A MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL

by Shirley J. Brewer




Gun shots punctuate country music.
An endless series of ragged wounds
ruin amber waves of grain.

A damaged boy in black
takes aim behind his killer toy.
Gone our purple mountain majesties.

All the years I spent nurturing my child
dissolve in puddles of blood.
America! America!

Without solace, alone I become
a maternal vigilante.
Till all success be nobleness
and ev’ry gain divine.

A grieving parent, I want to destroy
weapons of rage throughout this land.
Oh, beautiful for heroes proved
in liberating strife.

My mission: Annihilate the guns.
Let the alabaster cities gleam
undimmed by human tears.

My child’s life matters.
Will you help me, please?
America? America?
From sea to shining sea.

Shirley J. Brewer serves as poet-in-residence at Carver Center for the Arts & Technology in Baltimore, MD. Recent poems appear in Barrow Street, Comstock Review, Gargoyle, Passager, Poetry East, Slant, and other journals. Shirley’s books include A Little Breast Music (2008), After Words (2013), and Bistro in Another Realm (2017).

BREAKING POINT

by David Chorlton

He was there to play, not to party. The night before the shooting, Mr. Paddock made two complaints to the hotel about noise coming from his downstairs neighbors: Albert Garzon, a restaurant owner visiting from San Diego, and his wife and friends. Mr. Garzon, who was staying in 31-135, directly beneath Mr. Paddock, said security guards knocked on his door around 1:30 a.m. on Sunday and asked him to turn down his music, country songs. When he asked where the complaint was coming from, pointing out that the nearest rooms on either side were far away, the security guard said, “It’s the guest above you.” —The New York Times, October 4, 2017

He was a quiet man, a man
who worked with numbers and amassed
more money than he had use for
so he spent some on guns
which made him feel bigger
than he was, but still quiet.
No known affiliations
to a cause or a religion
whose god ordered him to kill.
He liked to play against machines, to watch
the cards and count the winnings.
Otherwise, he kept
to himself.
He needed to sleep to concentrate next time
around.
      Suppose
it wasn’t the sense of a mission
that made him stack
his weapons in the room, suppose
he simply liked to carry them around
just in case
he ever needed them, you know,
for some spontaneous and banal reason
such as the noise
rising from the concert stage thirty-two floors down
and when it went on too, too
long, he smashed the window
and didn’t have to aim.

David Chorlton is a transplanted European, who has lived in Phoenix since 1978. His poems have appeared in many publications online and in print, and reflect his affection for the natural world, as well as occasional bewilderment at aspects of human behavior. His newest collection of poems is Bird on a Wire from Presa Press, and late in 2017 The Bitter Oleander Press will publish Shatter the Bell in my Ear, his translations of poems by Austrian poet Christine Lavant.

HOW TO BE THE BEST REPUBLICAN EVER

by Bill Livingston

Image source: Forward Progressives

Set your clocks back to 1950

Remove all foresight, no need to look forward

Be white

By any means necessary

Be a man

Only your wife or mother can control your body

Be the loudest one in the room

Let the meek inherit the rest of the earth

Listen to country music exclusively

Except Keith Urban – being married to Nicole Kidman ain’t country, Hoss

Actually live in the country

Don’t be that stubborn ball of flour in the melting pot

If you’re rich, live next to a country club

Toast the minorities who tend the greens, yet could never be members

Stay far away from cultural institutions

Such as libraries, museums, theatres, art house cinemas and bars featuring poetry nights Everything you need is on FOX, FOX NASCAR and the internet

Buy a gun, then another, then another, then another

Buy more bullets than you can possibly use in any kind of apocalypse

Protest abortion and Planned Parenthood with the same fervor you protest gun regulations

Let others appreciate the irony

Show your Southern pride and fly the Confederate flag

Show your Northern ignorance and fly it in Ohio, Pennsylvania, Maine, etc

Love thy neighbor

As long as they’re straight, white, Christian, Republican and actually your neighbor

Go to bed early

Late night talk show hosts mock your heroes incessantly

Make love only in the Missionary position

You can get creative when the NEA is obliterated

Fill your nightstand with exciting works of fiction

Start with Rand, Clancy, Le Carre and, of course, the Bible

Instill envy in your peers

Take a selfie with Donald Trump, Sarah Palin or a dead lion

Support lawmakers who defund public education

While you teach your children to hate, hate, hate

Adopt a firm grasp of right and wrong

Remember, cops are always right and Black Lives Matter is always wrong

Ask yourself, “What would Jesus do?”

Then do the opposite

Always offer Thoughts & Prayers

Without actually thinking or praying

Numb yourself to war, but choose your enemies wisely

Start with Muslims, Mexicans, filthy liberals and the irksome truth

Read this poem, hate this poem

It doesn’t even rhyme

Burn a cross on my lawn, ignite it with these words

Because I’m very different from you

Originally from Altoona, PA, Bill Livingston is a poet, humorist, screenwriter and advertising copywriter who has been published in Danse Macabre, Saturday Afternoon Journal, Treehouse, Flipside, Mobius, and forthcoming in Radius: Poetry From the Center to the Edge. He is a supporting member of The Poetry Project and an original member of Brooklyn Poets and Bowery Arts + Science. He lives in Brooklyn, NY with his wife and twin daughters.