MAP 168-1 Theme: If Poetry Were On The Inaugural Program
1. No Poets Aloud by Rod C. Stryker
this is how it starts...
of poetic expression.
It's all down hill from here.
G.W., when the poets
are safely ensconsed in their closets
painters, musicians, liberal arts majors?
where will it end, Friend Bush?
If one of your sweet twins loves a poet,
would you deny his existence?
in the deep hours of night,
would you lie awake,
troubled, sweating, tossing,
turning at the knowledge
one of your own precious daughters
© 2001 Rod C. Stryker
Sun Poet's Society, http://clik.to/SunPoets
2. Thom the World Poet, recently naturalized American citizen, comments in Japanese form senryu.
They want a Fool for King
So they can pull his strings.
© 2001 TTWP
3. When Does A Therapist Call The Police by R. U. Outavit
I have had this dream since early childhood
at least since before puberty and the onslaught of maturity or manhood.
I was in a hayloft of a dilapidated, run-down barn
at the back edge of what was once a working farm
now abandoned due to its proximity to Eva Braun's
summer retreat where the Fuhrer (as rumor had it,
rumor being the only news you could believe,)
was now in a top-secret meeting to map out
the strategy of what would be the new world order
after final victory. I was not naked but
nearly so having torn and shredded my clothes
crawling across the stubble of the meadow
in the predawn darkness of a stormy, thunderous
night. Even my underwear was wet but my gun,
a new rifle with a telescopic sight, hidden in
the barn by an anonymous member of the Resistance
Underground was dry and well oiled having never been fired.
As I focused the cross hairs on his mustachioed head
I knew I couldn't allow the barrel to protrude
through the window, for all the sentries on guard duty
were watching. As the whole world urged me on
the thought occurred to me that this would be
the most important shot fired in the history of humanity;
but the actual pulling of the trigger, I was hesitant…
Won't someone please shoot the President!
© 2000 R.U. Outavit
4. Inauguration Day by Dunkin a/k/a Stephen Geller
The day after tomorrow came yesterday
in a syphilis infected society
pap smeared by forgotten destiny
Those red, white, and blue lies
or tattered black and gray truths
worn feeble under dirty wet linen
That reverberating hysteria
still rings cellular phone annoyance
an echo formed in primary nightmare
Sin easily confessed in curtained booths
I pull that garbage crusher lever
a castrated vote at best
But in my dreams
None of the Above
won this decision.
5. Mada Plummer submitted her poem for the "Civil Wrongs/Civil Rights" theme, but I decided to include it in this issue instead.
Splattered America's landscape
With fresh pain;
I stand wordless before
Rusting walls of evening fog
That shut out the setting sun over
My cremated dreams poured into a plastic bag;
I sit heavy-headed and hopeless thinking,
"You don't stand a chance."
With either House of dry season ticks
Or wet season leeches.
Flames roar through my bones
Whenever my right to vote -
And the right of those colored a shade of brown -
Has to be debated, approved and voted upon.
I was bred on this land
The sweat of my father's father brow wet the mortar
Between the bricks;
The milk of my mother's mother breasts fed the mouths
I was bred on this land,
I was not imported
Or granted asylum
Or sneaked across the border.
The 43rd leader with his tight smile
Attempts to erase my father's father seed
With one stroke of his pen;
The nation behind prison bars
He empties with lethal injections from moon to moon;
Beware: His red glowing crocodile eyes are watching.
The land's timeless rhythm
Will be balanced again
Jah will sweep snow from grass
And uncover food for cattle;
He will spread His hand
And reveal deep holes of ancient lakes;
He will right the wrongs
And fill the hills
With deep green mystery and mist;
And ensure that all men created equal
Will be treated so.
© 2001 Mada Plummer