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August 8, 2016

It starts with Pulse,
Orlando, and does not
Get better after that. 

The National were fabulous,
But social media postings
halted in exchange

For death at a related 
Venue. Guns all over
The place. Open

Carry. "Let me assault
You with this ridiculous
gun I collect-

I'm not sure why."
When will common sense
Return or was it ever here?

The media construct
The dichotomy of our
Worst and best. 
They highlight the differences
So well, and fail,
Every time, on shades

Of grey. A plan
For chaos. A plan
To sell ad space
And runs on the market. 



This is Poem #142 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.

July 25, 2016

They do not often use styrofoam 
Anymore, so they put
A cardboard ring around
To save your fingers from 
The scalding. 

       Do you take it black?
       A little sugar? One
       Lump or two?

Stopping at Starbucks
Equals normalcy -
Getting it back -
After planes hit
Towers or boys
Shoot up elementary 
Schools. The day you

Ask the barista, "Please, please,
please, let me get
What I want
This time. "


This is Poem #129 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.

July 8, 2016

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With all these guns poking

Out of the backs of jeans

And purses, lounging in glove

Compartments, it is amazing

 

More of us are not 

Caught in the swarm

Of ammo flying. Two

 

Decades to unravel 

Years of progress back

To this bleak time.

 

A dull house of suspicion, where

Anyone who is different

In the mirror or from the pulpit

Is executed on the spot. 

 

Seems we are always packing up our own toxicity

In wagons heading west –

Taking back what was never

Ours to begin with. 

 

This is Poem #116 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.


June 19, 2016

The whole country’s engaged

In this crazy game of semantics. 

Media moguls know which words-

or pictures- work

best to convince more 

 

Than any World War II propaganda

Poster drawn by a sellout artist.

(No one is a sellout anymore,

or they are, but no one cares.)

 

We are busy,

Fighting over the names

Of things,

Rather than the damage

 

Those things can do.

(Have done.) Put

Your dictionary away –

 

The edits aren’t done

Yet. Revise your 

Facebook post and logoff. 

 

This is Poem #98 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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