Oh the Good Old Days When the Berlin Wall Was Up Being a party member is a responsibilityto serve the proletarians with our utmost abilityso to say we obtain the privileges of an aristocratic nobilityis indicative of sheer and scheming lack of capitalist civility We serve our might land and peoplemerely a gunshot away fromContinue reading “Poetry Corner: “oh the good old days when the Berlin Wall was up””
Tag Archives: Canadian poetry
Poetry Corner: “Montreal memories and ghosts”
Montreal Memories and Ghosts Mordecai Richler and Leonard CohenI looked for you at Schwartz’s on the Mainwhere even the Boy Wonder was gonethey told me your spirits now eat at Joe Beef as you were evicted from Moishe’sthe mighty sirloin defeatsthe lowly smoked meat ( with fries, a dill and a Cott Cherry Cola)
Poetry Corner: “Hope”
Hope You held me spellboundfreshnessnot of plastic concocted standardized perfectionyour smiles in my direction wereof courtesy civility and cultured backgroundI tried to touch you but you needed everyonethose surly ugly butchers of your beautyoblivious to you they thundered over youleaving hoofprints on meripping and agonizing tortureI tried to healyou pushed me roughly asidebut you knewdidn’tContinue reading “Poetry Corner: “Hope””
Poetry Corner: “Dedication to a bus driver that will never know”
Dedication to a bus driver that will never know blank paper makes as much senseas the music of the turnstilesconstant inflow and outflow eddies of confusionfail to distract the frustrationand the odious discomfort of mesmerized pacingbrings little solace asinsanity clasps the narrow ledgeof its opposite sistermasses of flesh ooze their wayto compartmentalized homelessnessa man makesContinue reading “Poetry Corner: “Dedication to a bus driver that will never know””
Poetry Corner: “The Hunters”
The hunters Gentleman they saykill in the office or fields everydaythe gold mine owners want Peruvian Maxima Acuna deadthe hell with the waster water from the production of gold full of heavy metals and leadit really matter what the senior management teams sayto show them you are the boss of their wayis it really thisContinue reading “Poetry Corner: “The Hunters””
Poetry Corner: “Optical Illusion Oasis”
Optical Illusion Oasis People sitting under the great Canadian frightdrinking heavily in the village of neon lightpretensions of affairs being outta sightreally nothing more than a herd of uptight Such a pathetic sightstrongest on a Friday nightpeople with nothing to doexcept play acting cool foolsfloundering in the human cesspool Death should be superiorso come joinContinue reading “Poetry Corner: “Optical Illusion Oasis””
Poetry Corner: :Ode to Donald Trump”
Ode to Donald Trump It really wasn’t a surprise when the “stolen” election ousted you as leader of the flockyour Republican senators stabbed you in the back and that was quite a shockyour incitement and COVID mishandling made you fall so lowwhere did your friends the Proud Boys go?it’s clear 51% of the American populationContinue reading “Poetry Corner: :Ode to Donald Trump””
Poetry Corner: “the Visit”
The Visit a Mercedes drives upa sleek well dressed man emerges from withinhe treads into the facility feeling so fine with his charitable actionsand his shiny Hugo Boss shoeshe visits once a year at reception he is told his father is not yet Preparedand would he kindly wait a minutehe sits and gapes at theContinue reading “Poetry Corner: “the Visit””
Poetry Corner: “downtown Treblinka”
Downtown Treblinka Hemmed into the office towers by the awesome guard posts of corporate ideologythe weary beaten staggerstaggering into Calcuttian cubiclesto be transported to prosperous futilitywhisked by gleaming vehicles financed at the public expenseonly marred by the spots of the unhappily assimilatedbroken by their own black bootsstomped through lack of humanitylined up on the wallContinue reading “Poetry Corner: “downtown Treblinka””
Poetry Corner: “Junkie of sorts”
Junkie of sorts Up the highway flows the citrus juicefrom FloridaAnita Bryantthe pusherscores a hitandall are satisfiedexcept the Orange Birdwho weeps in lamentfor she can’t talkandis forced to sing atgunpoint Robert K. Stephen
