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December 31, 2016

Cats don't care about Trump,
(Even if he is a pussy-grabber.)
The day after the election,
They didn't hiss and pull out their fur
In grief, worry, and outright

Anger. No. They got up.
Played with hair ties
And tiny fabric mice.
They asked for treats
And chased their tails;

They curled into tight balls
And napped. Around them,
Morning rose high amid
Our collective disbelief
That some could hold

Their own country
In such low esteem
To vote that way -

But the cats each purred,
Rolled onto their backs,
Invited us to rub
Their stomachs.



This wraps up the year-long Poem (almost) Everyday Project. This, Poem #230 (not 241 as originally erroneously counted), was the last of the writing that was perhaps my best therapist during one hell of a tumultuous year. One that began with the deaths of Bowie, Richman, and Prince and ended with the deaths of Michaels and Fisher. One in which I experienced exceptional workplace drama, and where an outdated electoral system decreed a bullying troll had been “elected” and would occupy the White House.

But, thanks to poetry, we can survive much.

Now, onto a new project for 2020. Put your ass-to-chair and keep writing.

December 28, 2016

It is not a game, but they are

Playing like it is.

Seven billion People hang, waiting for the next

Round – whether the dice will roll

Their way. It seems

We have all been forced

To skip a turn. Powerless we watch

The token few waltz

Around the board, breaking

The rules. (Scarfing up

Park Place only to burn

It down.)

Nothing makes sense,

Like a little child

Driving a car around

The board, oblivious

To the object of the game

And the ways that we

All can somehow

Win at its conclusion.

This is Poem #228 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 230 poems.  (Seems my math was off.)

Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

Just two more will take us to the end of 2016.

December 26, 2016

Good Christian men and women want
To rejoice, and for eight years
We could. Now, all spells
Doom and we make room

In our hears and lives
To take up arms against
A sea of troubles. Perhaps,
A literal one, as those who

Deny science take power
In the name of greed

At the expense of creed.

This is Poem #226 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

December 18, 2016

Eventually, even Nazi Germany
Recovered, for many, and
Returned to a new normalcy

On the other side of fascism.
This is what it feels like
At the precipice - powerless

To stop the bad you know
Will come and wondering
If this time will be

The last time it starts.
Is there an emergence
From the tunnel we are entering,

Or are we doomed
To be victims, all, of the

Impending collapse?

This is Poem #222 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

November 18, 2016

Be the tall island. Let
The rough waters swell,
Pound, beat around
And against you,

But, always stand
Taller. There is something,
In your belly, brewing

Heating rising. Now,
It is stirred up and you
Remember why it is

There. The brain
Had been able to rest,
A sleeping mountain,

And the village below
Got brave, built houses

At your base - but
Now, you will call
Them to action -

Make those homes
Float in a sea of lava
Born of this tragedy.



This is poem #201 from the Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Originally, the poem ended with the following lines, which I have decided to cut in light of recent events. Those who know me, know that I am not a violent person. However, it is interesting for me to go back into my mindset on the days after the 2016 election. This was more a call to protect ourselves from misogynists, who had recently been granted license to grab us by the “pussy,” rather than a radical call to violent action.

No man is safe
When the feminist
Buys her Glock.

November 12, 2016

An anonymous clan
Of slack-jawed troglodytes
Determined this election -

And we're left to wonder -
Where did we go wrong?
On The Simpson's in 1990

When Mr. Burns spit
Out that gelatinous
Chunk of three-eyed

Fish, his campaign
Was flushed along with it.
Fell to the ground like

A mutant fish.
But this time round,
Our own Mr. Burns

Ran and spit-up
Three-eyed fish daily.
Enough of us

Just did not care. Make fun
Of the disabled. Threaten
Those who disagree

As Hitler did. Say,
Women are nothing but pets
To be dragged around by our

Pussies. Those
Working-class, white boys,
Who've not had their

Needs met for a
Couple of years, will fuck
Over the whole,

Wide world and vote
For you anyway.

This is Poem #198 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

The Simpson’s “Two Cars in Every Garage and Three Eyes on Every Fish” If you need to rewatch or haven’t see it yet, you should. You may notice eerie comparisons between the episode, which originally aired in November of 1990, and goings on during the 2016 election in which Trump actually stated in Iowa, “I could stand in the middle of 5th Avenue and shoot somebody and I wouldn’t lose voters.” Sadly, he was correct.

November 11, 2016

All you have fought for is
Threatened by this choice.
I just keep thinking
Of Rome burning

While Nero played;
The history of little men.
The classic Narcissists:
Hitler, Napoleon,

Could not understand public
Service means service
to others.

Vanity leads
His followers to doom
As those who know
The past
Watch in terror.
Our cities spark and boom,

Flare and crackle,
As he throws on gun powder
And lighter fluid.

Buildings lit with amber
Fall in on themselves -
Towers crumbling like we
Have seen before.

And the narcissist
Plays his trumpet
And strokes his ego
Like a pet.

This is Poem #197 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

November 9, 2016

I am embarrassed - 
Like I have gone out
With no clothes.

We are all out
In the cold

now.

This is Poem #196 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. 

November 6, 2016

We pretend it is okay;
That every year is not hotter
Than the last, and that everyone
Within our borders has enough

To eat if they are willing
To work for it. Inside
The meta-cortex grey matter
Of our brains, however,

Everyone knows this is false.
We rant around a backyard
Fire, burning brush and bridges;
Wondering what Tuesday

Will mount - a hill to climb
Or a cavern to descend.

This is Poem #195 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. 

August 11, 2016

Steve, how do you feel about this now?
Everything has altered; now
We live in two atmospheres
And weakly navigate 
Them both. And this election

Is fought in a virtual
Realm - where all and nothing
Is fair. Love this war?
Twitter banter and deceitful

Memes. Facebook arguments.
Trolls. Viral score. 

Yesterday, a man climbed
A skyscraper with suction
Cups - actual reality -
Evidence of the danger is this. 

This is Poem #145 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

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