New poetry collection!

I very rarely write political poems – it may be other poets voice and genre, it’s not my voice. Or so I thought; I write of passion, the human experience. sometimes irony. Yes, politics – while a passion & “duty” of mine for years – has not been my poetic forte until …

Until Jan 20, 2017. While the political climate has been getting more polarized and needing to be policing – it wasn’t until inaugeration day my Muse decided she must act and do so loudly and actively.

Since that day I have moved to write something about the current USA political landscape almost every day.

Samples below


Update: This poem is to be released soon in the new antholgy Moment Before Midnight – available spring 2018 from Bob Hill Ventures. I will post the link when available.

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i didn’t watch the ceremony
the pageantry, the staged pomp
i didn’t need to play the political roue
they are contracted words from a liar who nullifies contracts
but only values nelson ratings
i watched the people,
the protests, those pulled to the streets
because what happening isn’t reasonable,
shouldn’t have happened; his seating was thoughtless,
spiteful, a knee jerk into the groin of our being –
a decaying apple placed into our stores –
a deliberate return to darker intentions.
and with pride, i watched our protests
our collective scream into the night
denouncing ignorance, spite and lies
a protest that, indeed, we are all equal
and must remain so.
and so,
when don the con raised his hand
onto a book he never read,
we overturned trash onto tuxedos
we ran the streets past riot gear
we faced down militarized police
we torched a limo like a flare;
every man, any man – a loud voice saying
“we won’t go backwards!”
tomorrow, i take to the streets, to the capitol –
every woman, any woman –
and add my voice “don’t touch!”
to the collective denunciation
“not my president. not my america”
our community is standing shoulder to shoulder
men and women, all diverse people
saying “no more!”

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written at the2017  Woman’s March …

day after inauguration

i am nasty
in Trump’s America
simply because i am a woman;

i am nasty
because i am still fertile
and bleed;

i am nasty
because cyclic bleeding does not kill me –
it reenergizes me, it renews me;

i am nasty
because I can give birth
and nurture from my body;

i am nasty
because the youth of America
is reared by women;

i am nasty
in Trump’s America
because i know this.

i am nasty
because i think for myself
and i teach children to think.

i am nasty
because i have a voice
and i use it.

I am nasty
because when i march
men and children march with me

i am “nasty”
as described by men
in power;

i am “nasty”
they say … what they mean is
they fear me –

the “nasty woman”.

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I am a long-term reader of Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaiden and, to be honest, I have watched the Rebublican politician’s rhetoric inching towards such a “Gilead” …


Update: This poem is to be released soon in the new antholgy Moment Before Midnight – available spring 2018 from Bob Hill Ventures. I will post the link when available.

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the prisoner

they grabbed her by the pussy,
shoved her down the fight of stairs into the shadows;
held that razor to her dark throat and roughly whispered
“it’s all your fault i aint got nothing” even though

they had more than they had eight years ago.
they were great, she was great – but they didn’t believe,
refused to see – insisted resources had to sparse
didn’t there need to be that competition, that “dog eat dog” ?

cannibalistic jihad – they’ll have their christian sharia
their holy warriors sacrificed -will cut down the surplus populationm
drive the price index up, get the oil valued more than water –
it’ll get them buying pussy, herding pussy – hell, everyone’s a pussy

except them – they are the winners, the rapists, the crack of the whip.
yes, they are the noise, the whip; falsely believing they are now promoted
from the field to foreman position, perhaps their dream of a plantation –
didn’t the man in the big house promise that he cares?

and for that promise they will pull us out of civility and back –
re-invent the plantation just so they can pretend to own everyone;
ignore that they were just owned, ignore the slapped chains
upon their ankles – it’s okay, in exchange they were given guns.

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in trump’s america
there are two women-
the one you buy,  the one you don’t value.

i would be the latter
for even abstinence
is better than forced prostitution.

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And with the first travel ban AKA muslim ban sucessfully blocked and twitter full of #NoWallNoBan, I found I kinda agreed with the Trumpanezes – but for a entirely different reason … Americans have gotten to be a danger to the rest of the world and should be caged in!


Update: This poem is to be released soon in the new antholgy Moment Before Midnight – available spring 2018 from Bob Hill Ventures. I will post the link when available.

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On March 31, Don the Con had a Executive Order signing ceremont – but walked off before the actual signing. If The Con reminds me of a spoiled child, the GOP leadership this past year reminds me strongly of the Harkonnen Line in Frank Hubert’s Dune.

executive order

he doesn’t like being questioned
that’s why he ran away

left the room, closed the doors
took his toys with him

so he wouldn’t have to answer;
he doesn’t like being pressed for details

or actual facts, reluctant to reveal he doesn’t know
he’ll keep it vague, like any con man

repeat the same salesman script
toss in multi-syllable words to make it sound

almost like he knows what he’s doing.
but he misapplies them, he doesn’t know their meaning –

a puppet trying to appear puppet-master
this was his moment as “leading man”

too bad he doesn’t know how to lead, to be a hero
who knew he would be expected to do things,

know things, be honest
(his wife didn’t), he didn’t as a figurehead.

when i watch him, i think of “dune”, of “beast rabben”
and next to him – republicans’ appointed “feyd”

the power hungry don’t realize we’ve been watching
anticipating that bait and switch when pence is placed

christian sharia and law installed
perhaps the beast is now realizing the player got played

his lackeys weren’t comrades in arms
but hold his strings, move his mouth.

this child who walked out of ceremony.
i’m disappointed – not in him

he’s always been a bad actor, broadcasting every move,
screaming every tell – no, it’s americans

not seeing feyd rabben placed on the board, waiting
his cruelty will seem a kindness, thanks to the beast.

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This piece is in response to an interview with a family in Trumbull; they are big 45-Supporters yet will be losing their house due to his administration.  They still support him …


the nation is showing fissures
there is cracks in the ceilings
bathrooms walls are crumbling from dryrot
mold and mildew grow in our childrens’ rooms –
thats okay – djt has a plan
in usa, we cannot afford to live in houses anymore
so give up, let your home fall
be homeless
be desparate
work at a job you may lose a hand at
lose your lung to
your fertility too.
get paid a dollar to poison your children’s water,
your children’s food –
spend it at the company store
with company currency
who knew you being so poor
could be so lucretive
but under this plan trumbull works –
man, woman, child,
your grandfather who raised you;
there’s room for all on the factory floor.
just dont expect to walk away with
money in your pocket.
no meals on wheels,
no programmed hope
in this third world nation
falling apart – called america.

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This relates an actual conversation. The young man was trying to explain how man-splaining annoys him …

white bread

as you deny doing so,
your words place me in a breadbox
with “dear” “sweetheart” “miss”
and a hand that cuts up in the air signaling me to quiet
as you over-talk my attempts
so you can talk, inform, educate me

forget for the moment you are only half my age
and living in my house,
forget for the moment, as you talk about a women’s experience
that i am a woman … and you are not
forget that you never asked about my studies, my experiences
as you insist yours is twice in size and scope as mine
do not let any of these factors dissuade you
in man-splaining the world out there
as you inform me what a feminist you crafted yourself to be;
do not let any of these power-plays stop you
from proving what a compassionate ally you are,
how worldly … an advanced citizen!

because they won’t dissuade you.

you are too busy talking – having others hear you – to hear;
too busy posturing to realize people do not fit in a grocery cart
the thing about putting people in a breadbox
is they are larger than a loaf of processed, pre-sliced bread.

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Too many leaders trying to change recipe for policy – wothout learning the policy or determining what the effect will be on citizens …

cookie dough burnt

on the edges
eggs cracked
milk spilt
sugar rationed out
flour to make up substance
beaten by two blades spinning
silver wings doing a concise chop and mix –
whipped, congealed. homogenized.
spoons cut, dissect bite-size pieces
drop my substance onto grease prepped
slide in, furnace engaged
flames in blue dance beneath
and on the heated metal, i
become a small disc – bubbling, melting
the air carries the scent of my flesh cooking
but i am forgotten, the timers voice
gives up in frustration at being ignored
steam turns to smoke
and my softness and melting now become hardened
bonds between my atoms get crystalized and shatter
like ice cold glass dipped in water
my skin turns a blackened brown
left too long

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poverty in senryu

“Because man, after all, is part of nature itself.”

This is small freedom –
beauty swimming in currents –
now aquarium.

This joyful movement –
downsweep of wing, voice calling –
now sits metal cage

This is predator –
face sharp, ears alert, claws quick –
wildness you brought home.

This is intention –
death that slithers, muscles squeeze –
appeased with heat rock.

This furry handful-
never naturally exists –
used as food, cure, pet.

This domestic wolf –
guards your home, protects your life –
you feed him your scraps.

These long-eared creatures –
experienced prey, docile –
You fed them lettuce.

And perhaps you pet
night creatures, scavengers, pests –
mob infestation.

Prized among your pets –
long pig brought down, head hanging –
still begging for scraps.

You claim custody –
dole out food, claim affection –
until you are hungry.

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in a cereal box

i’m looking for the prize in this junk filled box
of pestilential chemicals and oil disguised as nutrition
“lucky” the front of the box says and yet no luck here
it’s as if some orange beast dictated lies, coached conway’s newspeak
i can’t swallow this – it would leave me somewhere on the streets
heaving, my innards spasming, lungs unable to find clean air
and i certainly refuse to buy this for developing children
misled them to think this is good, is a reasonable choice
this wasn’t on my list, i didn’t put this in my grocery cart
it did not sneak home, hidden under california’s harvest and heartland’s produce
the only thing tempting may be the much touted surprise
“you won’t believe how good. it will be the best. others not good, not good at all”
and even though i dumped it out,
sifted through the manufactured preservatives and crumbs of … undistinguishable
any gold in this plastic bag of garbage turns out to be some cancerous yellow dye
there is no prize to be had; only a con – already rejected.

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A wall! A wall!
Our country clamors for a wall –

After 118 days, the country is now united;
all ethnicities chanting
“A Wall! Build it, build it fast.
We have only nine short days to save ourselves.

Paint the outside of it gold,
Plaster it with mirrors
disguised as cameras …
call it Trump TV.
Bait it with deep-fried chicken.

Insist it be a “Family Trip”.

Anything to lure him into staying on the other side of it.
This chance may never come again.

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