar that they
    never thought I’d bother to play.
    The Spice Girls didn’t play any
    instruments, so why would I?
    That guitar is well worn now.
    It doesn’t know any throwaway pop.
    It plays Ingrid Michaelson and
    Sara Bareilles songs. It keeps me
    company on the softer Paramore
    tunes and sleeps at night next to
    her little sister, a louder electric
    version that loves to play songs
    by The Ting Tings and Foo Fighters.
    Now that Emma is older,
    I hope she approves.

  82. Shennon

    The Female Vampire

    Night is the time to hunt –
    So cliché.
    What if I prefer to hunt –
    By day.

    I’ll stalk my victim,
    Eyes open wide.
    In broad daylight,
    There’s nowhere to hide.

    He sees me coming.
    He can’t resist.
    He reaches for me,
    He grabs my wrist.

    My smile invites.
    My lips say yes.
    My eyes brightly sparkle.
    He starts to undress.

    The strip tease is stilled
    By my hand at his throat.
    His neck snaps in two.
    I feast, then I gloat.

    Triumph is mine!
    I’m mean and I’m fast.
    So beware each day,
    For it may be your last.


  83. SestinaNia

    Couldn’t help myself as I just finished season seven :P

    Why I Stopped Eating Apples

    An apple a day keeps the doctor away. ~Old wives tale

    I would very much like
    to take a ride
    in your little blue box,
    which I know is oh
    so much bigger
    on the inside.
    Please whisk me through a galaxy,
    show me the wonders
    of seven universes,
    let me get lost (not truly,
    but for a little while)
    in history—I want to lay
    under the piano
    as Beethoven composes,
    or have tea with Ms. Austen—
    (however, I’m happy to avoid
    Pompeii, and you’ve done that
    already). So, let’s save
    a world or two, or just
    each other,
    dearest Doctor.

  84. mrs.mjbauer

    Today’s Facebook Feed

    Which Star Wars character are you?
    I wanted Yoda
    I got R2D2

    Which Sound of Music character are you?
    I think I sing like Maria.
    I got Max.

    What job should you have?
    I believer writer
    The quiz thinks I’m an athlete?

    How old are you really?
    I feel 20.
    I got 47.

    Quiz, Post, Share

  85. Jaywig

    Pop Up Art

    Sometimes the train travels so fast, the sides of stationary grain transporters
    are a blur of tags and cartoon characters speaking from the urban diaspora.
    They make beautifully rounded canvasses; clearly the designs are well-considered,
    reflecting the opportunity of democratic artistic display on government property.
    We, however, are pilgrims to the shrine of Private and Major Galleries, seeking
    the perfect piece of flat serious Art to complement our flat down-lit walls.
    We may lift our eyes to the messages on grain transport carriages, but they
    remain incomprehensible, a blur of unrecognisable signatures and figures.

  86. GirlGriot

    In a bit of a bad mood. Not feeling pop culture-y tonight (but I did include “selfie” in a poem last week, which must count for something!


    Spent. Tired.
    Though, more than that.
    And not really that.

    change of place,
    mindset, order.

    I want change — of heart,
    of taste.
    To be full,
    to feed myself,
    to let in more joy.

  87. lionetravail

    “Millions of Channels and Nothing to Watch”
    by David M. Hoenig

    I have concerns that everything
    ain’t real today, as I’m watching.
    The shows which claim “reality”
    upon reality TV,
    I think, can offer no such thing.

    The Housewives soon should feel the sting
    of Mob wives in the wrestling ring-
    then cast them all adrift at sea!
    But I’ve concerns that sonar ping

    from Whale Wars might, by chance, then bring
    them back! Why, I’d be forced to wring
    some necks- and then where would I be?
    I don’t feel I can win, you see,
    and I’m already suffering!
    I have concerns ’bout EVERYthing!

  88. tunesmiff

    G. Smith
    Saw Brad and Angie in the check-out line,
    Said I should tell you they’re doin’ fine.
    Will and Kate send their, “Hello.”
    Catherine and Michael want to know,
    If you’ve heard their friend, Michelle,
    Makes her husband’s life pure hell.

    It’s rumored Lindsay took a cab,
    On her trip back to rehab.
    The tales aren’t true about Faith and Tim;
    And you-know-who’s looks pretty slim.
    Kim’s lost all her baby weight,
    The word is that her figure’s great.

    All our friends can’t wait to see,
    If next week you’ll come shop with me.

  89. Shell

    First Love
    By Shell Ochsner

    Loving him,

    Forever In And Out Of Love.

    Posters pinned,

    Leaving walls with Blood on Blood.

    Silent Night,

    His beauty made young hearts race.

    Moment’s right,

    Sublimed thoughts so we’d Keep the Faith.

    Never Say Goodbye,

    No one elses fame is greater.

    The perfect guy,

    He’s Got It Going On years later.

    Make A Memory,

    In the car, room, or at a show.

    Be airy,

    It will be hard Letting You Go.

    It’s My Life.

    And it will never be the same.

    Please don’t write,

    You Give Love A Bad Name.

  90. DCR1986

    Pop Notes-N-Styles

    Since MJ, pop has been living Off the Wall.
    Last Friday Night, the DJ spun
    to Get Lucky and Happy.
    In the air, luminous lights
    on checkerboard and ombre nails and floating solo cups.
    Far from Royals and a Picasso Baby,
    Cock walks in neon foams or solid squares,
    screen tees, and skinny jeans or tailor suits.
    Ray bans and tilted pork pie hats.
    Cat walks in trendy pumps, toms, or tribal wedges,
    Floral tees or skirts, stripe pants or animal print frocks.
    Fresh cuts, afros, few pixie dos,
    one side clean-shave, and deep waves with banging bangs.
    Nude, plum, coral or rouge duck lips.
    Face fancied in M.A.C.
    Hand massaging Android or Mac.
    Pose. Vogue. Smile.
    Auto flash and snap!
    Wait, let me take a selfie!
    Quick. Select. Click.
    Post to IG or FB,
    cause life ain’t so bad after all.

    —-Danielle C. Robinson

  91. Rolf Erickson


    I thought I was
    until I saw one man
    who wasn’t afraid
    to use that word
    again and again and.

    Then I understood
    that happy isn’t
    a place to go
    or a thought to have.

    Happy is a feeling
    a song
    a dance that
    goes round the world
    and never stops.

    That’s when I knew
    that happy is here
    inside every body.

    It’s only a matter
    of letting it out.

    Only a matter of
    giving a shout
    and a song
    and a dance
    again and again and.

    Only a matter of
    sending your happy
    round the world
    to come home
    once again to you
    panting with joy.

    That’s when I felt
    my happy bursting out
    so free and wheeling
    wherever my song
    wherever my dance
    might take it.

    And that’s enough.
    Clap along.

  92. spacerust

    “Culture Revovler” by Karl A. Avila

    With Levi 501 button-up flies
    and slip-on black and white checkered vans
    so tubular, narly, and rad…
    Ray-Ban wayfarers worn, Hang Ten

    Lightning Bolts velco wallets
    were not really filled with money
    pictures of chick and token cards
    a few bucks, it wasn’t funny

    Arcade lunches spend just a $1
    one token was all it took
    before I knew it, time to go
    and back to school we booked

    Combs were out, brushes in
    it was the latest fad
    to keep our new wave hair
    from flipping out of style

    no color scheme, no rhyme or reason
    in the 80’s everything went
    collars up and rolled up sleeves
    black T-shirts of The Smiths

    Bon Jovi, Dokken, and Quiet Riot
    were always on our tunes
    always recording the mix cassettes
    to show that we were cool

    I get asked all the time
    teacher, I can’t believe your wearing vans
    I look down and start to laugh
    and tell that’s ol’ skool man

    I’ve been wearing them since the 80’s
    when one dangling earring was the norm
    all the clothes they wear now
    is nothing but a poser
    because all the swag that they call shizzle
    is pop culture of the hour.

  93. Sara McNulty


    Nehi orange, Mr. Pibbs,
    Dr. Brown’s, Barq’s root beer fizz,
    Coke, and Pepsi (in diet, too!),
    Fanta, Fresca, Mountain Dew.
    Dr. Pepper is the oldest,
    Jolt Cola is the boldest.
    Crush, RC, and Sarsaparilla,
    Seven-Up, Sprite, and cream/vanilla.
    I could on with this silly list
    but you’re smart enough to get the drift.

  94. Hannah


    They want to be the brightest –
    want to be the newest, next rising
    star they wish to be the most
    brilliant so they follow the star-dust
    paths. They plow their way to the top
    of the list by kissing all the right
    folks, those with bling pasted to their
    grills. They read all of the latest
    hoping to be up to date on the
    trend spending their parents
    pilfered money on Miley Cyrus
    tattoos. Peace signs, hearts and
    the Om symbol are still fresh in their
    longing for stardom skin, twisted
    into something unrecognizable
    even to their own – they’re strangers,
    deranged and aching to shine they’re
    all alike. It makes one wonder if there’s
    such a thing as a unique creature in this
    mess, this cyclone of same spins and
    is sucking in the young people by the
    thousands; radio waves and blaring
    T.V. streams through the shells of empty
    houses that used to hold whole
    families – individuals that celebrated
    being one of their own kind un –
    tainted by the swirling cosmos of stars.

    Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014

  95. Cameron Steele

    third write-through. I won’t say final because it never is, but this is it for the evening:

    Things to Tell My Childhood Self

    Keep your nose in the book
    and your head on the window,
    and if you feel like unplugging the TV,
    do it. Even if your sisters whine
    or the babysitter rolls her eyes –
    she’ll be gone by next week
    and your sisters will forgive you
    by bedtime, when you pull sheets
    over their heads, a pickled
    accent on your tongue, pretend
    you’re trapped on a dark island
    in a faraway place, all alone,
    and only your imagination can save you.
    No, really, only your imagination can save you,
    the voices in your head will stick with you
    longer than the ones on the television,
    for better or worse.
    Better, then, that you talk back to them —
    though, for God’s sake, not out loud —
    argue with them when you’re bored in class
    or sad at church or crippled
    by the pangs of your first hangover.
    And try not to get hangovers –
    you won’t be able to write them easily away,
    but you can ease heartache
    if you write long enough,
    so fall in love and hard –
    just keep a pen in your purse
    and your sisters on speed dial.
    It’s harder to rush love or writing,
    and by harder I mean impossible,
    so try not to worry about wrinkles
    before finding your way with either.
    If there’s one thing you already
    know, it’s this: the best stories
    may have surprise endings but they always end up
    with water-stained, dog-eared pages.

  96. RebekahJ

    On Seeing the Sidewalk Memorial to the Yiddish Theater
    Citibank Branch, Second Avenue

    In its day, people
    Who were born in shetls thronged
    To laugh, cry, applaud
    Now their descendants trample
    Stars to reach the ATM

    Kimberly Gladman Jackson

  97. dandelionwine

    An Epic Piece for the Right Collector

    Like a honey badger to a honey hole,
    I’m junk drunk freestyling for rusty
    gold, seeking tonnage, barnage, working
    windshield time with the bearded
    charmer, the bundler. Knee deep
    in a junkalanche, he may not be smellin
    what I’m steppin in, but I’d put mustard
    on it and eat it, I had to have it so I say
    what a ya thinkin on this, I’ve gotta leave
    some meat on the bone, how about
    I flip you for it, I’ll pop on that.

    Sara Ramsdell

  98. Bartholomew Barker


    I don’t watch TV
    Except for sports

    That establishes my reputation
    As a counter-culture poet
    But still a manly man
    And it’s a lie

    I’m just a boy and
    I watch plenty of television
    Most educationally Tosh.0
    It’s important to keep up
    With internet memes
    And blurred breasts
    And pixelated penises
    And puke videos
    So many puke videos
    Buckets of barf
    Rivers of regurgitant
    Through yawning chasms
    To waterfalls of vomit

    But they need more fart jokes

  99. LizMac

    Culture Wars

    Looking at an old photo, my kids exclaim,
    “Why did everything have to be so big, in those days?”
    Hair, shoulders, cars, messes, wars.
    Hey, I’ll have you know, I was born long after both world wars, thank you.
    Acting out today, small becomes the new rebellion.
    Is that still technically a dress? I ask;
    Then there’s string theory,
    And computers – no whole offices, cameras, videos, photo albums and probably coffee makers –
    Stuffed into purses;
    Words and sentences smashed into small, broken pieces
    (Just like the pieces we’ve left for them to pick up?)
    Pieces, also from small explosions, that rock and instantly reinvent the world.

    They roll their eyes to let me know I just don’t get it.

    At last we sit down together and share some popcorn around the t.v.
    Agreeing that no matter what, there’ll probably never be anything quite so cool
    As Doctor Who and his Daleks.

  100. Anvanya


    I just ain’t into it, the pop thing.
    Lost my interest around ’85 when
    The Captain and Tennille peaked – but
    Hard rock blew out my ears.
    Spent some time in the L A clubs
    And crooned backup in the studios in
    Hollywood – like mine melodic, not hard hat or hip-hop.
    Ska’s the last thing I dug,

    And as for the crop of hummers on the
    Airwaves these days? Jeeze – they need to learn
    The rest of the musical scale, those two and three
    Note “tunes” are bunk. Voices so frail
    Needing extra strength mics.
    Janis and Bette? Now, those gals could belt one out.

    I mean, ELO and Elton had friggin’
    Orchestras, man. That’s where its at
    Far as I know: mel-ooo-dee paints
    Pictures in my head – not moanin’ and
    Groanin’ and rhymin’ the world to death –
    Takin’ a big pass on the four letter words,
    Y’all. I can’t go for that.

    RESPECT, Aretha knew where it was at:
    Go to one of those reunion concerts and
    What’s up with the Beach Boys or Eagles?
    Stories and tunes that tug on my heart.
    Still hummin’ the ones I love the best:
    When will I see you again? Your kiss is on my list,
    So every breath you take brings the best of my love.

  101. Bruce Niedt

    NaPoWRiMo’s prompt today is to write a poem that uses at least three of the five senses.

    Patterns of Love

    I could spend the whole day with you.
    I love your colorful personality,
    organized yet always in motion,
    shapely and glossy in a parade
    of red, yellow, green, blue,
    orange and more. Zither music
    lopes along as we dance and collapse
    a little, only to build up again.
    I love to stroke you, cool as glass,
    and my fingers rearrange you.
    I may have to shatter some pieces,
    but you don’t seem to mind.
    I’ll bring down cherries
    and apples for you, I’ll even
    set off a chocolate bomb.
    Sometimes jelly gets in the way,
    sometimes more chocolate, but if
    I persevere, little fish may swim by
    and help me achieve to my goal,
    to score the most points with you.
    Oh Candy, you’re my addiction.
    I have a huge crush on you.

  102. ToniBee3


    three p.m.
    living room
    settle it!

    Elasti-girl and
    not-so-elastic Grandpa
    shake hands on
    the unleveled (perhaps)
    dance floor


    she Walks-it-Out
    unfazed, he dips:
    “Hmph, that’s nothing but the
    Mashed Potato from 1962!”

    she slays with the Carlton
    he shakes his head:
    “That’s the Jerk! Watch me!
    I did this move back in 1964!”

    sidesplitting moments
    shared between them
    her turn, his turn
    and on and on and on
    but then she Krumps—
    the coup de grâce
    he’s done!

    their “now vs. then”
    happy-feet battle
    sparks an epiphany—
    his “cutting-a-rug”
    reemerges as
    her “busting-a-move”
    in different shoes
    a subtle derivative
    Ecclesiastes 1:9-10
    speaks true

  103. Cameron Steele

    Things to Tell My Childhood Self

    Keep your nose in the book
    and your head on the window,
    and if you feel like unplugging the TV,
    do it. Even if your sisters whine
    or the babysitter rolls her eyes –
    she’ll be gone by next week
    and your sisters will forgive you
    by bedtime, when you pull sheets
    over their heads, a pickled
    accent on your tongue, pretend
    you’re trapped on a dark island
    in a faraway place, all alone,
    and only your imagination can save you.
    No, really, only your imagination can save you,
    the voices in your head will stick with you
    longer than the ones on the television,
    for better or worse.
    Better that you talk back to them —
    though not out loud — argue with them
    when you’re bored in class or sad at church,
    or crippled by the pangs of your first hangover.
    Try not to get hangovers –
    you won’t be able to write them away.
    But you can ease heartache
    if you write long enough,
    so fall in love and hard –
    just keep a pen in your purse.
    Don’t put a timeline on love
    or your writing, or worry about wrinkles
    before finding your way with either —
    the best stories come from dog-eared books.

  104. Cameron Steele

    Things to Tell My Childhood Self

    Keep your nose in the book
    and your head on the window,
    and if you feel like unplugging the TV,
    do it. Even if your sisters whine
    or the babysitter rolls her eyes —
    she’ll be gone by next week
    and your sisters will forgive you
    by bedtime, when you pull sheets
    over their heads, a pickled
    accent on your tongue, pretend
    you’re trapped on a dark island
    in a faraway place, all alone,
    and only your imagination can save you.
    No, really, only your imagination can save you,
    the voices in your head will stick with you
    longer than the ones on the television,
    for better or worse.
    Better that you talk back to them —
    though not out loud — argue with them
    when you’re bored in class or sad at church,
    or crippled by the pangs of your first hangover.
    Try not to get hangovers —
    you won’t be able to write them away.
    But you can ease heartache
    if you write long enough,
    so fall in love and hard —
    just keep a pen in your purse.
    Don’t put a timeline on love
    or your writing, or worry about wrinkles
    before finding your way with either.
    It’s OK if you like it when the man
    you love calls you baby and it’s OK to curse
    at everyone else who thinks they can too.
    Wear heels when you feel like it,
    even if everyone else is in sneakers,
    and make time to run barefoot
    through the first wet grass each spring,
    even when you live in a city and it’s just a few
    steps in a small patch. Don’t worry
    about all the Tuesday Night Trivia games
    you’ll lose with your coworkers,
    you never watched TV as a child,
    and pop culture is just like the red
    balloon from your eighth birthday,
    everyone will forget about it
    until years later,
    when they root the dirty rubber
    from the garden, laugh at the faded memory
    and throw it away. it’ll be rooted out of the back
    garden, deflated and tangled
    and largely regarded as trash.
    Don’t put a timeline on love
    or your writing, or worry about wrinkles
    before finding your way with either —
    the best stories come from dog-eared books.

  105. De Jackson

    An 80’s Girl Longs for a Time Machine

    Remember the Go-Go’s
    and other pre-Madonnas?
    Long before sweet Miss
    Montana went all Miley on us?

    Things went in more than One
    Direction when there were some
    good Men
    At Work-ing, and don’t
    we all wish we could un
    -hear the word twerking?

    Wendy Williams and Sharon
    Osbourne always have
    something to say, and
    how many Kardashians
    are there, anyway?

    There are too many
    channels, and
    even the phrases are
    foreign. C’mon now,
    isn’t ‘reality TV’ an

    The A-list is confusing, and
    some names don’t ring a bell.
    The others – are they actors
    or directors? Really,
    who can tell?
    Maybe what they all really
    want is a singing career.
    (Can I get a Rebel Yell?)

    I want my M-TV
    back, the one just played
    some tunes.
    Okay, Robert Downy, Jr.
    still kind of makes me
    but otherwise,
    why can’t we just pop culture
              like a balloon?


  106. flood

    Hope Is A Guessing Game

    I saw the best minds
    of my generation
    destroyed by a lack of spoiler alerts
    and unannounced changes to
    the layout of their facebook page.

    Hope is not the thing
    with feathers.
    Hope is subjective validation,
    reinforcing your positive bias.
    Hope is a guessing game,
    a buzzfeed quiz, telling you
    which Game of Thrones
    character you are,
    even though you positively
    hate the results.

    And poetry no longer begins
    with a lump in the throat.
    Poetry begins with slut-shaming,
    or quotations taken out of context
    to support a meme laid over a picture
    of a kitten or President Obama,
    or the comments section of any
    damn website you choose;
    because anger dresses itself
    in immediacy and accessorizes
    with the right angle
    of the enter key.

  107. beale.alexis

    “Modern Pop Culture”

    Outfit of the day:
    Ugg boots with black leggings,
    oversized sweatshirts, and messy buns.
    Duck lips, Miley tongues, and selfies
    to post on Instagram.
    Reblogging vintage
    photographs on Tumblr
    and researching how exactly
    to be a “hipster”.
    I mean following people you’ve never met
    on social media.
    Cyber bullying on Facebook –wait
    nobody uses Facebook anymore.
    That’s so 2011. This poem is
    modern pop culture. Twerking and
    Vines that only last six seconds,
    because our attention span
    has shrunk to about the size
    of a teaspoon. Snapchats used
    to send nudes –Come on, why else
    would the picture disappear in ten seconds?

    This is what our “pop”
    culture has become.
    When was the last time you heard
    of chivalry or two teenagers
    actually going on a date before they’ve fucked?
    Not to sound vulgar or anything,
    but that’s what they call it now-a-days.
    Not “making love” or even “having sex”.
    It’s fucking.
    And since when does the entire world
    need to be linked and connected
    to each other’s every moment?
    I’m all for world peace, but this
    just seems obsessive.
    We all deserve a little privacy,
    don’t you think? But we’re
    so used getting the next best thing
    as quickly as possible, we’ve lost
    touch of the simple things:
    Classical music, record players,
    Polaroid cameras, type writers,
    books, and even poetry.
    Nobody writes poetry anymore,
    unless it’s an attempt to seem

  108. Sharon Ann

    Pop Culture

    It’s about the music.
    It’s about the mood.
    It’s about the way we feel
    and what we do.

    It’s about who we know.
    It’s about power too.
    It’s about what we wore
    and about who’s who.

    It’s about movies on the big screen.
    It’s about movie stars.
    It’s about their houses
    and about their cars.

    It’s about the followers,
    social media style.
    Maybe not forever
    but for a little while.

  109. DamonZ

    ” Why Did Rock Roll Away?”

    Elvis opened the door.
    The Beatles left us wanting more.
    The stones dirtied it up.
    Zeppelin stirred it up.
    Metallica made it heavy.
    The Heartbreakers backed up Petty.
    Van Halen jumped with Alex and Eddy.
    So why?
    Why did things go awry?
    Today’s rock falls a little bit shy.

    By: Damon Zallar

  110. CathyBlogs

    Always something there to remind me

    Baby, I’m so over you. And no,
    if you’re wondering,
    Say Something doesn’t make me cry —
    although I may sing along, softly,
    when no one is around —
    Shut up.
    But you know, what goes around comes around
    and that’s a small indulgence;
    for that matter, I’ve never liked
    Fatal Attraction, so you can quit worrying.
    I didn’t love the way you lied,
    I hated it; you weren’t irreplaceable,
    and I don’t, and won’t, remember you.
    Foolish heart, you stupid idiot,
    what was the use in falling?
    Once we were stone in love
    and maybe we just should have been
    That was a game we couldn’t win
    and a bridge that needed burned;
    some waters are too troubled
    to sail on by.
    But, baby, you know, I’ll be alright without you;
    what we had was sad, beautiful, tragic —
    but I knew you were trouble when you walked in
    and now we are never, ever,
    getting back together.
    Willie might have written it, but
    Patsy sang it best: Crazy.
    I’m crazy for feeling so lonely,
    crazy for feeling so blue;
    crazy for tryin’, crazy for cryin’
    crazy —
    And I’m giving up on you.

    by Cathy Dee writing at http://www.CathyBlogs.com

  111. Alpha1


    By birth baby boomers
    Eyewitness to all the news
    Here from the start
    Hula hoops and Duncan
    Yo yo’s got things going
    Remember Alvin and the Chipmunks
    The Lone Ranger and Tonto
    Had their own fan club
    And it all went through us
    Boomers who revolutionized the
    Way the world thought
    About itself
    Turned everything inside
    Out upside down under
    The microscope
    Always probing examining
    Weeding out making room for
    Soul Train and You Tube videos
    Going viral
    Ain’t nobody got time for that
    Always collecting ideas
    Declaring along the way
    Everything must change

  112. lsteadly

    These Days

    If you don’t twitter on about
    the latest celebrity or even like it
    you can always check out Facebook
    to catch up and find a funny
    meme jabbing at what-ev
    and if you didn’t write a blog
    or even occupy Wall Street
    maybe you danced the Harlem Shake
    at your mile high priced university
    where your roomies twert instead
    of waltz or even tango with breaking
    news but what did the Fox say
    about world Hunger or the wrecking ball
    of BP oil # USwoes on your not
    so smart phone and I bet you
    will find there’s an app for that

  113. carolecole66

    Miss Appropriation

    Dream catchers decorate my rooms,
    one dangles from my rearview mirror
    (don’t think about the logic here.)
    I built a sweat lodge in my yard;
    peyote helped illuminate my spirit guide,
    (the wolf quite naturally).
    I keep close to my native roots
    My great great gram was Cherokee,
    (one eighth, or so). And, too, I wear
    the Hindu om and Shiva as my charms.
    I throw the I Ching daily. I’ve thought
    of getting face tattoos. Maori symbols
    turn me on. I dig the rappers, speak
    great jive. My greatest prize, though,
    I acquired on Amazon, a bobble head
    Buddha, plastic and fat. He nods
    approval all day long. I feel I’m near


  114. cbwentworth

    Just like Elena,
    I cannot resist
    Stefan’s heart of gold,
    Damon’s bad boy charm
    Stuck in the middle
    of vampire brothers

    Werewolves and witches,
    no one ever dies
    Grimoires of old spells,
    resurrect old ghosts
    A stake through the heart
    doesn’t kill, just hurts

    Vampire diaries,
    kept by a ripper
    The love of one girl,
    tears kinship apart
    And let’s not forget
    swoon-worthy hotties

    – – –

    C.B. Wentworth

  115. Scott Jacobson


    She was searching the internet
    for a friend, but ended up on a dating site
    dedicated to losers. Mistakes were taken
    down randomly then put back up
    in legalese stating that they were now features.
    She ends up married to a failed actor
    until he trades her in for a cousin
    of a Kardasian. If only she had more
    medication she would need less love
    says the anti-depression commercial,
    then the next one tells her that she
    just need more bacon. The clock skips
    forward as she plays an endless game
    of online video poker. Sighing helps her loss,
    but the body begs for companionship.
    So she buys a kitten. Then buys more
    kittens. She photographs them with cute
    sayings and posts them on the internet.
    She starts selling LOL-kitten merchandise.
    She becomes rich and famous and starts
    dating a friend of George Clooney.
    During a TED talk about first internet
    experiences she describes hers as
    “magical – it was love at first search.”

  116. acele

    Pop Culture Defined

    pop = “to make a light explosive sound”

    culture = “the arts and other
    manifestations of human intellectual
    achievement regarded collectively.”

    pop = “go somewhere,
    typically for a short time and
    often without notice.”

    culture = “the cultivation of bacteria,
    tissue cells, etc., in an artificial
    medium containing nutrients.”

    pop culture = a light, explosive
    sound that goes somewhere
    for a short time, cultivated in an
    artificial medium, often
    not noticed or regarded
    within the realm of arts and other
    manifestations of human intellectual achievement.

    A. Cele

  117. Nancy Posey

    Observations from the Oldest Student in the Community College Art Class

    Harvard on the Highway we call it,
    the mismatched clump of buildings,
    architectural artifacts of fifty years,
    but art class meets in a Quonset hut,
    metal walls, leaky ceiling, garage door,
    and a couple of make-do sinks, where
    twice a week– the fastest three hours–
    I join a dwindling number of kids—
    I know they’d hate to hear me call
    them that—most showing up only
    if nothing more important beckons.
    Lunch, for instance. Having honed
    my invisibility skills playing taxi driver
    for my own kids—now grown men
    and women themselves—I mind my
    own business, etching, inking, cleaning
    up my work station, and I listen.
    Most days, they hardly notice I’m here,
    taking in their chatter, the debatable
    merits of Taylor Swift, Justin Bieber,
    90s retro music. They share sketches
    of their first—or next—tattoo—Tweety
    Bird or that same big-eyed Manga kid.
    I know better than to mock; after all,
    we had Bobbie Sherman, hot pants,
    Rod McKuen and Love Is…cartoons.
    Even our art—and we do call it that—
    has yet to stand the test of time,
    the one test with no answer key.

  118. elishevasmom

    That’s Just the Way It Is
    (A mirror fib)

    matter just
    which generation
    you are talking about. Elders
    always think that the ‘pop culture’ of their children will
    bring the world to a fell and un-
    timely end. They just
    don’t seem to

    Ellen Evans

  119. laurie kolp

    SELFIE Snafu

    Get over yourself
    E, the vanity snapping
    pictures left & right,
    here I am, look at eM
    Eeee with Spider Man,
    his tongue stuck out
    in Miley style, my lips
    a puckered pose, eyes
    wider than a pop-POP!
    LOL, bluish balloon
    photo bombing face
    flash of white & rubber
    lick, a stick of bubble
    gum—how’s that one
    for a super selfie pose
    to post on Instagram?

  120. susanjer

    Katniss Everdeen Appears on Rachel Ray’s
    30 Minute Meals

    Let me introduce Katniss Everdeen who will share
    with us a super squirrel dish you can make in your
    own kitchen.

    Rachel, today squirrel fricassee is on the menu.
    Since, we’ve only got 30 minutes I’ll just mention
    that all my squirrels are wild harvested. It makes

    all the difference. I prefer snare caught over bow-
    and-arrow game. Also, acorn-fed squirrels
    have a superior flavor to animals who pig

    out in a farmer’s corn field, although I will say,
    they are generally nice and plump.
    Avoid at all costs big city squirrels.

    Their diets are heavy on carbs and fast food.
    You will pick up the flavor of car exhaust
    and other noxious chemicals.

    At the edge of a small town? If you’re hungry
    go for it, but boreal is best in my opinion.
    More complete harvesting instructions—

    including an illustrated guide to skinning, etc.—
    appear in my newest book Living on the Land:
    A Cookbook from District 12 which is available

    online in hard cover and e-book versions
    at Amazon.com or my web site where I donate
    a percentage of sales to orphaned squirrels.

    Cut the carcass into pieces like so and . . .

  121. BDP

    “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
    By any other name would smell as sweet.”



    “Elizabethan Pop”

    What’s with you, Will? You’re always “roses this”
    and “roses that.” I’m asking, do you pace the trend
    or are you following with talk of bliss
    and bloom, blush youth against a thorny end?
    Well, Marlowe’s had a shrub named after him,
    the petals churn red-orange-salmon-pink,
    a tavern brawl of hues. He helped you pen
    some early plays, I’ve heard. I do not think,
    though, he’s the reason Juliet fake-drinks
    her deadly brew. Your roses skew the plot,
    the swooning over sweetness, what a stink
    you make of love! The problem with things “pop.”

    You’ve overused—a lot. Your blood, scent, flame,
    just gimmicks, stay on top, the price of fame.

    –Barb Peters

  122. beachanny

    Love Song to Dancing with the (Ice) Stars

    At nine the score to Skater’s Waltz appealed
    to me with Sonja’s photo gracing it.
    I could not guess I would insinuate
    myself into that complex and crazy world,
    that I would bear a child obsessed to skate.
    That this ice discipline would join with dance
    as well, would have both shocked and puzzled me.

    But after thirty years I’m hooked!
    Therefore I was delighted when Davis
    and White won their Olympic Golds and then
    became contestants on that dancing show
    because their young dance choreographer
    enticed the couple to the ballroom floor.

    Already fans of both The Voice and Danc-
    ing with the Stars, my friend and I must choose
    each Monday night which show to watch and which
    record – the agonizing wait to find
    which singers will survive and learn the scores
    for Meryl Davis and for Charlie White.
    It’s really fun to see all that creativity!

    © Gay Reiser Cannon * 4.17.14

  123. Zart_is

    Zombie Pop

    So, on my way home,
    Blue Oyster Cult on the radio
    hearing the cowbell part
    I glanced over to see
    what the cows in the field were up to
    thought I saw a cow eating a person
    it looked like a person
    stretched out on the ground
    the cow munching about
    where the belly would be.
    Now mind you, I was driving,
    so, it was only a quick glance
    and it was a long day, I was tired.
    But here’s the thing, my first thought
    was “No, cows are herbivores,
    They wouldn’t eat people.” However
    my second thought was “Unless
    they are zombie cows!” Perhaps
    I should fear the reaper
    or stop watching the Walking Dead.

  124. jean

    Clerihews for the Seven Deadly Sins Portrayed in Spongebob Squarepants

    Squidward: Wrath —
    Squidward’s ire scales the heights
    For each infraction of his rights.
    His angry pleasure, a bayonet
    While practicing his clarinet

    Sandy Cheeks: Pride —
    A boastful Texan is Sandy Cheeks.
    She is anything but meek.
    Her ambitions drive her far,
    A squirrel girl diver in a jar.

    Gary: Gluttony —
    Gary makes a slimy track
    Ever searching for his next snack.
    His appetite is clearly ravenous,
    Even in the pineapple cavernous.

    Mr. Krabs: Greed —
    Greedy, stingy Mr. Krabs
    Every nickel, quickly grabs.
    Tightfisted claws, he’ll not unfurl.
    A whale as daughter? Whence comes Pearl?

    Patrick: Sloth —
    Sleeping splayed behind his boulder
    As his mind proceeds to moulder
    Though affable, Patrick’s drowsy.
    His help is simply always lousy.

    Plankton: Envy —
    To have it all, Plankton does want
    The recipe, the restaurant
    Every little thing to covet
    With no capacity to love it

    Spongbob: Lust —
    To love so full AND aimlessly,
    Gone overboard so shamelessly,
    For everything, his heart doth throb
    ‘Tis the sin of our Spongebob!

  125. Michelle Murrish

    Celebrity Crush

    By Michelle Murrish

    26 years my senior meant nothing to me
    I never had an eye for J.T.T.
    Devon Sawa from Casper was not my scene
    I was too busy watching Apollo 13
    He was Footloose and fancy free
    With the He Said, She Said, he had me
    My One and Only, he’ll always shine,
    I’ll always have room in this heart of mine
    If there’s just one thing I’m certain of
    Is Kevin Bacon and his Crazy, Stupid, Love

  126. bethwk

    Talkin’ ‘Bout a Revolution
    by Elizabeth Weaver-Kreider

    See, the Revolution just isn’t revolving
    because we don’t seem to be evolving
    past the days of women’s bodies on a platter.

    And you say, “What does it matter?
    Miley makes her money,
    leaves ‘em groaning in the aisles.
    She’s all smiles when she’s taking it to the bank.
    She’s taking charge of her sexuality.
    Isn’t that the reality you longed for?”

    You want me to add some clarity?
    Yes, Miley, she’s sort of the epitome of what I’m saying.
    A naked lady on a wrecking ball?
    Is that where feminism goes today? Is it all
    we fought for? All we marched and sang for?

    Is this the new face of free agency?
    Is it really Miley’s art, or the sexualized,
    the monetized dreams of some of fart,
    some dirty-minded, soul-soiled fat cat
    who tells her she’s more free
    on this golden leash he gives her
    while he’s taking his percentage
    like a greedy pimp?

    “Baby, this is what women’s lib looks like today.
    You’ve come such a long, long way.”

    I say it’s all designed to blind us
    to the rank disparity in gender equality,
    to sing to sleep our feeling
    of outrage at that old glass ceiling.

    What does it say about the culture,
    when the only place her earnings
    outstrip his is when she sells her body
    to fulfill his yearnings?
    When her only real earning power
    is in the photoshopped shape
    of her body?

    It’s not about being a Puritan or prude.
    For instance, I don’t see much distance
    between Miley’s agent dude
    and his sanctimonious twin
    who considers femaleness a sin,
    who’d keep women safely stowed inside
    away from the roving eyes
    of men who can’t take responsibility
    for their wayward impulsive sexuality.
    Who believes that sexual assault
    is half consensual, half her fault–
    all for the sin of being female.

    There’s one name for both, a single key
    for that door: it’s name is Patriarchy.

    I don’t think this pickle we’re in
    is Miley’s or Lindsay’s or Britney’s fault.
    They’re just as wrapped up, just as caught
    in this chaotic nonsense as the rest of us.
    But if we don’t keep our goals in sight,
    this Revolution will go down with the best of us.

  127. Lori D. Laird

    Too Old To Play

    You’re finally showing your true colors.
    I thought I knew you.
    But you’ve fallen into the trap
    of a vicious and hateful shrew.

    You’d rather give into pop culture
    and play little kid games
    than to stand up for yourself
    and quit trying to slander my name.

    You’re supposed to be indifferent.
    Not show me your hatred.
    Surely I don’t pose that big a threat
    to the spiteful woman who shares your bed.

    But if I do then I have news.
    You can no longer hurt me.
    The story has been leaked.
    I’ve paid my dues.

    I feel sorry for you though.
    You’re being led around by the nose.
    You’ve given into society’s trend.
    That’s the way life goes.

    Bluer skies are in store for me.
    I don’t play with people or emotions.
    So say hello to Poseidon for me
    when you sink to the bottom of your man-made ocean.

  128. Michele Brenton

    Bad Wolf
    You lot;
    You spend all your time thinking about dying.
    Hold that one down.
    It’s not twelve hours, it’s twelve months.
    Oy. You want aliens?
    You’ve got them.
    They’re inside Downing Street.
    Don’t know.
    Some kind of signal drawing the TARDIS off course.
    So, it’s two hundred thousand,
    it’s a spaceship – no wait a minute – space station…
    Where’s this come from all of a sudden?
    It’s mauve.
    How was your con supposed to work?
    Here comes trouble.
    Can’t open it.
    Rose get down.
    Here we are then.
    It’s the year five billion and twenty three,
    we’re in the galaxy M87
    and this, this is New Earth.
    For the late 1970s you’d be better off in a bin bag.

    So, physics.
    Physics, eh?
    Nah. Nothing here.
    Well nothing dangerous.
    And that weird Munchkin lady with the big eye!
    D’you remember the way she looked at you?
    No sorry I’m fine.
    Here boy.
    Eat the food.
    Look at the lovely food.
    Isn’t it nice?
    I had a passing fancy.
    Only it didn’t pass it stopped.
    I don’t know!
    I’ll find her.
    I said, ‘Rose Tyler.’
    Does it need saying?
    Tell you what.
    I bet you’re going to have a really great year.

    Michele Brenton 17th April 2014.

    This is a found poem made up of the first words spoken by the Doctor in the episodes he appears in with Rose Tyler as his main companion during seasons 1 and 2 apart from the last two episodes from season 4 from which I have taken the last words he spoke directly to Rose when she had guest appearances.

    The episodes (including Christmas Specials) I used:

    Rose. The End of the World. The Unquiet Dead. Aliens of London. World War Three. Dalek. The Long Game. Father’ s Day. The Empty Child. The Doctor Dances Boom Town. Bad Wolf. Parting of the Ways. The Christmas Invasion.New Earth.
    Tooth and Claw. School Reunion. The Girl in the Fireplace. The Rise of the Cybermen. The Age of Steel. The Idiot’s Lantern. The Impossible Planet .The Satan Pit. Love and Monsters. Fear Her. Army of Ghosts. Doomsday. Journey’s End. The End of Time.

  129. Kendall A. Bell

    Less than 120 Minutes of Alternative

    It took some time for me to figure
    out that the Seether was Louise,
    that Feed The Tree meant dying.
    I still don’t know who Ezra is.
    The Pixies’ gigantic, big, big love
    ended up spawning a cannonball,
    and no one is cooler than Kim Deal,
    though it was sad when they went
    silent after her twin sister went
    into rehab. I never thought she’d
    be a junkie because heroin is so
    passe. To this day, I’m only happy
    when it rains and naturally lonely
    and dreaming of the west coast.
    There’s more to say, but you just
    don’t get it, you keep it copacetic.
    At this point, I have nothing to
    offer but confusion and the circus
    in my head in the middle of the bed,
    in the middle of the night. You
    probably don’t get that, but I knew
    what Kristin was talking about.
    I’m just happy I found a girl who
    thinks really deep thoughts,
    especially when I’m thinking about
    sex and candy. Well, I’d better get
    out of here. I think the roof is
    on fire, but I’m going to let the
    motherfucker burn. Burn motherfucker,

  130. DanielAri


    at least since Elvis crapped out and probably long before,
    stardom’s been a swimming pool of gold and alligators. If
    I saw the eyes looking at me, I’d get out or at least stick
    to the shallow end. As the sharks of cultural Darwinism,
    we can’t localize our appetite for Justin, now he’s sinking.
    I mean I’ve been rolling my eyes at the bleeding squirt since
    Alice’s best friend Marcy, who loves entertainment gossip,
    first told me about it, otherwise I wouldn’t have given him
    any notice—but now, I’ve got an incisor out, too, to press
    into his bloated success. We aren’t cruel, and that’s why
    it’s dumb to fight or even apologize. If you’re going to dive
    or find yourself in there somehow, once a limb gets bit off,
    cut your loss and go teach P.E. at some junior high school.


  131. Gammelor

    For today’s prompt, write a pop culture poem.

    UFO Distributes News Headlines!
    (Details Below)

    Gwyneth Names Triplets Anjou, Bosch, Bartlett!
    Bieber Shaves Head!
    Miley Wears Burqas!
    See Grumpy Cat Smile!
    Rick Astley Wins 14th Grammy!
    Jimmy Hoffa Found in Egyptian Pyramid!
    80-Year-Old Dates James Franco!
    Gammelor Goodenow Writes Real Poem!

    Gammelor Goodenow

  132. diedre Knight


    The songs of my daughter’s ringtone:
    Stevie (my fave) and Tom Petty
    Have I been assigned on this phone?
    It better not be Black Betty!
    She loves it when Speedwagon calls,
    they chatter for hours on end.
    But if it’s dear Toby, she stalls;
    pretends to be busy instead.
    I had to know, it tortured me so,
    what she had chosen for me
    so I ventured a call—and what do you know!
    Steve Perry sang “Faithfully”

    diedre Knight

  133. diedre Knight

    What’s Next?

    How do we gauge our victories
    when everyone wins a lollipop?
    How can we teach integrity
    when duplicity streams on laptops?
    How do we teach them manners,
    with discipline illegal?
    While meddling public planners
    live on pills and needles.
    In endless self-absorption
    We ‘tolerate’ in text;
    heedless of distortions.
    But what is coming next?

    diedre Knight

  134. Deri

    Popped Culture

    I try to be hip and cool
    keepin’ up with the lingo
    because YOLO, ya know?
    But I get lost in the crowd
    and the swarm of tv shows
    I’m supposed to be watching
    and which pop star licked what
    this week, every other status
    a pop culture reference
    I don’t understand.
    I don’t know nothing about
    your Walter Whites
    or what color is the new black
    and the line dances at the bar
    make no sense to me
    but I try to keep up
    and I fake it pretty well
    until the latest thing comes along
    and I stumble like I’ve just gotten
    an arrow to the knee

  135. creilley

    Most televisions are great,
    I think it is a truly cool invention
    But yesterday mine had a problem
    I feel I really ought to mention.

    Something strange was occurring
    And for a while I was truly Lost
    Let me tell you about the awful day
    The TV Channels crossed.

    I was settled in, my popcorn bowl
    And soft drink by my side.
    Watching Pam & Jim in re-runs
    Flirting while trying to decide.

    When suddenly and quietly
    And right out of the blue
    Earl, Joy and Randy walked on-set,
    Then even Darnell too.

    They asked if this was Smallville,
    Where Lex Luthor could be found.
    But before Jim or Pam could answer,
    Dwight Shrute spun his body around

    And shouted “No Deal Howie!”
    With a dance move that earned him solid scores
    From the three judges that were found
    To be sitting behind Michael’s office doors.

    I knew that this was something odd,
    for there was no more laugh track.
    And parts of it were in color,
    and others were white and black.

    The cable box said 666
    and I knew that couldn’t be good.
    I couldn’t tear my eyes away,
    although I knew I should.

    The scene dissolved with a hollow knock
    and then we were in court.
    Trailer park rejects confessed and brawled
    before the judge’s bench as sport.

    Sam Watterson and James Spader
    argued a case which only confused
    While the camera noticed four New York women
    drinking Cosmos in trendy shoes.

    Evidence was presented
    as funny videos with narration.
    While the courtroom awaited
    who would be fired with great anticipation.

    Forensics never lie, we were all told,
    and then we were shown the proof
    Of a dimwitted husband lying,
    then his wife finding out and hitting the roof.

    The judge – with Leno’s jaw and Dave’s toothy gap,
    Conan’s hair over Kimmel’s nose –
    Had the models opening briefcases
    until he gave the last girl a single rose.

    The scene dissolved once more
    to show soldiers overtaking a hill.
    Where Jack and Karen watched and laughed
    as Grace chased a flaming Will.

    I was getting dizzy and sick
    from the pop culture attack on my senses.
    I have watched TV daily, since I was nine,
    so I had no natural defenses.

    Every show I had watched was on all at once,
    from F-Troop to Kojak and more.
    I saw Muppets and monsters, Fonzie
    and even Arnold the pig with Eva Gabor.

    My mind was reeling from the onslaught
    I stabbed wildly at the remote.
    I had to escape the TV shows
    Baretta said that was all she wrote.

    Until I fell off of the couch
    My popcorn bowl got tossed,
    And that is what what happened
    The Night the TV channels got crossed.

  136. Rosemary Nissen-Wade

    Alternate Realities

    When my sons were young
    and annoying,
    I’d stomp around the house
    crying, in that harsh, metallic voice:
    They didn’t laugh.
    (Just rolled their eyes and scoffed.)

    Now those boys are long ago
    grown and gone.
    I have the house all to myself
    except for my pets.
    The cats are sweet;
    they never get jealous
    when I kiss my baby dragons.

  137. hojawile

    Boxed in















    Is this gnarly mess still a Slinky?

  138. rachelgrace

    From Marr to Morrissey

    Alone on a grey evening
    You fill my senses with welcome
    A warm familiar melancholy shared through words
    Images fall from days past and yet to come
    You whisper “I know it’s gonna happen someday. Don’t lose faith.”
    When I saw you there under the spotlight of fame
    You were singing to a lonely crowd of one

  139. Margaret Benison

    Lost iPhone

    Where is my iPhone?
    I seem to have lost it
    amidst the mad crowd
    at Rihana’s concert
    I can’t lose my phone!
    How will I ever post
    the photos I took
    on instagram, twitter and Facebook?
    How will anyone believe
    that I have done what I had done
    and seen what I had seen?
    When will I ever have another
    chance to take such selfies
    where my nose looks flawless
    and behind me Rihana’s dancing
    to the beats of her hits?
    Then came Beyoncé…
    Oh, the horror,
    mortification and terror
    Won’t somebody shoot me dead
    I wish I had amnesia instead!

  140. Delaina Miller

    Pop Culture On Loan

    This is not The Philosophy of Andy Warhol
    or a Zombie Apocalypse.
    Card catalogues, a thing of the past
    you won’t need to crack The Da Vinci Code
    to find Where the Girls Are
    or understand what Feminism and Pop Culture
    are about. You might try The Hunger Games
    to understand all that, but don’t read it at Twilight
    with the lights off, or Alone.
    If music is more your thing
    there is High Fidelity
    though our LPs are now CDs and MP3s.
    You’ll need a card to check out Steve Jobs,
    but a membership to Fight Club
    is not required. We won’t even mind
    that you use a PC to play Candy Crush.
    Remember in this Fast Food Nation
    of Freakonomics
    and Bossy Pants
    there are always The Perks of Being a Wallflower
    at your public library. The magic we want to see
    in the stacks is Harry Potter the College Years.

  141. Mustang Sal

    Magic Kingdom

    Take me to Fantasyland.
    Let’s skip up Main Street
    to the castle.

    Dis-norm me.
    Transform me.

    Invite me to be Belle’s guest,
    dancing candlesticks,
    singing teapots.

    Take me on a magic carpet
    where even elephants can fly
    a ring around a small world.

    Let me live happily ever after
    with or without Prince Charming.
    I’ve gone and saved the best for last.

  142. lina

    I Saw a Fellini Movie

    Last night I saw a Fellini movie
    about a prostitute named Cabiria
    who was pushed into a river
    by a man who stole her purse.
    A famous actor picked her up
    and took her dancing.
    Then a man who gave charity
    blankets and food
    to people living in caves
    gave her a ride to the city.
    Cabiria lived alone in
    a concrete house
    in the middle of a barren field
    but it was hers.
    She was so proud of her house.
    People pushed her around,
    ignored her,
    laughed at her,
    hurt her.
    Laughed with her.
    She danced some more.
    Her life wasn’t
    and it was
    so tragic.
    I do not want to watch
    TV for a week.
    I want to remember her face.

  143. AleathiaD


    I always wanted
    to be a Goonie
    drenched in their
    loyalty until
    the bitter end
    no matter how crazy
    or stupid or dangerous
    it would wind up.

    I would have
    those comrades
    up against my back
    seeking out
    the euphemisms
    for buried treasure
    to save old friendships
    more than our
    material futures.

    As an adult
    I still long for that
    but have moved on to LOST—
    a grown-ups version
    of an old school favorite
    only deeper and more spiritual.

    Life isn’t as exciting
    in reality—there is no chase
    for Chester Copperpot,
    no mysterious shroud of Jacob.

    Aleathia Drehmer 2014
    April 11 Pop Culture

  144. Gwyvian


    She wavers back and forth
    a reed in black water, ruffled
    meditation interrupted by shivers
    soda fizzing, blending with
    the white noise… the soda
    is cool on her forehead, she thinks
    of what it’s good for: she drinks
    and tries to feel the goodness,
    happiness, family perfection
    but out in the dark night on a bench
    alone and staring at the streetlamp,
    the grass, the lamp, the road, the lamp
    she sees nothing of that…
    she wavers and walks to the docks
    to watch the dark water ripple softly
    the thrum of buses crossing the bridge
    vibrating into her thoughts, she
    is interrupted by an emotion:
    the city diving into nightlife
    brief noise of disco permeating,
    distorting as cars go by one by one
    yet she… feels it, at last
    the soda high: she’s connected
    and significant
    down there
    a thin reed, wavering
    at the edge of the docks…

    April 17, 2014

    By: Lucy K. Melocco

  145. Domino

    Pop Culture

    Corn pops, making it a fluffy treat with
    little substance. Carbonation makes sweet
    drinks fizz and pop. Blown soap bubbles fly free,
    and are destroyed with a touch. People can’t
    live on popcorn and colas and blowing
    bubbles. We need substance in our lives to
    thrive, to do more than simply survive. Pop
    culture distracts with glitter and shine and
    flashing lights, and underneath is nothing
    more than an illusion of reality.

    Diana Terrill Clark

  146. Reynard

    let’s celebarate the holidays together
    me on my iPad you on your
    Samsung galaxy note
    the kids are stuck with Kindle fires
    and I see grandpa on a laptop
    (isn’t he old)
    we can do a selfie and upload it
    don’t worry about saying hello
    then we can play candy crush
    or enjoy an angry bird game
    we won’t even have to speak
    or look at each other
    if I want to know how you liked
    the thanksgiving turkey
    (is it grandma’s recipe- its best
    no it found it on pintrest)
    I can read about it online
    if I want to see your kids hunt
    easter eggs I’ll watch your vine
    Christmas presents are better
    when I’m reading yahoo news
    after the unwrapping is through
    post it and I’ll follow you
    we can be in the same room
    and not even know or care
    today’s modern world-
    I’ll never see you there
    but we can be friends on facebook
    send me your youtube I’ll take a look
    just don’t ask me in person
    I’m tweeting and don’t have time to speak

  147. MaryAnn1067

    Unvarnished Reality

    spare me your
    unvarnished realities,
    the truths better left
    in your bedroom, behind
    closed doors, the
    unfortunate phrases, the
    furrowed brows, the
    mouths spewing forth
    derision, hate, discourtesies,
    your craven concern with
    disappear, please

  148. Roderick Bates

    Reservoir Dogs

    by Roderick Bates

    My wife wonders why I would buy
    a third copy of the film when I already
    have one DVD and a Blue Ray.

    It was marketed in a red and yellow
    tin replica of a gas can.
    How could I say no?

  149. jakkels

    Culture Vulture
    Rap it do da 

    Rap it day 

    Don’t need to try sing 

    If you rap it away 

    Inane and egotistic 

    With swearing and more 

    F-words are sure now 

    To cool out your score.   

    Cover me slowly 

    Cover me fast 

    Add bells and whistles too 

    Say my songs were ment to last 

    To fill your pocket too     

    Goth, what we got here 

    A funeral dressing style. 

    My heart bleeds with passionate empathy, 

    The Emo nymph declared. 

    Don’t be yourself it’s so dinosaur 

    Become a caricature it’so more. 

    and on and on and on and on 

    Let fashion dictate your fundamental song.

  150. Brian Slusher

    1. Short for “casual” and 2. Short for “Cool as shit”—Urban Dictionary

    The shirt was demoralized: Bodywear Daily headlined with “How Are the Might-Tee Fallen?” The apotheosis of the selfie, ogling the eyes, lips, erasing the shirt except for maybe a sliver of collar, the torso abruptly passé. The shirt was reeling, after being the Billboard of Generations, texting from augmented breasts the latest communiqués from Popland: Have a Nice Day, These Colors Don’t Run, Keep Calm and Carry On. Now it was LOL DOA, the shirt an ex-sitcom child-star with five facelifts down and no realty show deal. And the shirt had tried tight, tighter, baggy, protracted to the edge of being a dress, mesh, sleeveless, torn, midriff-minus, but the glory days of Miami-pink beneath a tailored jacket or the retro-rebel in a plain white tee, pack of cigs rolled in the sleeve, were history. I used to be so cas the shirt whispered as it disheveled onto the floor Now my only hope is to go digital.

  151. PKpoet

    Poem A Day: Pop Culture Poem Day 17

    Heard on the news and on the feed, Dash.
    Oh yes. Kardashians wear plastics crowns.
    Across from the bank, it’s coming to town.
    Saffron leather shoes and pink Taffeta gowns.

    If only real women could fit the sizes at Dash.
    The owners seem superficial without class.
    Across from the bank, it’s coming to town.

    But some minds only know one thing. That’s cash.
    Here, on the page. To dash or a certain frown.
    Saffron leather shoes and pink Taffeta gowns.

    No. Stop is about all I can ask. Please, No Dash.
    Oh! The Kardashians will push that stash.
    Saffron leather shoes and pink Taffeta gowns.

    I’d rather we built a new playground
    Or a community garden for musical sounds.
    Across from the bank, it’s coming to town.
    Saffron leather shoes and pink Taffeta gowns.

  152. elysebrownell

    Harry Connick Jr.
    Elyse Brownell

    We notice these things you do
    on the stage when you think all eyes are
    on JLo or Keith or anything else in the room

    You pull out JLo’s chair, touch the hands of the fans,
    crack jokes, take selfies, tell silly stories about your wife—
    which only proves how much you love her,

    how much you’re a good husband, you tweet
    about your daughter, about her birthday, about her beauty
    and when you sang “One Fine Thing” so clearly about your wife

    every man’s chance at making their wife happy that night
    was completely ruined by your lyrics and by your heart
    Harry, if every person was as honest and genuine

    as you were, we might not be at war, we might not
    have road rage, we might not forget to tell our loved
    ones how much we love them every day.

    You tell the contestants you don’t stand up for anyone
    but your smile deserves a standing ovation, when you
    slyly tell them to clap on the 2 and 4, when you appreciate

    a performer ending their song in the 9, when you call them
    out on singing consistently sharp throughout their whole
    performance, when you lecture them on the importance of

    singing in tune, something that seems so obvious, but that
    week after week you have to remind them, and finally
    when you look into the camera and say things like this:

    I went to the bar and got drunk
    because nobody knew who I was

    Well Harry, they do now,
    But I guarantee you’ll continue
    to stay humble, sweet, kind, and honest.

  153. nmbell

    Not a Fan

    I am so not a fan of Pop Culture
    Lady Gaga and her outfits aren’t cool
    They’re kinda pathetic
    Like she’s afraid to show the world who she really is

    Twerking is not only sad but offensive as well
    No matter how toned your body is
    Or how ‘hot’ you think you are
    The world really doesn’t need to see
    Miley Cyrus rubbing up against someone else’s husband

    It’s not music
    It’s not art
    It’s not acting
    It’s a desperate cry for attention
    Holding true to the old adage
    Any attention is good attention

    I am so not a fan of Pop Culture

    Nancy Bell 2014

  154. Joseph Harker

    Meditation (On the Parole of Michael Alig)

    I read today that Michael Alig is due to be released
    twenty years after he maybe– or maybe not– poured
    Dran-o down his dealer’s mouth, then taped it closed,
    and I don’t know what to think about it. In college,
    we watched Party Monster, Macaulay Culkin vamping
    petulant through every scene, and we craved nothing but
    glitterbombs, lipstick, leather, black electric tape, pills, feathers.
    Even I shook my ass at the Limelight in those days,
    after it changed its name, and Alig had been caught, and
    Keoki was long gone– but you couldn’t get away from the stories
    squirted onto those walls and rubbed into the paint.
    There is gossip in the corners of every dim cathedral.
    But we tend to skip those episodes of the patron saints of
    live fast,
    die hard
    where they frack the futures out their veins
    with a syringe of white haze. “Money, success, fame, glamour.”
    chants the wunderkind before he self-destructs: that was
    all we wanted. Once I kissed a man who had been friends
    with Alig before all the tabloid drama, the drugs and the murder,
    who said he’d been a good friend. Such a sweet kid;
    and look what happens to sweet kids. I wonder how many
    friends of mine saw the movie right when they needed a hero,
    suburban misfits rootless in the city following one of their own,
    tiptoeing along the edge of the opiate brink. All I ever needed–
    really needed– was space to think. Like I do when I try
    working out the problem of Michael Alig walking free:
    twenty years for manslaughter seems more than enough,
    but I cling to my generation. And I see him lifting his arms,
    embracing my kind for a selfie at the precipice just before–
    they didn’t mean to– they all jump off.

    1. Joseph Harker

      Grah. Italics messed up, better version here:

      Meditation (On the Parole of Michael Alig)

      I read today that Michael Alig is due to be released
      twenty years after he maybe– or maybe not– poured
      Dran-o down his dealer’s mouth, then taped it closed,
      and I don’t know what to think about it. In college,
      we watched Party Monster, Macaulay Culkin vamping
      petulant through every scene, and we craved nothing but
      glitterbombs, lipstick, leather, black electric tape, pills, feathers.
      Even I shook my ass at the Limelight in those days,
      after it changed its name, and Alig had been caught, and
      Keoki was long gone– but you couldn’t get away from the stories
      squirted onto those walls and rubbed into the paint.
      There is gossip in the corners of every dim cathedral.
      But we skip over those episodes of the patron saints of live fast,
      die hard
      where they frack the futures out their veins
      with a syringe of white haze. “Money, success, fame, glamour.”
      chants the wunderkind before he self-destructs: that was
      all we wanted. Once I kissed a man who had been friends
      with Alig before all the tabloid drama, the drugs and the murder,
      who said he’d been a good friend. Such a sweet kid;
      and look what happens to sweet kids. I wonder how many
      friends of mine saw the movie right when they needed a hero,
      suburban misfits rootless in the city following one of their own,
      tiptoeing along the edge of the opiate brink. All I ever needed–
      really needed– was space to think. Like I do when I try
      working out the problem of Michael Alig walking free:
      twenty years for manslaughter seems more than enough,
      but I cling to my generation. And I see him lifting his arms,
      embracing my kind for a selfie at the precipice just before–
      they didn’t mean to– they all jump off.

  155. mfitts847@gmail.com

    And The Winner Is
    By: Marie H. Fitts

    Is it a shame what Hollywood has become
    Has stardom ruined the bright minds of our young
    Where is the talent in all its glory
    That won’t stoop to foul language to tell its story

    Pop artists and rappers weave masterful tales
    “Wrecking ball” havoc…just for the sales
    Record execs clamor over the latest ingenue
    Will she succumb to debauchery too

    Where are the young actors like Hepburn and Gable
    That took us to places our feet weren’t able
    Is nothing ever left to the imagination
    Flesh exposed on every prime time station

    Are our morals twisted and is society hell-bent
    Is there anything left with a valued content
    The new Country artist says go smoke a joint
    And follow your arrow wherever it points

    But who will stand up for what is right
    Turn off the channel and say good night
    To this so-called “entertainment” they’re feeding you and me
    Have we become immune to all that we see

    When the spotlight dims
    And the envelope rips
    Do you really care
    Who the winner is

    A bitter pill is
    Hard to swallow
    If it’s fed to your mind
    Your heart will follow

  156. elysebrownell

    Whitney Houston
    Elyse Brownell

    I remember standing on my
    living room table and belting out
    “I will always love you” at a young age

    your voice still follows me
    on the days when I am alone and thinking
    about anything but being alone

    like this poem, this song is an elegy
    to the person you lost, to the person
    who left you, to the person you once loved

    but I never knew you, never met you,
    never even read anything about you,
    other than that time(s) with Bobby Brown

    other than when you were found dead
    in your bathtub and the coroner ruled
    it as accidental drowning

    Is there any other kind of drowning?
    Suite 434, Beverly Hilton Hotel, your
    white corpse floating, toxicity of your body

    the dust pinned you down, you heart couldn’t handle it.
    I touch water and wonder about your lungs
    how quickly they filled, how discreet and silent

    your last breath was, how you felt,
    just like in the song, you’re not what
    we need and you went, just like you promised.

  157. LaurelRose

    On Facebook: A haiku sequence

    Sometimes I just want
    Zuckerberg to see my face
    without screen between.

    I want to feel our
    laughter erupt. Reaction
    with sudden smiles.

    And, in time we will
    see our bodies share moments like
    time is not watching.

  158. Janet Rice Carnahan


    Short sound bites
    On the fly nights

    Quick phrases
    Dodging happening mazes

    Throwing words over the shoulder
    Face to face, if bolder

    Music clips sound known
    What childhood, they’re grown

    Where’s your clean shirt?
    Do you even call that a skirt?

    No, really this is cool,
    Everyone has one at school

    He understood, didn’t have to linger
    He knows what I meant, using this finger

    A selfie isn’t something bad
    In a snap it’s the time we had

    I PAD and IPHONE
    You know when I’ll be home

    I text quick and then I look,
    What do you mean by textbook?

    Since when does ‘wha’ – not have a ‘t’?
    It works, look around and see

    This is the way we now walk
    This is currently how we talk

    If you remember you in the day
    You had different things to say

    Back then you knew what was hip
    Now you might break one if you slip

    Track our culture and you’ll grow
    This, too, is cool just so you know . . .

    Later, I gotta go!

  159. Janet Rice Carnahan


    What does culturally pop?
    Must have voice
    Otherwise growth stops
    If we stifle choice

    Music carries a certain beat
    Different variations of a theme
    We still want to move our feet
    To best new sounds, it seems

    Clothing styles shift and change
    Keeping us in current fashion
    Silky velvet fabrics, stylish to mange
    Fresh colors let stores cash in

    Hip new words to flash and speak
    Push us to greater communication
    Zipping us in and out all week
    Onto the next innovation

    Hair styles, short and long
    Curly, burly, surly
    Helping us feel we belong
    Whether extra manly or girly

    Food develops a new taste
    Made for faster grab and go
    Conscious effort, no haste
    Healthier lifestyles continue to grow

    Driving us along, the wave of youth
    Moving us all to quicker speeds
    Recognizing a greater truth
    Meeting newly developed needs

    Maybe it is best if we just embrace
    Current fingers on the pulse
    Acknowledge the newest pace
    Or discern what, for us, is false

    Perhaps instead of a hybrid car
    You still prefer a truck
    Would we still go very far?
    Or remain uncomfortably stuck!

    Pop culture may just come and go
    Flashes in the pan of time
    Yet with a willingness to grow
    Let’s accept its fresh rhythm and rhyme!

    Besides if it’s too hectic and wild
    We can sit peacefully to meditate
    Choosing a life, calm and mild
    Remembering our youth . . .

    Breathe deeply and contemplate!
    (Throughout time, it is never too late!)

  160. DanielAri

    “Gotta hand it to her”

    My first band was called Blasé Suave.
    My second was Bass Line Dada.
    If either had been hyper-loved
    I’d be doing fame like Gaga—
    in full-body, lace-up, Converse

    hightop shoe suits, catching ha-has
    by exploding what can happen
    on the public stage—cha, cha, cha—
    bitch-baiting the paparazzi,
    no apology for living.

    Before my shrine to Frank Zappa
    I bow. He did nothing by halves,
    said “Rock and roll is to dress up.”
    Praise to those in it for the laughs
    from the fans to the bank, tra-la.

    Lady Gaga’s mastered her crafts:
    music and being photographed.

  161. break_of_day

    I am still amazed
    how a
    ink and
    layer upon each
    to create images of
    heroes and villains
    skylines and landscapes
    faces and hands and
    ships and churches
    that make me gasp
    stop and study
    like an
    at an art museum

  162. Pat Walsh

    PAD Day 17: Probably as close as I can get to writing a “pop culture” poem (at least about what currently passes for pop culture):

    God Bless Jose Reyes
    by Patrick J. Walsh

    In case you don’t know
    Jose Reyes, he is a Major League
    Baseball player who at this
    moment is injured and on the
    disabled list of the Toronto
    Blue Jays.

    Jose and I have never

    For a very long while during
    the decade before my Mom
    passed away, she and I
    watched Jose Reyes play
    baseball almost every day during
    spring and summer and fall.

    Mom and I loved Jose

    When she was in the hospital
    several years ago for what
    was diagnosed as a “minor”
    heart attack, we saw Jose Reyes
    on TV in a game where he
    was playing for Miami.

    It is always good to see

    Three days before the second
    Easter since Mom passed
    away, I am ill with congestion in
    my chest and exhausted, and as I
    watch a game on TV I think
    of Jose Reyes.

    I pray he will soon be able to play

    1. Pat Walsh

      Thank you BDP and gmagrady — I really appreciate your support! It must be nice to be a Brewers fan right now :) And yes, I noticed that Jose is back playing again — I hope he will stay healthy!

  163. DanielAri

    “No business like po-business”

    Did you hear about S.E. Ingraham?
    It was all over the morning talk shows—
    what she said on Jimmy Fallon—hot damn!
    But that whole thing got preempted, of course
    by the breaking word about Taylor Graham!

    The De Jackson biopic’s making news
    (looks like Herzog is way over budget),
    but the biggest po-biz scandal now: Bruce
    Niedt’s wardrobe choices on the red carpet.
    Connie Peters’ photo shoot in Poem

    Magazine made the perfect complement
    to her new sequence set in Ketchikan.
    Now I’m going to watch The Marie and Walt
    Show from last night—which I recorded since
    I couldn’t miss the Poetic Asides

    Semi-Annual Gala—off the charts!
    There’s too much good stuff on television.


  164. barbara_y

    The Isle of Cialis

    Ask your doctor about Cymbalta;
    tell him Humira sounds like a help.
    Pradaxa, Dulera, Spiriva, Lipitor
    have interesting, consuming effects.

    Off the isthmus of Lyrica, the isle of Cialis
    looks warmly out on the water below.
    The couple with the wedding rings
    have left their separate bath tubs.
    We must assume somewhere for
    healthy, wedded sex.
    He took his beforehand,
    so we know he’s on demand;
    she’s dewy, scented, lubricated, primed.
    Everything is fine.
    No one’s less than charming on Cialis.
    It’s the isle of harmony and joy.
    And nothing’s used for anything
    that might be less than sensible.
    We tell you in our smallest font:
    for your health, not a toy.

    Ask your doctor about Cymbalta;
    tell him Humira sounds like a help.
    If your plumbing’s in order, but
    you’re still not ready for sex:
    Pradaxa, Dulera, Spiriva, Lipitor
    have interesting effects.

  165. pomodoro

    Body Image

    Here comes the girl with the serpent tattoo who hangs her iPod
    on a string around her waist,
    the Harley rider in black leather, do-rag, and shades,
    the woman with the crooked smile who neck wrestles her llama,
    the veiny-cheeked fellow angular as a poisonwood tree,
    the pony-tailed waitress who uses her keys like brass knuckles-
    they all meet at the gym
    and, oh Lordy, they sweat.
    From morning till night, they bench press barbells,
    squat and lunge to the insistent throb of Aerosmith, hear Steven Tyler wail
    Got to get that monkey off my back
    I’m quittin’ sugar, says the woman who gulps bitter tea.
    I made believe the devil made me do it
    I chucked my Zippo, says the man who cleans his ears with matchsticks,
    and emptied my last bottle of Kickin’ Chicken.
    You best believe I had it all and then I blew it
    These are the gym rats, in this cave of city brick yellow as smoker’s teeth,
    weighed down by remorse, regret and dimpled thighs.
    Bakers and bookies and painters and plumbers
    stare at mirrored walls, the half-truths in their eyes.
    They labor, fail and try again
    and oh, they sweat.
    They feast on that moment of flawless form,
    a fleeting moment of perfection,
    and breathe in the present before it becomes the past,
    never to be perfect again.

  166. Lori DeSanti

    (On Hearing “Andy Warhol” in a Jay-Z Song)

    Money, Idolatry, Everything

    the lyrics have changed
    the content of rap music
    the hooks of hip hop

    I know the refrains
    even two decades later
    to biggie smalls’ songs

    we’ve heard the violence
    beat-boxing and boom boxes
    slinging drugs on streets

    there are new artists
    evolving music culture
    and how it’s perceived

    we lost the talent
    the raw authenticity
    to an auto-tune

    women are objects
    deprecation as chorus
    breed misogynists

    Kat Dahlia is rare
    “gangstas don’t impress me much”
    words of a poet

    thieves pose as artists
    stealing respect from youth to
    fill pockets with green

  167. anneemcwilliams

    prompt: write a pop culture poem

    Back to the Garden

    The marquee at Bob Evans says “weekdays
    children eat for free.”. Imagine the Duggars
    digging into meatloaf on Thursday night
    or spending their lunch hour
    chatting with strangers about side-hugging
    and contraception, over chicken soup;
    Jim Bob at the head of the table
    and Michelle, demure and smiling,
    somewhere amidst their Quiverfull combination
    of wholesome family fecundness,
    giving sex tips. Or Jim Bob
    chumming with the mayor, or passing off
    free tickets to his latest lecture
    on the unlimited capacities of the female uterus.

    Imagine the gift shop of their ministry,
    offering pamphlets in little tidy rows
    such as: “Just say NO ’till Marriage”, and
    “Orgasm’s not for Sissies” and
    “Better Living With Pessaries—returning
    the uterus to it’s righteous position”.

    Now consider the praying mantis,
    evolved from cockroaches. To mate following
    courtship, the male leaps onto the female’s back,
    clasps her thorax and wing bases with his forelegs,
    his movements becoming vigorous to enhance fertilization.
    He’ll arch his abdomen to deposit sperm in a special chamber
    near the tip of her abdomen. Dismounting
    is his most dangerous time,
    for this is when females eat their mates.
    An ootheca shelters the eggs from the outside world.
    The offspring typically cannibalize each other at birth.

    Now imagine the home schooled
    and sheltered nymphs who’ve survived, all folded fore-limbs
    and compound eyes, during sex education, closely
    observing their mother as she rears back,
    forelegs and wings spread, mouth opened,
    grasping their step-father’s head in her two-toed fore-claw,
    welding his body from the other fore-claw,
    leaving nothing but severed fragments.

    first draft 04/17/2014

    1. anneemcwilliams

      Back to the Garden

      The marquee at Bob Evans says “weekdays
      children eat for free.”. Imagine the Duggars
      digging into meatloaf on Thursday night
      or spending their lunch hour
      chatting with strangers about side-hugging
      and contraception, over chicken soup;
      Jim Bob at the head of the table
      and Michelle, demure and smiling,
      somewhere amidst their Quiverfull combination
      of wholesome family fecundness,
      giving sex tips. Or Jim Bob
      chumming with the mayor, or passing off
      free tickets to his latest lecture
      on the unlimited capacities of the female uterus.

      Imagine the gift shop of their ministry,
      offering pamphlets in little tidy rows
      such as: “Just say NO ’till Marriage”, and
      “Orgasm’s not for Sissies” and
      “Better Living With Pessaries—returning
      the uterus to the right position”.

      Now consider the praying mantis,
      evolved from cockroaches. To mate (following
      courtship), the male leaps onto the female’s back,
      clasps her thorax and wing bases with his forelegs,
      abdomen arched, he deposits sperm in a special chamber,
      his movements vigorous to enhance fertilization.
      Dismounting is his most dangerous time,
      for this is when females eat their mates.

      Now imagine the home schooled
      and sheltered nymphs, all folded fore-limbs
      and compound eyes, during sex education, closely
      observing their mother as she rears back,
      forelegs and wings spread, mouth opened,
      grasping their step-father’s head in her two-toed fore-claw,
      welding his body from the other fore-claw,
      eating him alive
      leaving nothing but severed fragments.
      second draft 04/17/2014

  168. Walt Wojtanik


    A mother and her little guy
    at the Thanksgiving Day parade.
    Marching bands and floats on hand,
    the view? They had it made.

    High in the breeze, above the all trees,
    cartoon hot air balloons dip and swoon,
    This was his joy; one lucky young boy,
    he was glad in his heart that the parade had started.

    Excited was he, he was older than three
    as he leaped up to point to the sky,
    Charlie Brown’s dog came, Snoopy by name,
    but he yelled “THERE’S THE MET LIFEⓇ GUY!”

  169. Jane Shlensky

    Dancing with Meteors

    They gush and beam, their flash extreme
    in competition for a boost
    to get their names back into homes
    where they have never been.

    These stars are gas balls burning fast,
    so fast we don’t know who they are
    Olympians, comedians,
    on unReality TV,

    singers, aging movie stars,
    the big boys won’t come out to play.
    Watching them try to dance and weep,
    such drama, manufactured spin,

    makes all the voter hype so sad,
    considering how few of them
    take interest in government.
    Perhaps if politicians danced

    and told us of their saddest year,
    revealed their lives, although enhanced,
    Americans would go to polls
    and vote for representatives.

    Of course, these stars are meteors,
    their tails blazing across the seasons.
    Or truly stars, who have alas
    burned out, but we won’t know for eons.

  170. Emma Hine

    Sit for an Oration of Comedy.

    I’ll tell you how I met your mother.
    It was a night unlike any other.
    I was out with some friends,
    wearing the latest trends.
    I remember Will was there,
    and Grace (you know she’s cut her hair?)
    We had left the office early.
    It was going to be one of those nights that were ‘girly’.
    (Of course Will is gay,
    so him being there was ok).
    We’d had a bit to much to drink
    and someone (Laverne or Shirley, I think)
    started discussing the Big Bang Theory.
    Well after a while it became quite dreary
    so I bought another round of beers,
    stood on the table and shouted “Cheers!”
    Well that changed the subject pretty fast
    But with a group like that it couldn’t last.
    So Lucy (God Bless, I love Lucy)
    Came up with some gossip that was rather juicy.
    But Roseanne had to go then
    (she’s married with children).
    So we said goodbye to another
    And that’s when she arrived… your mother.

      1. Emma Hine

        (Here it is in full, corrected)

        Sit for an Oration of Comedy

        I’ll tell you how I met your mother.
        It was a night unlike any other.
        I was out with some friends,
        wearing the latest trends.
        I remember Will was there,
        and Grace (you know she’s cut her hair?)
        We had left the office early.
        It was going to be one of those nights that were ‘girly’.
        (Of course Will is gay,
        so him being there was ok).
        We’d had a bit too much to drink
        and someone (Laverne or Shirley, I think)
        started discussing the Big Bang theory.
        Well after a while it became quite dreary
        so I bought another round of beers,
        stood on the table and shouted “Cheers!”
        Well that changed the subject pretty fast
        but with a group like that it couldn’t last.
        So Lucy (God Bless, I love Lucy)
        came up with some gossip that was rather juicy.
        But Roseanne had to go then
        (she’s married with children).
        So we said goodbye to another
        and that’s when she arrived… your mother.

  171. shellcook

    Prompt #17
    Pop culture

    I have tried to avoid pop culture altogether,
    Sometimes to my detriment.
    Until I realized that not all good music is old music.
    Yes, I have progressed to ‘that’ age
    Where rock and roll isn’t all that,
    But I have counted crows with Justin (who?).
    Wait… No. I can’t go that far.
    Should I even write his name. Ouch!

    I have, however, been to Legoland and
    must say I am impressed.
    My god those lego’s can tell a joke
    and really make me laugh.
    So children’s movies are al’ight.
    The graphics hit so many high marks,
    it’s hard to know where to start.

    But big tattoos on virgin skin really hurts my heart.
    Because you really can’t ‘grow out of it’, ever,
    even when it’s art.
    Twisted whiskers and kids cartoons are much less violent now.
    Only time will tell if that really makes a diff.

    I am all about pop culture, I would really like to say,
    but I’m not, and I don’t, and I won’t say anytime soon,
    I never got that pop pop popular shit even when I was
    hot hot hot.
    It falls right in line with my fathers voice,
    Would you jump off a cliff if everybody else was doing it?
    Hey, no lemmings here!
    But mehbe, mehbe not.
    all I really want to say is,
    if it’s pop, It prolly ain’t me.

    Laters baby.
    Uh huh uh huh, I like it!

  172. madeline40

    It’s the stilettoes I have a craving for:
    the pencil slim
    six or seven-inch heels
    the young girls wear these days.
    I saw a women walking
    in a pair at the grocery store
    this morning.
    She was almost hobbling
    and her ankles kept turning in.
    From the back
    it wasn’t a pretty sight.
    But oh those Loubatins
    and Manolo Blahniks and
    Jimmy Choos –
    they are gorgeous.
    If I were only a few years younger
    I’d wear them grocery shopping myself
    and probably even to bed.

  173. Evelyn Philipp

    Tag Hash

    Narcissistic, Insecure and Entitled
    #lethal combination, #facebookaddiction, #generationxyz, #perfectselfie

    I can’t even go to the grocery store.
    #publicistcallpressbeforeIleavethehouse, #paparazziaddict, #professionalwhat?

    I’m selling my used clothes for charity.
    #giving10%,#popgoddessduds, #rolemodel

    It’s a show about nothing.
    #notSeinfeld, #realityreallybites, #vapidboringtramps

    Income: $50million +
    #checksforfree, #richandfamous, #famousforwhat

    It’s a hard life, being a celebrity.
    #narcissistic, #entitled, #arrogant, #butnothingisashardasbeingamoviestar

    Tweet. Tweet.

  174. miaokuancha

    April 17, 2014

    Prompt: Pop Culture

    Where the Wild Things Are

    It’s not that I don’t remember my own childhood
    Or the movies I watched.
    It’s just that I remember my children’s more.
    My daughter literally cut her teeth on Miyazaki –
    Kiki’s Delivery Service.
    In Japanese, with Chinese subtitles,
    Because that’s where we lived.
    The Grave Of The Fireflies finished me.
    I didn’t let my daughter watch it
    Though she was still too young to understand
    War and starvation and the death of children.
    The first in America was Free Willy.
    Husband and I swinging three-year-old daughter
    Between us
    As we walked to the same old
    Town Hall theater where my brother and I
    Had used to bicycle down the street to from our house,
    50 cents, or later a dollar, in our pockets.
    The Disney animations were an annual ritual
    From Lion King to Lilo and Stitch
    The fantasy series we anticipated together
    Star Wars
    Lord of the Rings
    Harry Potter – whose lead actor
    Bore uncanny resemblance to my son
    Until, in growing up, they diverged.
    In darkened theaters together,
    With school friends or with family,
    For birthdays or for fun,
    On couches in front of VCR-fed television,
    Later on my bed in front of computer screen,
    Thin DVD discs that sometimes skipped.
    We amassed quite a collection for home viewing
    From Taiwan
    To Connecticut
    To Hawaii.
    Carefully packed and transported
    Until, at last, we let everything go.
    They reside
    I hope, still,
    In the community library
    In Kamuela.
    Children grow up
    They get their own wheels.
    Earn their own way.
    The last
    The very last
    Was with my son.
    Already too tall to go to the movies with his mom.
    But family was scattered,
    He newly transplanted.
    And it was one we both wanted to see.
    So we went together,
    Where The Wild Things Are.

    ~ miaokuancha

  175. vjohnso1

    Idolizing pop culture things
    Not the way to go
    Worshipping money and the popularity it brings
    The fame and fortune is just for show
    Remember that in all good things
    Love must be a part
    Our fame and fortune comes from ourselves
    And it starts right here in our hearts.

  176. Emma Hine


    I nominate you to stand up and be strong
    I nominate you to know right from wrong.
    I nominate you to just walk away.
    I nominate you to live another day.

    Don’t neck it, don’t wreck it.
    This live that you have
    Is too precious to waste
    On the whim of a chav.

    I nominate you to say no, not today.
    I nominate you to dare not to play.
    I nominate you to love yourself more
    Than to pass out in vomit all over the floor.

    Don’t neck it, don’t wreck it.
    This life that you have
    Is too precious to waste
    On the whim of a chav.

    I nominate you to speak your own mind.
    I nominate you, a true friend to find.
    I nominate you to spare loved ones the strife.
    I nominate you to choose life.

  177. intheshadowofthesoul

    “No Name, No Fame, No Game”
    Lydia Flores

    The fervent poems
    that are written with
    the thumps of my heart
    will not make for a best seller.
    My midnight prayers that
    crescendo out of my tears
    will not be heard on the radio in
    the car on the way to work, to school.
    I will remain a minority clumped into
    a barrel of crabs trying to climb out. I will
    do the same and pull you out by your claws.
    My life as is, decorated with paper art
    and china plates of happiness that I
    try hard not break as I serve your food.
    it will not air at 9pm on your television.
    Jennifer Lawrence will never have to
    return to district twelve* and I will never
    experience the victory tour*, I will only
    be a fleeting trend, returning through
    the words I have left after I die. I hope
    they become flowers in the hearts of those
    that let me inside their secret gardens.
    The world may never know my name
    but I will volunteer my heart as tribute
    for every district that needs me.

    (*from Suzanne Collins The Hunger Games)

  178. Eibhlin


    A textbook case of stardom overnight:
    he shot from almost nowhere straight to fame.
    Now all he needs to do is heave in sight
    and crowds wave banners, scream and chant his name.

    His clothes are classic and his shoes discreet,
    his ring, his chains, are tastefully subdued.
    Adoring fans his every gem re-tweet
    and all his moves are worldwide YouTube-viewed.

    He’s no great looker, but his smile is bright.
    That face is now on calendars and mugs.
    We love him – oh, we LOVE him! And we might
    some day to him get close enough for hugs –

    Oh yeah! Twice weekly in the open air
    Pope Francis rocks ‘em in St. Peter’s Square.

  179. Jane Shlensky


    She’s traded her bikini in
    for swimming dresses to her knees.
    She still believes in summer tans
    though riding waves can make her wheeze.

    Those shapely gams of yesteryear
    are lined with veins and cellulite.
    Her hair is dyed on principle—
    you never know whom you might meet.

    Aging tattoos, like billboard ads
    announce the passions of her day—
    Bing and Dean, then love and peace,
    their vivid colors fade away.

    She notices Bing’s face has aged
    and Dean’s sustained an ugly bruise.
    He’s blurry, bluish, like her skin;
    these warblers, she cannot lose.

    She sees young women on the beach,
    their bodies inked from toes to tops.
    They squint glimpsing her body art;
    she smiles, hoping it never stops.

  180. Walt Wojtanik


    Delicious and Refreshing,
    More bounce to the ounce.
    Revives and sustains,
    Taste that beats the others cold.

    Thirst knows no season,
    the hit that saves the day.
    There’s nothing like it when you’re thirsty,
    Pause and refresh yourself.

    For those who think young,
    Come alive.
    You’ve got a lot to live,
    Join the people feeling free.

    Stop at the red sign,
    around the corner from anywhere.
    A pure drink of natural flavors,
    the pause that refreshes.

    Catch that spirit,
    your taste for life.
    Now! Take the challenge,
    The choice of a new generation.

    Ice cold sunshine,
    Don’t wear a tired, thirsty face.
    When it’s hard to get started,
    get the feel of wholesome refreshment.

    Gotta have it,
    the choice is yours.
    Be young, have fun, Drink
    Right now!

    for a pause… Go refreshed.
    The best friend Thirst Ever Had,
    Anytime is the right time To Pause.
    Thirst stops Here.

    Generation Next. It’s The Cola.
    Taste the one thing that’s forever young
    Something for everyone,
    every generation refreshes the world.

    taste All its own,
    It’s the real thing
    for people on the go.
    A sign of Good Taste.

    Born in the Carolinas,
    Live of now; Change the Game,
    The Best Drink Created Worldwide,
    Where There’s Pepsi, There’s Music.

    Coke… After Coke… After Coke
    It’s The Real Thing,
    Have a Coke and a Smile.
    Always Coca-Cola.

    ***Written totally from Coca-Cola Ⓡ and Pepsi Ⓡ slogans throughout the years!
    Coke slogans in BOLD; Pepsi not.

  181. Ashley Marie Egan

    I thought I’d take this opportunity to write a poem about one of my favorite shows.

    by Ashley Marie Egan

    Two brothers on the road,
    the impala they drive,
    is their only home.

    They’re in the family business,
    saving people,
    and hunting things.

    They’ve fought,
    they’ve sacrificed,
    and they’ve died for each other.

    They’ve watched,
    all their loved ones die,
    but still had one another.

    No matter how often,
    these two idjits fight,
    it’ll always the end in a hug.

    They’re brothers,
    not even Death himself,
    could stop their love.

  182. Azma


    You got something to say?
    Using a meme is the way!
    So they say.
    A humble two by two frame
    with meek graphics
    should be enough.
    Your feelings are expressed
    through strong willed babies
    and dumb dinosaurs
    Lend your ears
    as derp and derpina
    narrate their stories;
    and if you find a resemblance,
    its purely intentional.
    So stay calm and surf memes
    and don’t be surprised
    if with all of them
    you can relate

    -Azma Sheikh

  183. James Rodgers

    To Oprah

    This poem is my way
    of saying “Thank you.”
    Although we have never met,
    you have made me laugh
    and you have made me cry.
    Even though we are thousands of miles,
    and multiple states, apart,
    we have shared so much
    over the last 25 years.
    we have grown older,
    possibly wiser
    (you more than me),
    changed our hair,
    gained weight,
    lost weight
    (again you more than me),
    learned to accept myself
    no matter what I look like,
    traveled the country,
    and even camped
    (me more than you, this time).
    I have lived vicariously through you
    as you met living legends,
    movie stars,
    musical geniuses,
    and people just like me
    struggling to live life
    and find a way
    to make a difference in this world.
    I have watched you
    praise those that need it,
    chastise those that deserve it,
    and defend yourself,
    and while I hope
    I never end up in court,
    if I do
    I hope I defend myself
    with the same poise and conviction,
    (and get the same results).
    Because of you,
    I even look differently
    at the letter “O”.
    And while we have never shared a room,
    I will miss your company,
    and advice.
    I know
    we are not friends,
    as you have never called,
    or come to visit,
    or shared any of your favorite things,
    I will miss not seeing you
    five days a week.
    I wish you luck
    in your new endeavor
    (though I doubt you will need it),
    but before you go,
    I just want to
    say “Thank you for everything,”
    and while I don’t have
    any gifts or presents
    that equal all that you
    have given me,
    from all these miles away
    I’m giving you
    a standing “O”
    (the other use
    of that letter.)
    Take care, my dear,
    and God bless.

  184. Patricia A. Hawkenson

    Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Day 17 Pop Culture poem

    At What Price Glory?

    She’ll kiss
    and make-up,
    smear the truth,
    sleep with the enemy,
    fight for the front lines
    of the tale-tell tabloids,
    while exploding cameras
    capture it all.

    She’d arrive naked
    rolled a red carpet,
    but Cleopatra
    has already
    stolen that show.

    Today’s bombshell
    has a hard act
    to follow,
    but sadly Scarlet,
    I don’t give a tweet.

    You can re-post that
    for your fifteen minutes
    of fame.

  185. Snowqueen

    You Make Their Job So Easy

    Hang your pants half down your crack
    To show your fashion sense
    Good! I say to that
    I’ve seen some of you “pants hangers” on TV
    The cops get you every time because
    You fumble, distracted pulling up your pants
    As you run or they just fall down entirely with
    You falling right after them.
    And just like that you’re caught
    Yea, keep those pants hanging!

    Karen D.

  186. Beverly Deirocini

    The music begins and a thrill runs through my veins.
    Map locations point the way for the next hour
    As stags, lions, and direwolves collide.
    My heart is engulfed in the flames of a three-headed dragon,
    And horse-mounted warriors encourage me to be brave.
    The icy coldness of the wall warns me not to look beyond
    To the white walkers and wildlings.
    Some stab in the back, but others in the front.
    The game has begun.

  187. James Von Hendy

    Pop Culture? Uh-oh, I’m in trouble, and that calls for terza rima, don’t ask why.

    Of Cowbells and Vuvuzelas

    If it weren’t for email, spam, the World Cup,
    Or Winter Olympics I’d never know
    That Martha Stewart’s face is looking up

    Without cosmetic surgery. The secret though?
    Click here. To eat what I want and still lose?
    Click here, and here to learn my score, but oh,

    I hit Delete, turn the TV on to catch the news,
    And settle in for some downhill fun:
    It’s women’s luge, entertainment anyone can use.

    The spectators see nothing but a blur each run,
    But rattle their cowbells with gusto still,
    For their hearts and mine reside in the din,

    A joyous pleasure, this making of noise, a thrill
    Every would be vuvuzelaer feels,
    Bleating and blowing and buzzing for all

    The world to hear, for it’s being alive that appeals.

  188. Margie Fuston

    1980s Love Poem

    I’m pretty in pink,
    blowing sixteen candles,
    waiting for you to
    do the right thing,
    to stand by me,
    no more dirty dancing,
    pledging an end-
    less love,
    but you’re like
    romancing the stone.
    I wish you would use
    terms of endearment
    or just say anything
    because this is risky business.

  189. Monique

    The 90s

    A world of weird that tried to be cool
    We were little kids who wanted to make our own rules

    We were all that and a bag of chips
    Gnarly and tubular, we were young and hip

    We wanted to be skateboarders and vampire slayers
    In a world of mall rats and video game players

    Double Dare us to be totally rad
    To get drenched in slime and climb Aggro Crags

    Furbies, tamogatchis, slinkies, and koosh balls
    Transformers and ponies, we gotta catch em all

    Coming home to a Disney Afternoon
    Or watching a channel with 24-hour cartoons

    Comic book heroes stayed on the small screen
    But we loved dressing up as them for Halloween

    From Nirvana to NSYNC to Latin craze
    The music was weird and bad back in those days

    Disney had a Renaissance and in Blockbuster we would find
    Movies no one heard of; just be kind, rewind

    So let us relive those glory days
    If only for a moment, if only for today

    Because the 90s were a weird but wonderful time
    And if we were nostalgic, would it be a crime?

  190. grcran

    Can I Be your Beard?
    By gpr crane

    Beards have been around, they come and go on/off the scene
    The beardly renaissance is here, now, this ain’t halloween
    Those Boston Red Sox beauties, beards give power, world champeen
    Duck Dynasty persuading ZZ Top to reconvene
    And don’tcha know Gillette’s a-gnashin’ teeth and feelin’ mean?
    Myself? Shaving’s not natural, plus I don’t like to preen
    Some ladyfolk do love to touch it when it’s soft and clean.

    Beard’s drawback? Sometimes food does land there, then it hangs around.
    But that food’s often providential later when it’s found.
    I’d have never eaten that snack, if I’d been clean-sheared.
    The manly thing to do… come on guys… get hip: grow your beard!

  191. grcran

    By gpr crane

    no it’s not fellowship, rather stupid-
    ity, to watch tv and think you’re shar-
    ing fam’ly time. your fam’ly’s dying and
    you fail to notice til you sense that mo-
    ney might be drying on the vine. your gen-
    eration’s got so shallow that you might
    have a tea party anywhere you choose.
    you like to think you’re kool and doing sty-
    lish things but really all you are is wast-
    ed flesh. no wonder zombies and vampires
    are all the rage, they got no soul they’re suck-
    ing just like you. you sleep just fine each night
    despite the hungry have-nots but they live
    so many miles away. should be enough.

  192. Tracy Davidson

    Portrait of a Teenage Boy

    He doesn’t walk so much as perform
    an exaggerated dance down the pavement
    in a peculiar swaying motion.

    Long, bare arms – despite the fact
    it’s only five degrees outside –
    just about reach the pockets of the jeans
    that hang below his waist.

    Bright purple striped underpants
    clash with his orange and green vest.
    He has a wedgie but doesn’t seem to care.

    The crotch of his jeans is level
    with his knees, the bottoms trail
    three inches along the ground.

    He ignores the looks he gets – the grimaces,
    sniggers, smiles and rolling of the eyes.

    He knows he’s the height of fashion,
    everyone else is just jealous
    of his superior coolness.

  193. Tracy Davidson

    There once was a Doctor called Who
    He fought Daleks and Cybermen too
    Til the Tardis broke down
    When a Venusian clown
    Mistook it for a portable loo

  194. Margot Suydam

    Bridging the Gap

    I’ve watched Downton Abbey
    enough to know that the muddy

    scent of life is more like the way
    Thomas Hardy’s dialect describes.

    The landscaped park of television
    estates remind me so little of Tess

    of the D’Auberville ‘s fate, and retreat
    to rocky Stonehenge. There I never

    got close enough to repose or touch
    after I traipsed for miles, harboring

    a cold under a windy, rainy sun
    from Salisbury Cathedral. There

    I took in the full view of what was
    built under duress over many years.

    A steeple reaching for God.
    An ancient bridge to heaven.

  195. TomNeal

    The Ephemeral Way

    Pop culture is a Jagger like thing- Sir Mick
    And friends are here to play for an hour, but
    Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
    When they no longer strut and fret upon the stage,
    Poor players without sound and fury,
    Are, as are all upstart crows, condemned
    To be soon and easily forgotten.

      1. TomNeal

        I don’t think anyone today struts and frets upon the stage better than Sir Mick. And, though he may not be remembered as long as the Upstart Crow, he has had a pretty good first run.

  196. priyajane

    Pop Culture
    History unfolding through abbeys, lies, and wives
    with a Big Bang theory of scandalous lives
    You tube some sky views of climate change warfare
    and blog some free thought in your pad about child care
    Seasonal unfoldings of juices and purses
    for monkeys, so wrapped up in ‘see and do’ versus-

  197. LCaramanna

    Conscious Uncoupling

    The duo disengaged,
    undid what had been done,
    rocker husband, movie star wife
    unfastened love chains
    too bound together,
    fractured family to modern,
    a lemon goop twist fizzled pop
    culture on the rocks.

    Lorraine Caramanna

  198. Linda Goin

    Pop Lied

    Pop lied about so-called lives
    as teen wolves in Smallville,
    awkward moments with other
    freaks and geeks
    when our skins felt
    like undeclared disasters.
    Pop called it wrong with heartbreak
    high, where we read vampire
    diaries and Buffy was our nemesis.
    A numbered mess of misfits,
    our party of five lusted
    after Gilmore girls near
    a creek called Dawson.

    Veronica Mars is Sram…
    if you turn her name around,
    & the O.C. culture & Degrassi
    gave gossip girls something to sing.
    Friday night lights had nothing
    on Saturdays. We engendered
    the felicity to foster
    our wonder years.
    But, pop lied
    about Beverly Hills

    At least we knew
    where not to look
    for legitimacy.

    The truth is, pop lied.
    Pop mass-produced a party
    of pretty little liars
    on a one tree hill
    south of nowhere.
    We knew how to live, we did.
    We endured culture wars
    as true blood spilled
    on every soil.
    Winter’s not coming,
    because it’s never going to end.

    No lie.

  199. Debbie


    Have you never been mellow?
    Fruit wiggled in the cherry Jell-O.
    That submarine was big and yellow.
    And we had a couple of odd fellows.

    A rocket man was Elton John.
    Pitchers’ elbows thanked Tommy John.
    Yes, I honestly loved Olivia Newton-John.
    And a proud salute to little John-John.

    Sorry! was my favorite board game.
    Operation had that touchy frame.
    Battleship required quite the aim.
    And Candy Land had that great name.

    Speaking of candy, oh so sweet.
    Charleston Chew, not a dance, but a treat.
    Penny candy could not be beat.
    Even cigarettes and waxy bottles we would eat.

    What I really miss is Halloween.
    Walking freely young and teen.
    Not worrying behind the door of screen.
    And popcorn balls were a welcome cuisine.

    Great memories, events, and times.
    Before a bottle wedge, we made pies with limes.
    And we worried less about those crimes
    Makes you wonder if we saw the signs?

  200. jasonlmartin

    Legos (a stream of consciousness)

    I keep my Legos in a Crisco tub
    that Grandma nearly threw out
    until I said – wait, it’s perfect
    for my Legos – which previously
    were kept in their original boxes,
    but the lids kept coming undone
    and pieces would go missing, like
    the little steering wheel for the boat
    and the helmets for the space men.
    There’s no more significant tragedy
    In Legoland than when pieces go
    M.I.A., as when the army battlefield set
    I got for Christmas became a little less fun
    because the fender and hood came undone
    from the frame of my soldier’s camo-jeep
    and would up in the vacuum cleaner debris
    with the pennies and lint from our old couch.

    What I am trying to say is, thank you, Grandma,
    for the Crisco tub. Your generosity saved Legoland.

  201. Michelle Hed

    Twerks, Tongues and Other Things

    Young people are twerking
    (What is twerking?)
    and moving to a beat
    that is lost to me
    even on repeat.

    Bad manners are rampant…
    (Where is your Mother?)
    pull up your pants,
    put yourself together –
    last chance.

    Let’s not forget tongues
    waving in the air,
    a kindergarten classroom
    is right over there.

    Young people today must be cold,
    (I shiver looking at them.)
    they never have enough clothes on,
    all skimpy and bare…
    no surprises left, not much to look upon.

    Reality shows,
    (Oops, I shouldn’t have gone here.)
    modern day arenas
    but instead of dying
    you are left to the hyenas.
    Culture of the moment –
    (Does it ever really change?)
    the shock factor reappears
    year after year, the method of delivery
    just switches gears.

  202. julie e.


    “It all has value to me,”
    said the man drowning in Pepsi cans
    and his own feces.
    “This all has value to us,”
    said the couple clambering over
    books and more books.
    “I need them!”
    said the man feeding the hundreds
    of rats as they pour
    from his half-eaten baseboards.
    I feel much the same about my hoard
    of poems,
    finished, unfinished,
    good, bad
    they are Mine
    they are essential.
    They are my hoard.

  203. Phil Boiarski

    Our Fifteen Minutes

    “When you something exactly wrong,
    you always turn up something.” Andy Wharhol

    The fourth child of the Vorholas, born and raised in Pittsburgh,
    in 1928, he claimed he almost died of St. Vitus Dance,
    and was a lifelong hypochondriac. It did make him sickly
    and bedridden, a life that led to his bonding
    with his mother after his father died in an accident.

    In St. John Chrysostom Byzantine Catholic Church every Sunday,
    sitting with his mother surrounded by icons, he prayed fervently
    and had visions about the stars in magazines. In 1939,
    he started collecting autographed pictures of stars.

    He rarely spoke of his commercial work but his drawings of shoes
    earned him admirers and from there his silk screens, and
    well you know the rest, the factory, the bullet in his chest,
    which to him proved he had been watching television all the time.

    Now that Andy’s dead, and the shades and wig retired, the factories
    closed and Pittsburgh has a museum, the icons are cheap. They tweet.
    The tube is full of you. The air is red with Russian missiles once again.

  204. kldsanders

    Last one, I promise!

    Music 3: the 80s

    Sweet dreams are made of these,
    feel like I could run away, run away.
    Owner of a lonely heart,
    Ooh baby, do you know what that’s worth?

    All I’ve got is a photograph.
    Life is a mystery.
    Everyone must stand alone.
    Bring me a higher love.

    I can’t live with or without you.
    Love bites, love bleeds.
    Don’t stand so close to me.
    Watch out boy, she’ll chew you up.

    Kick off your Sunday shoes.
    All she wants to do is dance.
    Hit me with your best shot.
    I’ll be dancin’ with myself.

    – Karen Sanders

  205. Michelle Hed

    Living the Comic Dream

    We marvel
    at the Super heroes
    stepping out of the comics
    and the actors
    they find
    to fill their spandex
    and we swoon,
    stare and clamor
    for more
    before the
    have even rolled.

  206. Connie Peters

    Good News

    The good that happens
    through social media
    is often overlooked.
    While news watchers gasp at tragedies,
    a band of Twitter users
    organize aide.
    While others complain about injustice,
    Facebook friends post petitions,
    making a difference.
    While some wait for a rich uncle
    to die to help the poor,
    online people pool pennies
    and donate thousands of dollars.
    Just like fire can burn down buildings
    or cook food and heat homes,
    social media can build up
    or destroy. It just depends
    on how you use it.

  207. foodpoet


    Today all is shrunk
    What was once fact based
    Is reduced
    To trivia
    Evening papers gone.
    Reading scaled to 149 characters.
    I stopped the Post when gossip
    Zoomed past and replaced book world.
    As I cope with shrinking
    Times, and social media fungus grows
    I look to words
    Only to find eroding emails.
    Now tonight even I ponder twitter or a book.

    Megan McDonald

  208. Mr. Take The Lead

    Sports is Life
    Daniel R. Simmons
    Sports show the results of what conditioning, dedication and hard work will accomplish when we see winners.
    And just like in sports life is going throw you some “bad calls”, but you have to keep it moving. As in sports you can’t relish too long in the failure or success of your last play or drive because that moment is over and it’s time to move on to the next.
    Just as in sports, you’re going to get knocked down in life, going to take some punches some hits, make some errors or blow some opportunities, but you can always make a comeback.
    As in sports you have to go through conditioning and training, so if you’re in school you hit the gym (library) and work out your brain, so you can be ready for game day ( test days)
    Ultimately as in sports we all have that ultimate championship goal, that we strive after each and every day.
    So if you want to reach and win your individual championship of your success you have to stick to your daily game plan that’s going to get you there.
    keep clocking into work, keep writing g those songs, keep exercising and eating healthy, keep studying, keep going to class, keep turning in those assignments, keep pouring into your business, whatever your case maybe keep at it, because your diligence and daily dedication will pay off
    Go through the pains of your workouts and you will find yourself a champion of life.
    So suit up, the lights are on (life) and it’s game time
    Let’s go win!

  209. SeekingSoltitude

    An Ode to Holmes

    The mind palace,
    Moriarty’s sweet malice
    Don’t forget,
    our highly functioning sociopath,
    is not a psychopath,
    They aren’t a couple,
    with their little tussles,
    Magnussen’s flicking,
    the clock is ticking
    John’s tea without sugar
    Mary pulling the trigger
    the brothers playing operation
    His Serbian vacation
    Sherlock laughing in glee
    Miss me?


  210. Amaria

    It is funny what passes for a housewife these days.
    Apparently you don’t need a ring or a new last name.
    You strut across our TVs playing the mean girl ferociously
    leaving me wondering if all this drama is true reality?
    Why must you bicker and call each other bitches?
    Do you think this persona makes you appear better?
    This isn’t about race or class, which some of you lack.
    Despite your lavish houses and cars and trips abroad
    you project a stereotype that hurts us all.
    I can no longer stop and gawk at this car crash.
    I am tuning out to this ridiculous trash.

  211. Connie Peters

    Pop Culture

    Music, movies, memes and games
    Celebrities, scandals, well-known names
    What they wear, what they do
    What they say, false or true
    Who they love and who they hate
    Who they leave and who they date
    The hype, the heartbreak, the hullabaloo
    What’s passé and what is new
    Instagram, Pintrest, Facebook, Twitter
    Learn of all the glitz and glitter
    Did they die or did they not
    What’s his name, I forgot
    All the hoopla, angst, and bling
    I wonder if it means a thing.

  212. elledoubleyoo

    If anyone knows my source material, you are a kindred spirit. I love this prompt, so I may manage another later on when I have more time!

    Out of Gas

    This is what it’s like to die:
    growing cold, bleeding, choking,
    the stale air running out, like blood.

    Everyone you know, pushed away
    so there’s no one left to warm you
    (everyone dies alone, after all).

    Memories fill the space like ghosts,
    ephemeral as life. Words echo
    on metal walls: You don’t have to die


  213. MZMackay


    My son, today you think you are Harry Potter.
    You choose to wear your corduroy blazer;
    With a little school tie.
    You’ve colored one of your drumsticks black with a permanent marker.
    It’s a good thing I caught you,
    Just before you drew the famous scar on your face.
    An eyebrow pencil will do just as well, in its place.

    Two days ago, you were Spiderman,
    The other day, the Blue Power Ranger.
    Sometimes you are Buzz Lightyear, and even Batman.
    How many more characters do you have inside you, my dear?
    With all the heroes you portray, I think I have nothing to fear.

    The realm of your imagination never ceases to amaze me, young man.
    How I wish I could dare to daydream just as you do.
    Without boundary; without care.
    I wish to be as free as you.
    I wish to run away in my thoughts too.
    I wonder, wonder,
    What will I bring back if I do?

    Mieke Zamora-Mackay

  214. d dyson

    Reality shows chewing up every channel,
    from X Factor to Man v Food and how much Adam can handle.
    Miley Cyrus and her poor tongue,
    Simon Cowell insulting anyone,
    Y.O.L.O, L.O.L, O.M.G!
    Justin Bieber throwing yet another wobbly,
    neon nails, grunge revival, hippie chic,
    geeky sitcoms, invasion of the fantasy teen flick,
    Edward Cullen, Jacob Black,
    Katnis Everdeen, Tris and Four,
    when it comes to pop culture,
    society’s always hungry for more.

  215. Geoffrey

    I learned about the Kardashians
    from Star Trek
    where they were kind of scary
    and I didn’t know
    that they were about to invade the Earth.

    Now they’re here.

    Back then, the old movies
    told me that bug-eyed aliens
    wanted our Earth women.
    If only they knew.

  216. Lindy™

    Pop Culturally Challenged

    The biggest-brightest,
    new fad on the market;
    body-face on tv
    or twerk-rapper with an ‘MC’?
    Most do not interest me
    (old fogie).

    Oh I have, in my lifetime,
    bought into some –
    especially young:
    high school eclectic ranger X
    trying to fit in
    but I’ve grown up
    perhaps just a bit.

    My favorite icons being
    the ones that carry messages,
    fight for a plight,
    memorialize the dream
    and then (so it seems)
    sell out –
    massacred by public opinion
    and the media.

    More mature, life-experienced,
    pay attention me
    says, “It’s all hoopla.
    Who cares, right?”
    They are not Gods, prophets
    or saviors of any kind.
    Voice of a generation?

    They are just people,
    like you and me –
    humans within human means,
    making a living
    the best way they can.
    Survivors of the game
    and the times they are a changin’.

    So before knocking
    the things they do,
    ask yourself this:
    How perfect are you
    and what would you not do
    to take care of your own
    family glue?
    Not saying they’re desperate,
    just practical and imperfect.
    The real question here
    (yes, I’m tossing my hair)
    is: Why do you care?

    1. TomNeal

      So before knocking
      the things they do,
      ask yourself this:
      How perfect are you
      and what would you not do
      to take care of your own
      family glue?

      Good question!

  217. Ravyne

    Bruno Mars

    He’s young, fresh and hip
    and reminds me of Michael Jackson
    (back in the day before he ruined his face)
    when he sang love ballads and I swooned
    Who doesn’t love a man who loves you as you are?
    No masks or hype because you are beautiful
    Oh yes, Bruno has it all
    He’s a singer, songwriter, producer, musician
    not to mention, he’s from Hawaii!
    he’s suave, sexy and has two Grammys
    but most of all, he makes this old chick swoon

    Copyright 2014
    Lori Carlson

  218. SeekingSoltitude

    the Heart of a Fangirl

    It breaks on seeing
    the faces of Sirius and Fred
    The ghost of a smile on their faces,
    Remus and Tonks, their story untold
    and never will be,
    with Albus, Dobby and countless others
    dying at the hands of Voldemort
    The love of Lily and the hatred of Snape
    that was unfolded by the hands of
    our Queen.

    It shatters on seeing
    The Doctor and the goodbyes
    of his companions.
    Moving on and not looking back,
    is more difficult than it sounds.
    The urge to not kill
    and the need to do so,
    Sending those you love
    back to the circle of captivity
    the deaths of loved ones- when will it be finish?

    It shatters into pieces
    When Katniss screams,
    Peeta wraps his hand around her neck,
    Finnick’s sudden death,
    Prim’s eventful one,
    Rue- Oh, Rue!
    The dead tributes forgotten
    and Anne’s hand on her stomach as she grieves
    It doesn’t end here, It never will

    There so many,
    we lose the count
    Tris’s sacrifice
    Four’s fear of heights
    Hazel’s “I do”
    Augustus’s philosophies,
    Our favorite Highly functioning sociopath’s
    inconsiderately thoughtful words
    And John’s friendship, which kills us all
    Loki’s hated, yet loved disposition
    Fandoms many or Fandoms one
    It is smashed into smithereens,
    this is the heart of a fangirl
    the heart with cracks everywhere
    yet we stand, yet we love.

    its a pretty weird poem, but well- i love weird!

  219. taylor graham


    A pop-culture of snapdragons
    at the end of every row, candy-apple
    and flame, draws frenzied crowds
    of bees. Earth black as a T-shirt
    logo’d with worms. Phoebe tweets
    from a fencepost. No hype.
    Within the compass of our garden,
    a yellow wheelbarrow that’s lost
    its wheel – tool-chest for trowels and
    claws, a weird spiral-fork do-jiggy
    I’ve yet to find a use for – and
    in the back corner, a pile of shards –
    old cups and bowls we’ve loved
    and broken, fired clay given back to
    earth. A tiny green-brown frog
    is perched on a huge fan-leaf
    of zucchini. Swallowtails
    are swarming oregano in bloom.
    Who’s the producer, the sponsor
    of this event? Don’t ask us – we just
    stand in awe, and wait for rain.

  220. Mark Conroy

    “Been There-Done That”

    There’s nothing new or pop
    It’s neither this nor that
    It has all been done before
    And just come round again
    For you

    No one can believe anyone else
    When they find their model
    Began as a cuneiform ages ago
    Now everyone then is dead
    And Poof Splat Gone

    Never settle for yourself today
    There’s always something missing
    Doubt is all you can ever count on
    So keep turning in circles
    Until you’ve worn out today

    Mark Conroy

  221. Walt Wojtanik


    “Have a Nice Day” you would say if you have a voice.
    Your face alone speaks volume, Columns and columns
    of bright yellow smiles filled the aisles at the K-Store,
    et al. That static grin and wide-eyed stare were there
    to cheer and distract from the fact that times were changing.
    A joyous little romp (with NO thanks to Gump),
    this little guy was in the right place in the right time!
    But then again, “Shit Happens!”

  222. lily black

    Popular Culture Today

    Instagram your GMO
    to my twitter
    Tweet tweet
    Coke is too sweet
    And leads to fat
    profits in polyester pockets
    From orange juice that’s really cola.
    Pop quiz?
    Still you can pop their pill
    Then you can forget
    those BPAs lead to BRAs
    Jiffy was popped puffing up on the stove
    Now it’s just another corporate carcinogen.
    Obamacare will you pay
    for my 8000 dollar pill
    that’s what it asks for on my bill.
    Careful if you swallow it with water
    They own it too!

  223. Gwyvian

    The polite fiction

    We are good: except when someone deserves short shrift;
    we do not judge: except when the evidence is convincing enough;
    there is no purpose to life beyond belief: I believe in what I see
    I believe in what I was told was real – I believe
    that half of me is a scheming cesspit that can take all the blame,
    and those wily feelings so chaotic, they’re possibly the root of evil—
    a devil whispered in my ear that I’ve got to do this thing,
    I’m penitent, but don’t deserve damnation;
    got to ignore them, got to drown in coffee in the mornings,
    and kick start my night with alcohol—
    anything to ignore the misunderstood and the crazy around me,
    those who carry a taint and want to infect me: it’s all
    in the video games, it’s all in roleplaying; it’s all in the whispers,
    they keep giving me these urges – and I’m not like those degenerates,
    shooting and always in a vicious cycle of drugs, prison, drugs, prison…
    so everyone says and I believe it, because
    nothing else makes sense… I’m a builder, I’m creative
    but it seems to me that everything has already been done at least once…

    Once, I read somewhere that our virtues were crystal clear, always were,
    but sometimes I waver and stop to think about you other people:
    I was taught that no harm should be done to one another, but the loophole
    is that I can when it is obviously right – isn’t that the way of it? you’re
    wrong, I’m right – so shut up and listen, save your soul and get rid of all
    these misguided fictions – just trust me when I say I know, I’ve been
    down that road; so I keep telling myself, but I don’t know why, sometimes
    I wince – I might not be a barbarian from medieval times, killing
    at a whim and illiterate, so easily manipulated, but… sometimes I suspect
    that what goes on here is not all that different…
    our motto is that we’re all free to get that happiness we want, but it seems
    to me that we thrive on misery – I take my cue from everyone else,
    all you have to do is keep smiling and pretend, because this is
    what we call the peak of civilization,
    it’s the apex of our existence – we have everything we could possibly want,
    technology does our bidding and we get our kicks easily enough—
    what need have I of envy, when I can just take it away? I have a right,
    we all have a right to pursue our happiness…

    Happiness is something none of you ever achieve, though; I have to say
    sometimes I think that something’s wrong, when our heroes
    are abusers, fanatics and failures – so shallow that we love hating them,
    and the legends are those who dodged that bullet and still stand strong,
    and art? art is about who can make it the simplest, ugliest and most violent—
    shock is the elixir of living in the moment, and I feel so confused sometimes
    because they keep saying that what we are is something to be afraid of,
    but all I see is that it’s something we love to indulge decadently—
    and I don’t understand: you abhor fantasy, yet you watch reality TV
    and think that you’ve escaped the traps of your treacherous mind;
    isn’t what I’ve been told right? you don’t need emotions, they say, but
    all of you drink in petty conflict like the water of life; everything is so
    dramatic, yet empathy is a sign of weakness – something is wrong,
    and I keep searching for answers that will satisfy:
    we used to have the Great Chain of Being, but disillusionment
    sped us up into glorious Enlightenment – but none of that explains
    the whispers in my head, why all of you are so crazy; I think
    maybe reality is not something I can keep believing…

    I believe in few things after all this turmoil: I believe, for instance,
    that love conquers all – and just look at its body count, I have to agree
    but there’s still that incessant flood of terrifying feelings gushing in me—
    I was listening to Sinatra’s crooning in a café, reading Shakespeare
    and hoping that I would start understanding the human condition; I know
    that I’m not to blame, after all: it was my parents, society, school and
    everyone else that keeps making mistakes – I feel in my gut that
    what I say is better, but for some reason not many agree with me…
    they’re all delusional, primitives compared to my imperfect superiority—
    but damn, those voices keep screaming and spitting vile things at me—
    maybe I just need a reboot, some legal drugs to forgive and forget
    and I’ll curl up and watch a documentary – as long as
    it’s real, as long as I know what’s going on
    it all makes sense when I think of my purpose: except,
    I don’t quite fit, I’m not quite that pretty – I don’t have the objects
    to back me up, oh, I think maybe I’m the one going crazy—
    why can’t any of you tell me what’s happening? it’s not that
    difficult to figure out: all of you go through the same damn thing…

    But those things, I’ve realized no one wants to talk about it, really—
    what if they are right, what if the voices are the ones that have my answers?
    maybe I should stop, maybe I need help – but I know better,
    I have it all under control… I live in the right and my morals are clear;
    some of you don’t deserve my time, but I wish this weren’t a lonely feeling,
    this floundering in what’s real and what these feelings mean – am I
    really evil, or have we all been missing something?
    the articles keep saying I need to communicate, but they never say how
    my case is always more confusing, though I’ve been told it’s supposed
    to be simple – we’re all blessed with individuality, but I sure do wish someone
    shared my head sometimes so they could tell me that no, I’m not crazy, I’m
    just like everyone else: that all of this will make sense, but I might as well wish
    I were a movie star and the president to boot; sometimes I think I want
    people waiting on me like they do in the restaurants, but somehow I know
    even that’s not going to cut it – the voices tell me something filthy, they tell me
    that the fantasies, my guilty pleasures, give me what I want; and I try being callous,
    like I should, but the twisted things we think about – they make me cringe inside…
    maybe I’m just more sensitive? …or maybe we all live in a giant lie…

    April 17, 2014

    By: Lucy K. Melocco

  224. novacatmando

    Green Eggs and Ham, a ghazal

    I do not like green eggs and ham, capisce?
    I do not like them Sam-I-am, capisce?

    I will not eat colored eggs here or there,
    even in a Denny’s Grand Slam, capisce?

    No green eggs I’ll eat in any fab house
    or at a concert played by Wham, capisce?

    Chartreuse eggs and ham I eat not, so then
    I will stick with toast and grape jam, capisce?

    I’m not eating green eggs in a car, boat,
    train, or for that matter a tram, capisce?

    Green breakfast does not suit my appetite,
    I would just as soon eat some Spam, capisce?

    “In a box, with a fox, or in the dark
    no eggs for me” – the telegram, capisce?

    “Please try my dish,” you say “it is tasty.”
    Well, I’d prefer to skip and scram, capisce?

    If I try your meal, then you’ll let me be
    and read my jaded epigram, capisce?

    Said of my first taste of green eggs and ham –
    I do so like them Sam-I-am, capisce?

  225. Lori DeSanti

    Old Thumbs

    Today I scribbled a poem on notebook paper
    when I was at my mother’s house for Sunday

    dinner. She asked where my “apple” was
    and I told her my MAC book was in the shop;

    but she didn’t get it. We molded meatballs
    with egg and breadcrumb in the kitchen by

    hand while she explained the mechanics of
    a typewriter. I thought of how surprised

    she’d be if I gave her a tablet to unwrap at
    her birthday brunch— but I watched her

    fry meatballs in the pan, the same fingers
    that once hen-pecked a machine without

    the option to backspace; I knew she felt
    postmodern with her bulky, ’95 desktop.

  226. k_weber

    I Was Born in the Shadow of a Lite Brite

    Convinced I went to kindergarten
    in the landscape of the Atari 2600’s Pitfall
    game, I later realized that I was not
    meant for alligator adventures. I did dive
    wrists-before-feet down a hill on a Crocodile
    Mile though and was playing Kerplunk! before
    Green Day. My favorite age was the one
    where a Shrinky Dink was just a toy in an oven
    and not all the anorexia and bulimia I would witness
    on my college campus over 4 Non-Blonde years.
    Why didn’t I Run DMC away from my wedding day?
    I should have tried harder for that job with Oprah.
    No one bothered to ask me if it was okay to break
    Superman’s spine on a horse and later kill him.
    How the hell would he manage to find
    Jane Seymour “Somewhere in Time” in a Lifetime
    special television event? Sheep and idiocy were cloned.
    I was in Savannah, Georgia, and they all thought
    I was Paula Cole. I don’t know about cowboys
    and I don’t wanna wait for our lives to be over
    because I want right now. I want to find us
    in the age of Buzzfeed lists and Huffington
    Puffington Posts and CNN rambling like a psychotic
    in those footies you may have to wear
    at the nervous hospital; the kind of place I shuffled
    around in when “Hey Ya!” was being sung
    and danced upon by children and grandmas
    and me at the bar even though I said I hated
    that song and treated it like an outcast in my collection.
    I lied when I said I only listened
    to Velvet Underground and Bonnie “Prince” Billy back then
    and there were pills so colorful
    I might have stuck them
    in a Lite Brite instead of in my mouth
    before the tattooed boy climbed through my window
    and ran across the room to get to me
    in bed. He didn’t try hard enough so now it’s up
    to you to find me among these Gorillaz cartoons.

    – k weber

      1. k_weber

        A very good point! This is one of maybe two poems in the challenge that I had to read aloud a few times before submitting. It’s fun to play with rhythm and pacing and making sure all the dots I wanted to connect were connected… and dotted!

  227. rlmatt7

    The Bored Vampire

    Atop a mountain, lived a vampire,
    Every night he’d slunk down,
    Searching for a victim to snare,
    Skulk off at break of dawn.

    He did this for five hundred years,
    Up down, down, up, up, down,
    At year five hundred one, he fears,
    He’s bored of it plus a bore, he frowns.

    What a silly thing to be a vampire
    he says, nice sci-fi but just drink blood?
    I’d rather be Mickey, Dr Who or Peter
    Pan or the Avengers or Robinhood

    I could drink beer, rescue damsels,
    live in Neverland or Disneyland,
    eating cake, making merry on truffles,
    use tardis to sunbathe in alien lands.

    So the vampire needs a plan, a plan
    to stop him being bored or a bore,
    He gets out his ipad, google maps, scans,
    gets a geography crash course .

    He’s now a star in Hollywood city
    does all the vampire roles, of course
    He’s got critics praising the authenticity,
    if you’re wondering,
    Fake tan, effective sun repellant, he vows.

  228. kldsanders

    Here’s one more. I’m having way too much fun with this prompt.

    Music 2: the 90s

    Ooh I want you, I don’t know if I need you,
    It’s a bittersweet symphony.
    Don’t go chasin’ waterfalls,
    ‘Cause you’re in the arms of the angel.

    Every morning when I wake up
    I release the genie in a bottle.
    I will remember you.
    Will you remember me?

    Save tonight.
    Fight the break of down.
    It’s 3am
    And I must be lonely.

    My heart will go on,
    all by myself.
    Every day is a winding road,
    with these foolish games.

    Tearing me apart.
    Where have all the cowboys gone?
    Everybody wants to be
    closer to free.

    Hold me. Thrill me.
    Kiss me. Kill me.
    Have you ever
    Really loved a woman?

    -Karen Sanders

  229. shellaysm

    Real Reality

    Our children’s once upon a time
    has evolved from value-laden
    to meaningless attention-getting

    from rhyming on watercolor
    to painting in vampire blood

    animal tales and timeless folklore shared
    friendship building to hatred mirroring

    relationships that communicated
    in real reality
    to those of space-filled disassociation

    memorably creative worlds and characters
    of mystery and intrigue
    replaced by the morbid, dark, convoluted

    trashy novels gone creepy, selfish
    and selfishly marketed
    to younger and younger readership

    teaching children to love and respect
    to be good sports and act in camaraderie
    now encouraging youth to be on top at any cost

    Pop culture’s rites of passage reflect the times:
    our self-absorbed
    back-stabbing rules
    single winner takes all

    And yet we lament
    when and why youth
    has gone sour

    we being adults
    the so-called role models
    those responsible
    for creating our media

    Like chicken to egg
    is it our youth or it’s media
    the real or the reality
    that’s gone bad

    Hmmm, makes you think
    and wonder
    if the next generation
    will even know how

    Michele K. Smith

  230. break_of_day

    sometimes I just want to hear a Sex Pistols song
    and reminisce about the first time
    I heard Johnny Rotten’s
    punk-rock voice

    a lifetime before bratty punk-rock voices
    filled the soundtracks
    of music videos,
    whining volumes

  231. writinglife16

    Pop Culture Riff

    Neon wigs and mini skirts
    Stiletto shoes and tie-dye shirts
    Old 33 and a third LPs
    Lava lamps and hippie beads
    They’re all a part of my history.

  232. Erynn


    Dr. Who traveled the galaxy
    Sherlock solved crimes easily
    Firefly got canceled to soon
    Supernatural made us swoon
    Harry Potter taught us magic
    Lord of the Rings was beautifully tragic
    Narnia told us a wonderful story
    Heroes was all power and glory
    Buffy kept saving the world
    Merlin had his story told
    Dollhouse took your memory
    Charmed showed us the power of three
    The Avengers took Loki’s power
    X-Men won the final hour
    Superman patrolled the sky
    Batman heard a city’s cry
    Each fandom plays a part
    In ripping out a fangirls heart
    A fan of one, or of a few
    Fandom feels are nothing new

  233. kldsanders


    Don’t stop believin’
    in the power of love.
    Let it go for
    a tale as old as time.
    All you need is love,
    but we’re living on a prayer.
    Halfway there.

    There’s a bad moon on the rise,
    and I want it painted black.
    Don’t you draw the Queen of Diamonds, boy,
    know when to walk away, know when to run.
    What can make me feel this way?
    It’s been a hard day’s night.
    Love is a battlefield.

    It’s the end of the world as we know it,
    and I feel fine.
    Do you wanna build a snowman?

    -Karen Sanders

  234. Emily Cooper

    The Void of Floyd

    Miley Cyrus
    has been hospitalized
    since Tuesday night

    (no not from OD’ing
    on twerking while
    sticking her tongue out

    though it’s forgivable
    to think that)

    due to a severe reaction
    to antibiotics.

    She tweeted her St. Louis
    fans Wednesday morning

    since she wouldn’t
    get to play for them
    that night.

    But rumor also has it
    that she is still in mourning
    of the recent death

    of her dog Floyd
    (reportedly killed
    by a coyote).

    Her mom Tish Cyrus
    bought her a new puppy
    named Moonie

    but Miley gave it back

    because new puppies
    can never fully
    replace old ones

    even after we humans
    have done our best to move on

    and not all celebrities
    regardless of how malleable
    they themselves are

    think of their pooches
    as toys.

  235. Walt Wojtanik

    i carry my iPhone

    i carry my iPhone with me
    (i carry it in my pocket)
    i am never without my camera
    (anywhere i go my camera’s my iPhone;
    and whenever I’m lost
    my GPS and compass are you,my iPhone)

    i fear no texts
    (for you are my connection, my tether)
    i want no computer
    (for the internet can be logged onto, with you)
    and it’s you that is whatever a radio had always been
    and whatever a palm-sized television studio can be

    here is the simplest secret everybody knows
    (here is the cell of my cell and the ear-bud of my hands-free
    and the matter of all that really doesn’t matter of this app called life;
    which delves as low as a soul can go or minutia a mind can hold)
    and this is a wonder how we functioned without you!

    i carry my iPhone.
    (i carry it in my pocket)

  236. CristinaMRNorcross


    Shazam tells me I would like
    Mumford and Sons,
    So I ask Siri to bring up iTunes.
    Greasy spoon?
    Yes, the nearest greasy spoon
    is on Main Street.
    Is there anything else I can help you with?

    When too lazy to put on my own music,
    or find out which album has virtually
    Sirius XM New Wave
    brings back,
    Every Day is Like Monday
    or the refrain,
    It’s the End of the World as We Know it.

    I’m left with the bubble
    of thinking that I’m still in the late 80’s –
    a virtual music world –
    when we still had vinyl,
    and you could rewind a cassette tape
    with the turn of a pencil.

    Cristina M. R. Norcross
    Copyright 2014

  237. mzanemcclellan

    Dose Of Reality
    While it is presented as nonfiction
    we know it is anything but a fact.
    Talk shows that open with somber subject,
    devolve into a three ring circus act.
    The media needs more reality.
    There is far too little found in the news.
    They produce programs that are unscripted
    Normal seeming people, now in a zoo.
    We pick our favorite and cheer for them,
    disappointed when they are voted off.
    Winners who milk sixty seconds of fame,
    at their subsequent troubles we all scoff.
    Proliferating all of the airwaves,
    in attempt to influence behavior.
    Telling the viewing public of problems,
    presenting their products as a savior.
    We rush right out to the store to buy it,
    perhaps we order it somewhere online.
    Not realizing that we have been duped,
    choosing a different brand the next time.
    Interesting they call it all programming,
    I shudder to consider the effect.
    Societies raising children these days
    without more healthy physical outlets.
    Switch off the infernal idiot box,
    then toss the kids outside and lock the door.
    Grab a book of poetry and nourish
    your spirit … since that is what it is for.

    ~ M. Zane McClellan

    Copyright 2014
    M. Zane McClellan
    All rights reserved

  238. Mama Zen

    Spidey Sense

    on the eight-spoke web,”
    Spidey said.

    “Sticky or silk is a state of mind

    and grace
    the mate of an empty head,”
    Spidey said.

    But what if I’m the fly?

  239. RobHalpin

    It’s not so pop to me

    Pop culture
    is mostly boring
    me since the
    eighties passed.
    Inane and uncreative,
    I find most of it.

    of the past cultures
    with new paint
    and fake parts.
    Celebs and regular folk
    all facaded up.

    Or maybe
    I graduated
    from high school
    to adult,
    cynical and unimpressed
    with what’s popular.

  240. Clark Buffington

    Pop Culture

    I want to flee from Pop Culture, I think it is killing me as it drags society to the depths of stupidity and despair. There is no where to hide and nowhere to run as the interwebs sit like a preying mantis waiting for me, the 24 hours of TV stalk me like a cat after a mouse, and a smartphone lurks in ambush.

    I cannot drive away from it as it’s always in my pocket and even alerts me when something exciting happens like a Kardashian changing outfits. A chime says there is a divorce of world shattering magnitude between two people that have no clue of reality, just the brutality of blogging from the bahamas on vacation.

    The Counter Culture is as bad as the Pop Culture, if it becomes cool the Pop Culture absorbs it like an amoeba having dinner, unknowing it still thinks its unique. It’s never been this bad and it is only getting worse. Oh hell, I’ll watch “The ‘80’s; The Decade that Made Us” when it was real and people were normal.

  241. Espen Stenersrod

    Outside the prompt again
    Day 17
    Ironclad garden

    Metallic smell of freshwater
    A rusty taste of green in the air

    The Iron rose blossom
    With all of its heavy pride
    Worn like a thorn crown
    That would make necks and backs
    Bend on a weaker soul
    To the ground

    The Master of the garden
    Holds her heaviest burdens
    close to her chest
    As she speaks to the rest of her clan
    They have all worn her iron
    but not in the way that she has

    Her power lies like a carpet around their necks,
    And they crawl to her command
    She adress them as  her carpet crawlers,
    Her lambs
    As they lie there half in their sleep
    Worshipping the feet of their rose

    While she can see it all

    The only one that holds the key
    To the staircase that leaves upwards and out of sight

  242. JadeWr1tes

    “Remember, Remember!
    the fifth of November,
    The Gunpowder treason and plot!
    I know of no reason
    why the Gunpowder treason
    should ever be forgot!” – English Folk Verse (c.1870)

    Vacuity (4/17)

    Vindicating the very victims
    of vaccines, with vivid
    vitreous eyes, viscous
    smell of the virulence,
    no surprise, villains vilify
    the vitality of the visage
    you see on your light-box,
    the vile with vigilant vigor
    view vulnerability of virgin
    minds, sucking dry volition
    of American people, violating
    rights, virtual freedom being
    injected like a virus, vie not.
    Your voluntary vox must not
    be volatile, but be voluble.
    Who will vouch for your freedom?
    And who vows to visualize
    the potential of truth and love?
    The visionary whose vision never
    loses sight of true virtue
    and lives to verify the verity
    and seek vengeance on the
    venal vermin in Office
    that vex the existence of
    veracious love.

    (Inspired by “V for Vendetta”)

    Jada Lopez

  243. Jacqueline Casey

    *Bella Luna

    Oh, Leonard Cohen, you are but a dream
    but would you try to meet me in the Fall?
    No longer we’re so young as seventeen
    but fools may have their moments, after all.

    I’ll croon for you a Hallelujah chorus.
    We’ll go to Queens for drinks at Donovan’s.
    You’ll tune for me your Hallelujah Opus:
    I’ll grovel at your feet should that time come.

    Oh, Leonard, would you meet me in New York
    just as the dying leaves fall into poems?
    I’ll wear low heels to dance; they’re quiet cork.
    A red dress with a toast to Jeroboam!

    My death from hero worship comes, it’s true
    from adoration: bella luna, you!

    Day 17, Writer’s Digest April PAD. Write about a popular artist.

    *”bella luna (one meaning: a mysterious man who brings light to life).

    1. Scribbling Sue

      ‘Just as the dying leaves fall into poems’ – a lovely image and very Leonard Cohen, IMO. Also big fan and have seen him twice in concert when he was aged 77 and 78.

  244. Mark Danowsky

    Unity in Culture Collision

    I felt it, just for an instant
    hearing The Mountain Goats
    as characters burned down a house
    in The Walking Dead.
    This could be the grown up
    version of my communion
    with a certain someone
    on The OC, which remains
    a source of embarrassment
    for all time. But in my defense
    will Judge Roy Snyder pronounce
    a simple “boys will be boys
    heavily into Death Cab” verdict?
    “No Country for Old Men
    is the Blue Velvet of our generation”
    is what I wish I had the chance to say
    to David Foster Wallace.
    Recently, without
    the use of any narcotics
    I had the most surreal experience
    during the bathroom scene
    in The World’s End.
    What really must be said
    is that it is a travesty every time
    you are presented with real
    face time and someone asks
    if you have seen such and such

  245. Clark Buffington

    Hey Dad

    I love my two teenage guys
    but “Hey Dad” is the start
    of a conversation I do not get

    The things they find funny
    and shows they watch
    puzzle me as it entertains them

    My mom smiled at me
    and said that this
    is nothing new in life

    It turns out Pop Culture
    is only cool to the kids
    that drive it down the road

  246. ambermarie


    Mind your affairs, young woman
    Try on that lingerie behind locked doors
    Or in the streets
    Pay no attention to the numbers and paper
    That keep you naked in the cold
    Get your Big Brother haircut
    Smear on the orange lips of lies
    And deny your hunger to exit the cage,
    A cell aging you with false mirrors
    Because you refuse to take care of yourself
    And you hide in shame from the others
    Afraid to admit you manipulate their love
    An unconscious boss making unfair rules
    Trading sex for whatever its worth

  247. uneven steven

    Why did the developer take the flappy bird app off the market?
    What is this some kind of joke?
    A retro phone app earning 50,000 dollars a day and the developer
    withdraws it because of its “addictive nature” – easy to learn, hard to master,
    simply tap to fly or fall from gravity, get a point
    for each mario tube you navigate, only has 1 bell and 2 whistles
    and an infinite playing field.
    He said he might bring it back if there were a warning label on it.
    For 50,000 dollars a day I would put a warning label on my life –
    little necktie me tapping buttons at work or falling into homelessness,
    navigating the everyday crap that keeps popping up
    like stepping on the cat or having the wife yell at me again,
    the next day getting up and doing it again
    and again endlessly until I really finally die –
    who wouldn’t want a distraction from this tedious
    addictive warning labelled life and if flappy bird won’t do it,
    splashy fish I know you will,
    you see I’ve always been afraid of heights
    and it’s been said we all come from the ocean anyways –
    simply tap to keep afloat, it has 1 splash and 2 bubbles,
    so just relax and concentrate like hell
    to avoid being eaten alive

  248. Jezzie


    My workmates think I’m weird,
    spending Saturday night
    going to a classical concert
    or listening to a choir
    in comfort, in the house of God.

    I think my workmates are weird,
    spending a long weekend
    camping at Glastonbury
    listening to loud rock bands
    in pouring rain, wallowing in mud.

    Then I remember
    the Rolling Stones
    and how I stood for hours,
    wet through in the rain,
    waiting see them again.

  249. Quaker

    People think it strange,
    I do not own a television,
    and have not had one since 1970,
    so I have no idea
    what they are talking about
    when they share current stories
    about what different shows are doing,
    or who is marrying who on a reality show,
    or what contestant blew it on a game show,
    or the latest catch-phrase.

    I get all the entertainment I need
    from listening to them
    then going in the backyard
    and watching my garden grow
    the blue jay on the feeder
    the butterfly at the center
    of five scarlet petals
    of the Maltese Cross.

    They can talk all they want
    about who should have won
    a singing contest or what show
    should not have been cancelled,
    I am picking fresh blueberries.

  250. JanetRuth

    Downton Abbey-hearts

    Tea sipped from fine china will not take us there
    Yet we curl up in England from our easy chairs
    With servants, gowns and hats, though liberation
    Sneers now at stiffness of such tradition
    We become Mary, Anna, Cora, even Lady Grantham
    Because somewhere within us we understand them

    We are not familiar with much of the ado
    But ah, we all know a Miss O’Brien or two
    And the snobbery of royalty still thrives
    Lust, love, greed, grief; these are life
    And we, blue jean princesses could well wear their names
    Because human emotion is ever the same

    So we sip our tea, love our ‘Bransons’ and ‘Bates’
    Call our castles home, search for soul-mates
    For we are all Crawleys; rich, poor, in-between
    Tested with love and loss on living’s green
    Centuries pass; old fashions seem strange
    Yet, those things of the heart never really change

    © Janet Martin

  251. Walt Wojtanik


    “You spin me right round, baby
    right round like a record, baby
    Right round round round” ~Dead or Alive

    “Stacks of wax and platters” are making a comeback,
    grooves and tracks on vinyl in revival. Their survival is surprising.
    Comprising decades of development, their relevance is “new”.
    Milk crates in storage, collecting dust and warped,
    turning that page to today. Cracks and crackles are cool,
    old school. Turntables modified; USB port computerized,
    transferred favorites are digitized. A complete 180 turn around.
    No tapes, no discs, no mp3s. You spin me round,
    Like a record Baby! Right round round round

    1. mzanemcclellan

      I miss the hiss and crackle of the needle when it hits the disc,
      but I must admit my preference for an mp3 which rarely skips. :-)

      Nice poem Walt. ~ Michael

  252. break_of_day

    I am a 13-year-old
    and I cannot shake the sensation

    I was a respectable
    in sober reflection befitting my age

    And then you appeared
    and I am in junior high all over again

    1. break_of_day

      And while we’re on the subject of being drawn in by a charismatic presence:

      you on your pedestal

      me in the theater

      the allure of beauty

      the return of reality

      the thrill of celebrity

  253. candy

    Sentimental Journey

    The astronauts drank TANG
    Wheaties was the breakfast of champions
    Pop-tarts made an ordinary toaster a thing of magic
    Pop-beads of many colors adorned wrist and necks
    like royal jewels
    Pop-rocks foamed from mouths turning children
    into mad dogs
    Pop or soda was the great debate
    Jiffy Pop
    Snap, Crackle, Pop

    Oh what lovely memories pop to mind

  254. arlingtonscribe


    I hadn’t had a Lennon moment
    until then, sitting in my college
    dorm room doing something
    inconsequential and MTV
    spills out this breaking news,
    and I felt a tear well up,
    blinking them back, I’m stunned
    to silence.

    I’ll always remember where I was,
    and more specifically, who I was,
    and all I wanted to be –
    that moment carried like a Talisman
    in my pocket, a pocket universe
    thrown into chaos.

    “Throw down your umbilical noose,”
    you sang, and whenever I hear it,
    it makes me time travel
    back to when

    Gangsta Rap, Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg,
    were drinking gin and juice;
    boy bands were fading (for the moment);
    picket fences was a name of a TV show,
    and it was so kind to rewind.

    Your Seattle sound blasted through
    my CD Sony Walkman,
    elevating me and consoling through
    surprising chord progressions that drifted
    through my adolescent brain.

    Initially, Foo Fighters felt like a betrayal,
    but then I relaxed when the music
    made me smile;
    it wasn’t a Kurt thing at all;
    it did its own thing;
    and I was thankful

    Has it been 20 years already?

    My CD collection grows furry
    with dust because I’ve carried
    you over the threshold of the
    21st century, where the physical
    has become digital

    but I’m in it for the long haul,
    and let’s face it, you still
    give me goose bumps

    when I hear the first words
    you ever said to me
    three simple words
    spoken at a hypnotic
    pulse, promising a much
    longer future that never came
    to be: “hello, hello, hello”

  255. DanielR

    It amazes me how my TV
    no longer has originality
    ever since our society
    embraced this false reality
    I’m tired of our stupidity
    born long ago with MTV’s
    Real World, but when
    is this foolishness gonna end
    because it never should have began
    blindly following the trend
    of voting others off the island
    American Idol, The Amazing Race
    Honey Boo it is such a disgrace
    Real Housewives get out of my face
    Dance Moms is such a waste
    on and on and on I could go
    especially awful are those kids shows
    who clearly show parent’s selling their souls
    believin’ it’s all a part of the game
    pimpin’ their kids for a shot at fame
    just so someone will know their name
    like Kardashian which don’t mean a thing
    because it’s clear there was no reason
    for the first or any other season
    of reality TV

    Daniel Roessler

  256. cindikenn

    70s Child

    Long hair, bald head,
    Shack up or wed,
    Skin pierced, lobes bare,
    Tan skin or rare.

    Dolphin tattoos,
    High heel wedge shoes,
    Maxi, mini,
    Curvy, skinny.

    As I grow up
    the less I care
    what others do
    and others wear.

    But since you asked,
    I’d love to dance.
    Do you like my
    Corduroy pants?

  257. skanet


    #oldfogie #dontfelllikeinvitingtechnologyintomyminutes
    I don’t use pintrest either
    Or instragram
    Pictures are for me, not for you
    (Unless you ask, of course)
    I text a lot,
    But not like it’s second nature
    Don’t run to the phone every time it dings
    Like people only ten years younger
    Who get nervous, like missing a cigarette

    All things reach their apex and begin to fall
    It won’t last forever
    Because young people thrive on change,
    And there’s almost nowhere left to go but down.

  258. Benjamin Thomas

    Lebron James Beast Mode

    The King can dunk
    fiercely with the best,
    as he spins, maneuvers
    delivers, beats his chest.
    He sprints like cheetah,
    but is sly like cougar.
    Always hungry for the net;
    he’s a beast released,
    a stallion breaking sweat.

  259. Kimmy Sophia

    A short grocery list
    grapes and peanut butter
    and I’m in the express line
    assaulted by shocking headlines:
    “Kim Kardashian can’t find brain!”
    “Angelina Skinnier!”
    “Michelle punches Barack!”
    When I was ten years old
    shocking headlines
    had different names:
    “Liz and Dick Drink and Fight!”
    “Jackie Kennedy Hides From Camera!”
    Who are these gossip hounds?
    Who buys this trash?
    “Graves in Arlington Cemetery Seen Rolling Over”
    “Washington and Lincoln in Tears!”

  260. Andrew Kreider

    During staff meeting, Grandma is twerking in the residents’ lounge

    Drop me some beats
    and I’ll make a wall of light
    for y’all – a symphony.

    a little more gin a little less pink
    while Luther pushes all
    the couches back – watch my ass.

    I’ll grab the cute one this time
    pull him by the tie into the ring
    he never could say no – and spin his head.

    Ten minutes while they talk about
    the Donut Hole – I never gave a f*ck
    and these apples are still firm – c’mon bite me.

  261. PressOn


    My dad was such a gentle soul,
    a man who revelled in the role
    of breadwinner who kept us whole,

    but nonetheless I knew my place:
    I surely would transgress his grace
    if ever I chanced to sass his face

    and learned the full meaning of Pop culture.

    1. mzanemcclellan

      HA! Old school. The y have entire agencies devoted to keeping one from disciplining their child. Though I don’t believe in corporal punishment anymore. Nice one PressOn.

  262. Walt Wojtanik


    “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” ~Ferris Bueller 1986

    Let’s get real.
    What’s so interesting about mouthy spoiled brats
    shaking their asses around Calabasas.
    When I was a bachelor, it was hard enough
    to catch the eye of one American beauty
    let alone woo a bevy of babes. Surviving
    was just living day to day. The natives on
    Woola Woola Island have it rough enough,
    without television crews trampling the foliage.
    I have a voice, but not what others want to hear,
    I have a choice and I choose to remotely control
    to the saving of my soul what I view.
    Reality is waking every morning to face the world,
    or the little part of it we CAN control, that DOES
    affect our lives. Rambunctious kids and
    adult children chasing the “Dream”, American
    or otherwise. Battling job issues (If you even have one),
    Twits on twitter and TMZ do not phase me,
    it’s crazy to hang on every hashtag (#bullshit).
    People below the poverty level,
    folks battling diseases,
    elderly losing their minds in a painfully real way.
    Life is not a game we pay. Dog-eat-dog
    had it’s day, but nailing the other poor bastard
    for the joy of it is also #bullshit.
    Rule your realm, take the helm and steer
    past the schlock, turn the tube off and live your life.
    Really. You be what’s on tonight. You’ll be alright!

    1. mzanemcclellan

      Hear hear! and also a Preach! for good measure. I couldn’t have said it better myself. I know because I tried and I like yours better. Thanks Walt, it’s fun to read your poems. ~ Michael

  263. bxpoetlover

    It Wasn’t Just His Musicology

    that I made me Adore him
    when I was 8–
    it was something about the way he sang
    I Wanna Be Your Lover to me
    well not just me
    I think it was the afro
    how his hazel eyes burned through mine
    well not just me

    He was a bad boy
    partied like it was 1999
    and drove A Little Red Corvette.

    Blasted Purple Rain in my room
    but put Darling Nikki on low.
    The way he kissed Appollonia
    made me anxious about my first–
    it was good
    I wanted some extra time in his Kiss.

    The high heels are gone but
    he can still move in those orthopedic shoes.
    When I see him on TV, at 55
    I think yeah,
    He can still get it.

  264. JadeWr1tes

    Light-box News (4/17)

    Flicking on the light-box
    and expecting something new
    is like expecting for Ralph Lauren
    not to create another shoe
    for the fashion fanatical like me
    who fits in visually but only in that way
    seeking new excitement in front
    of my eyes, instead of my body
    each and every day, emotions running
    through me like I’m living the life
    of the criminal both happy and sad,
    memorizing chemicals that will
    never have me Breaking Bad
    or rationalizing the necessity for the
    serial killers to live, watching the
    Tudors show another court jester,
    deep dreams about the
    self-righteous killings of Dexter,
    and I’m not quite sure what the fuss
    is about on the TV;
    “Are these really some people’s lives?”
    I ask my husband while gazing at
    Sons of Anarchy, quite interesting
    between what is real or what is fake,
    but I still believe artists use lies
    to tell the truth so I take it.

    Jada Lopez

  265. Poetess

    Hunger Poems

    The game’s a poem
    Hungering for life
    Fighting to breathe
    Living in the forest
    Minds’ eyes scene
    Spectating everyone
    Thirsting a victory
    Game of Poems
    Eternal history
    Repeating it self
    Over and over
    Finding the stage
    Fighting the rage
    For all do see
    The wizard works
    So hard to b’ego
    But lo the mind no!
    The heart lesson
    Wins the write!
    Truth seducing
    Daring declaring
    Hungering for it
    The poem fighting
    For its art-life
    Needs no fame
    The master game
    Hunger Poems…

  266. break_of_day

    “This is my Design”

    You know he’s a killer, right?
    An organ-eating, mind-manipulating monster.
    You can tell, if you know.
    The red walls are a hint,
    and that exotic food you consume at his table
    that you’re gonna regret eating one day.

    He makes the story unfold his way,
    because he’s a smart serial killer,
    a cunning cannibal, a meticulously
    manipulative monster.
    The red walls are a hint,
    red among the cool greens of life that surround him,
    lifeblood spilled onto the walls,
    seeping into the curtains.

    You know he’s a killer, right?
    Maybe not yet, but you will.
    The day of knowing nears, and I hope
    it comes quickly, and I hope
    you survive it,
    and that you don’t have anymore dinners with a killer
    who eats his trophies.

    1. break_of_day

      I originally wrote this from the Day 11 prompt (statement poem) but did not post it. I will work on something new for today, but also wanted to share this one.

  267. Linda Voit

    Generational Hash

    My mother’s childhood – a lowly meal
    My childhood – a drug they warn us about
    My daughter’s childhood – 140 characters

    Linda Voit

  268. Sasha A. Palmer

    Hello everyone. Seventeen prompts, seventeen haiku.

    beyond the welkin
    a sleepy angel awakes
    off to work wings brushed

    the commute is quick
    one giant leap for mankind
    for angel one step

    the task is simple
    persuade men to be happy
    that’s what angels do

    since the creation
    happiness has been men’s foe
    men prefer ruin

    men long for passion
    harmony unsettles them
    men would rather burn

    men inhale cities
    drink beneath the rural moon
    on the airplane wings

    ever amateur
    created in God’s image
    hopelessly human

    torment their lovers
    dance themselves to destruction
    ever lonely men

    finding no refuge
    men cry when they see the Pope
    vagabond pilgrims

    empires rise and fall
    look back foresee the future
    humans do not change

    men bend their beliefs
    divide sex and sentiment
    still believe in love

    strolls through central park
    wild quarrels starting over
    beautiful and damned

    men battle their beasts
    walk along the precipice
    all the sad young men

    if i were God i
    dancers and storytellers
    always reasoning

    love is all there is
    still men crave bitter in sweet
    never satisfied

    men beat on borne back
    ceaselessly into the past
    silent tombstones speak

    lost generation
    paradigmatic writings
    jazz age any age

  269. TomNeal

    Breaking News

    I like news in pre digested packets
    Of red or blue, as I choose, yellow news,
    Pulitzer and Hearst, nothing new for me,
    But have it read by pretty faces please.

  270. Cin5456

    Just a Pipedream

    We’ve created a social media
    to set the internet afire,
    and douse the blazes burning.
    The site is called WTFDYS,
    WetFridays for short, because having a
    sane discussion interrupted by internet trolls
    is like Friday rain and canceled weekend plans.

    The first three letters are WTF.
    The last three letters DYS – Did You Say?
    Our innovative social media, WTFDYS,
    lets you flame a troll
    in 144 characters or less.
    Had a fight with your boyfriend?
    Hurry over to WTFDYS,
    and blast some internet troll
    with all the epithets
    you wanted to use
    by were too polite to say.

    Insults, harangues, give them hell –
    feed the trolls to gorging.
    We hire professional trolls
    from political forums.
    Their obsession is our gain.
    You let off steam;
    their lameness is exposed.
    You will laugh your ass off
    at stupidity ad-infinitum,
    and the rest of the internet
    becomes inexplicably peaceful.

    The beauty of this social media is –
    there will always be trolls. We intend
    to lure them to an honest profession,
    and use desensitizing therapy.
    A year or two working for us,
    our burned out trolls will probably
    volunteer for the Peace Corp
    after all the internet flames them.

    When trolls leave WTFDYS,
    they will never troll again –
    guaranteed by an iron-clad contract.
    And your frustrations have an out
    for every slight and insult.
    You answered back and
    got the best of them every time.
    We call that satisfaction.

    Cynthia Page

  271. Jerry Walraven

    “Ones and Zeros”

    The morning sky is #E0F2F7
    with the pale sun #FBFBEF
    and I overhear
    some gossip
    about Samsung and Apple
    as I walk down the street.
    If you want to talk
    between mobile platforms,
    open a bottle of wine
    and we can talk all night
    but ask me about
    the buzz about
    anything else
    and you may as well be talking
    01101111 01101110 01100101
    01110011 00100000 01100001
    01101110 01100100 00100000
    01111010 01100101 01110010
    01101111 01110011

  272. dhaivid3

    Poem Title: (Honestly, haven’t got one for this)

    His eyes are on me; we circle
    Slowly, with catlike movements.
    We dance.
    Each watching the other, carefully.
    Me, trying to decide what he might do
    And him, calculating.
    He smiles, slowly but confidently, knowing I’d give up soon.
    Disarmed by his charm
    I relax, but only slightly.
    I’m aware that he might still have a plan
    To subdue me.

    He still has his gun,
    And I have mine
    But his gun is golden.
    And so is the glint in his eye.
    I shake my head to clear it.
    I can’t believe I’ve fallen for this spy.
    He knows that I
    Believe in the Afterlife and that we all live twice
    And that in this thought I find solace.
    He knows that the entire world would never be enough
    To deter me from that mission:
    Not even the stones that last forever
    Some of which he brought back from Russia
    Where he had seen an Octopus whilst (he claims) he was on some Lady’s secret service
    During which he had been issued a license to take out threats.
    He knew I could never kill him.

    HE did not believe in the Afterlife
    And for his part was prepared to die – only not today.
    He had to take care of me first.

    A sweat bead runs down the bridge of my nose.
    I know I’m going to lose.
    I feel the sky fall now and tears fill my eyes
    Because I accessed the files that were for his eyes only
    And I know he has a view to killing anyone who has seen the contents.
    I decide that at the very least, I would defend myself till the end.
    For sure
    I was going to get the living daylight beaten out of me
    If it came to blows,
    But I drop my gun anyway. His smile widens and he drops his.
    Fists balled, I smile back in return, a weak, shaky smile.
    I hear thunder outside. That means rain. That is good according to certain African beliefs.
    I feel the beginnings of a laugh somewhere in my stomach. Probably a good day to die anyway, the cynic in me says.
    I stop moving. I’m tired.
    I sigh inwardly and crouch suddenly , ready to pounce.
    “Can I just ask one question?” I say.
    “Of course, Moonraker”, he replies. (Moonraker was my name, my parents appropriately disowned).
    We stare straight into each other’s eyes now. This was it.
    “Are you really a Doctor?” I ask.
    He answers: “The truth? No.”

    (All credit to the James Bond franchise and to whoever credit is due! Over 50 years of entertainment!)

  273. kelly letky

    walking into walls

    i’m not the best singer in the world
    (my cats are happy to let me know this)

    there are days all i want
    is to curl into a ball (feline style)
    and wait for tomorrow

    or magic or a miracle or even
    one tiny moment of escape

    but this isn’t fiction
    and you aren’t a hero

    (things really aren’t that bad and i’m made of iron)

    and then i start to wander (wonder)
    through characters and words
    and parceled-out syllables of time

    parsimonious gifts that feed me
    for days

    (i always have a bruise on my forehead)

    my legs keep moving
    even in my sleep

    i have no destination
    and i’ve erased all my maps

    (paper disintegrates)

    i keep trying to cross the threshold of after

    but i’m forced to make do
    with this shiny clean
    lace-curtained window

    (the sky is invisible)


    ~Kelly Letky


    {inspired by orange is the new black as pop culture reference}

  274. Linda Rhinehart Neas

    Visit from the Doctor

    Amazingly, house calls he makes
    to folks who don’t phone or call!
    He seems to six-sense their need
    but sometimes that’s not it at all.

    The Doctor is just out of this world,
    a hero, whose most odd,
    traveling around in his TARDIS dear
    The proverbial errant time lord.

    Some say he is just a dream
    of what we wish can be.
    But, I wait full of endless hope –
    He’ll come, I know, just wait and see.

  275. utsabfly

    Text Me

    Text me please, I’ve not time to talk,
    Add emoticons for effect.
    Suggestive and comical typos are fun,
    After a few reads I’ll know what you meant.

    I’m fond of having a little time,
    To plan what I want to say.
    When speaking off the cuff,
    I risk sharing thoughts in disarray.

    The warmth of a voice,
    Is an overrated conversational component.
    Instant electronic interchange,
    Trumps communicating verbal sentiments.

    Text me please, I can’t speak right now.
    This modern convenience is great.
    Thumb cramps and tripping while I walk,
    Are risks I’m willing to take.


    ©E.D. Allee
    April, 2014

  276. dianemdavis

    This is such a tough challenge, as I prefer historical writing….

    Like a Red Sox

    I ask PoPo if I can help
    make Zongzi
    for the Dragon Boat Festival.
    Maybe, if we do something together
    she won’t be so mad
    at me.

    She smiles as we stuff sticky rice
    into bamboo leaves, and hide things
    inside, like figs
    peanuts or apricots
    for a surprise–
    We tie them tight
    with five rainbow strings
    and pack them into a cooler
    for our picnic.

    In the old country, PoPo says,
    we didn’t eat Zongzi.
    We threw them into the river
    to honor the dragons.

    I toss a zongzi from hand
    to hand, wondering
    how far I would need to throw it
    to reach a dragon.
    Could it be a gentle toss
    or would I need to be
    David Ortiz
    to make my zongzi count.
    Higher and higher the zongzi flies
    as I consider why we no longer feed
    our dragons–
    But I miss my catch
    and rice
    cascades across the counter
    and all

    I’m sorry, I say,
    racing for a towel.

    PoPo only scowls.

  277. donaldillich

    Green Towel

    I wore a green towel around my shoulders,
    so a cape billowed down my back.
    Mom made sure it was secure, then I shot

    my arms ahead of me and flew.
    First my brother Lex Luthor showed
    he had kryptonite in his grubby hands.

    I fell to my knees, unable to resist its power
    while he cackled his perfected evil laugh.
    Suddenly, though, I reached deep down

    and knocked the metal from his grasp.
    “Oh, no!” he cried, then he ran in slow motion
    to his headquarters, the yellow sofa,

    where he could escape in his spacecraft.
    I grabbed his shirt and spun him around,
    so he collided with one of the white walls,

    and he bounced through the living room.
    Dad, the All Father, yelled he was in front
    of the TV, go and play in the other room.

    Together, we gave up our super hero play.
    We decided to try and emit deadly farts
    that would destroy even our Father.

    Soon, they filled up the room completely.
    Staggering under their powerful poisons,
    we weren’t sure even Superman could save us.

  278. viv


    I’m glad I’m not young any more,
    no longer obliged to be cool,
    pop icons are such a bore.

    I don’t have to put up with fools, or
    obey the rules, like at school:
    so I’m glad I’m not young any more.

    At parties, I brace myself for
    loud noise, which I think of as cruel;
    pop music is such a bore.

    Some singers I just can’t ignore,
    so dishy they make me drool.
    I’m still glad I’m not young any more.

    Heavy metal is what I deplore –
    half-deaf and of the old school,
    pop icons can be such a bore.

    Just a beat and a roar,
    at a level so loud you’ll
    decline to be cool
    and be glad you’re not young any more.