THE JOSEPH GRASSI FILM SERIES

by Bill Costley

Ex-Fr. Joseph Grassi (S.J.) is dying.
We’ve renamed his film series after him.
Most recently he showed my & Woody
Allen’s favorite film: “Bicycle Thieves”
(1948, Italy), directed by Vittorio De Sica.

We’ve just showed “Bite the Bullet” (1975),
next up is “The Professionals” (1966) both
written & directed by Richard Brooks
who directed “Elmer Gantry” (1960), Sinclair
Lewis' satire on freewheeling '20s evangelism.

We’re doing what we can to continue Joe’s
service to the senior citizens who live here
at Valley Village in Santa Clara. We may
choose less famous films, but we’ve added
a commentator who was on the set & met

the director. We’re calling that authenticity,
something rare in these times of rabidly
unverifiable partiginous propaganda intent
on dismantling this country quickly while
we’re trying to keep this country in frame.


Bill Costley has served on the Steering Committee of the San Francisco Bay area chapter of the National Writers Union. He lives in Santa Clara, CA.
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THE LAUGHING CURE

by Judy Kronenfeld


“…to perpetually circumnavigate the globe,
spreading laughter from continent to continent.”
         --“The Laughing Guru,” The New Yorker


A chuckle at the negotiating
table, almost completely
suppressed, like a burp, as Abu Mazen startles
awake, having dreamt
of his oldest son as a child
climbing into his lap
to tweak his ear. And Bibi,
hearing, he thinks, one tiny hee
that seems to end in a glottal stop
feels an odd tickle in his throat.
Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, saying
he doesn’t know who has told
the crowd there are gays
in Iran, ‘cause there are not, titters
into his lifted arm. Kim Jong-Il,
stuffed with giant rabbit meat,
giggles as he topples off
his platform shoes.
Myanmar’s Than Shwe remembers
a joke told by one of the two Moustache Brothers
he imprisoned, and guffaws.  Marxist Mugabe slips
on the marble floor of his 25-bedroom palace
and horse-laughs until he roars.
A great wave, like wind
mowing down wheat across
the American plains, across the vast
breadbasket of Russia, roiling
the Atlantic, making the Pacific seethe, rushes around
the globe. The Janjaweed’s Kalashnikovs
shake in their arms as they split
their sides, and  tears spill
from their eyes. The Taliban in Kandahar
cackle and shriek and let their AK-47s
fall, as they roll on the floors
of their caves. Al-Qaeda in Peshawar
leave off building their IEDs;
they burst their seams, they pee
in the pants of their shalwar kameezes,
they laugh until they drop.
And then they all stop.


Judy Kronenfeld is the author of  two books and two chapbooks of poetry. Her most recent full collection is Light Lowering in Diminished Sevenths, winner of the 2007 Litchfield Review Poetry Book Prize (Litchfield Review Press, 2008); her most recent chapbook is Ghost Nurseries (Finishing Line, 2005).  Her poems, as well as the occasional short story and personal essay have appeared in many print and online journals including New Verse News, Calyx, Cimarron Review, The American Poetry Journal, Fox Chase Review, The Innisfree Poetry Journal, Natural Bridge, The Hiram Poetry Review, Passager, Poetry International,  The Spoon River Poetry Review, Stirring, The Women’s Review of Books and The Pedestal, as well as in a dozen anthologies or text books, including Bear Flag Republic: Prose Poems and Poetics from California (Greenhouse Review Press/Alcatraz Editions, 2008), Beyond Forgetting: Poetry and Prose about Alzheimer’s Disease (Kent State University Press, 2009), and Love over 60: An Anthology of Women's Poems (Mayapple Press, 2010).
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ATOMIC DREAMS

by Kim Doyle


He threw himself on top of her,
the flash of intense light had seared
his eyes, even though he was inside,
wide awake in bed.

We're dead, he thought.
In truth, the computer died,
the night light went out, she sighed
and objected thinking that

it was some sort of night passion.
The waves of sound followed
rolling and crashing.
Atomics he shouted out loud.

It must be the Capital so far off,
so god damned proud.
He heard the trees outside sizzle,
and a drizzle of something scorch the roof.

Al-Qaeda, Real IRA, Democrats, Republicans -
any group without reason.
The end of the silly season.
Hate the traitor, love the treason.


Kim Doyle is an Op/Ed poet for The Brunswick Citizen and remembers "Duck and Cover."  Now that was really silly. 
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DID YOU KNOW?

by Steve Hellyard Swartz


Did you know that Obama's trip to India is costing one trillion dollars per day, and that's a conservative estimate?

Did you know that we have sent 100,000 Persian cats, each one a certified black-belt sensei, on several Navy warships, to the Gulf of Bombay, just in case?

Did you know that a cabal of liberal Jewish filmmakers, led by a dozen Judd Apatow-lookalikes, are filming Obama's triumphal return to his birthplace of Indonesia, which will have its world premiere in front of a delirious crowd of 150,000 octaroon Hitler Youth at a rally in Nuremberg, Germany just in time for the Presidential election of 1936?

Did you know that when my mother broke her hip on Saturday morning, the hospital ER admission clerk gave me a dirty look when I said: "You still accept Medicare here"?


Steve Hellyard Swartz is Poet Laureate of Schenectady, NY. He is a frequent contributor to New Verse News. Swartz is a 2011 Pushcart Prize nominee for Poetry. His poems have appeared in The Patterson Review, The Southern Indiana Review, The Kennesaw Review, and online at Best Poem and switched-on gutenberg. He is the winner of a First Place Award given by the Society of Professional Journalists for Excellence in Broadcasting. In 1990, Never Leave Nevada, a movie he wrote and directed, opened at the US Sundance Film Festival in Park City, Utah.
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FORTUNE COOKIE NO. 4: DEMAGOGUERY

by Patricia Barone

        for Sarah Palin and Michelle Bachman

You are far more influential than you think.
Not thinking makes you far more
influenced yourself,
that’s for sure.

The full content of your heart
is an aneurysm in your brain, ballooning
flatus: You feel and so you influence
Americans, who only want to be
in the warm fluid of us, of US,

we who despise the ones who think
and confront US
with facts,
who stir up
dark people below
who want to have our lives,
destroy our marriages,
with their fluency.

You are. Far more influential than Jesus,
you think you think but you don’t—
you hate, “refudiate,” refuse
to think of the harm
you cause.

 
Patricia Barone, who expects the No-Nothings to ultimately defeat themselves, has published a book of poetry, Handmade Paper, and a novella, The Wind, with New Rivers Press. Her work recently appeared in The Wind Blows, The Ice Breaks, Poems of Loss and Renewal from Nodin Press. She has received a Loft-McKnight Award of Distinction in poetry.
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O HAITI

by George Held


O Haiti, what you done to be so punished?
Earthquake, cholera, hurricane—
You musta done something mighty bad
To be punished like a gal what broke
All Ten Commandments.

O Haiti, what you done to be so punished?
Earthquake, cholera, hurricane—
Was it you squatted in the middle of the sea
Or lost the war with the Dominicans
And were left in “the land of high mountains”?

O Haiti, what you done to be so punished?
Earthquake, cholera, hurricane—
Was it you let the French take out l’Ouverture,
Let the U.S. Marines bring back slavery,
Let Trujillo kill thousands of gens de couleur?

O Haiti, what you done to be so punished?
Earthquake, cholera, hurricane—
Does le bon Dieu have a special place
In Hell for you? What you done, what
You done to be so punished?


George Held’s poetry chapbook Phased is available in a print-on-demand version at amazon.com.
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OPEN YOUR EYES

by Salman Ahmad with Peter Gabriel‬


‪
Pakistani rock band Junoon's founder Salman Ahmad has composed and recorded this special song for Pakistan Flood relief called "Open Your Eyes". The intention is for "Open Your Eyes" to help bring focus on Pakistan's plight and the urgent need to rebuild lives ravaged by the unrelenting floods. Donations for Pakistan flood relief can be made through Salman and Samina Global Wellness initiative.
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THE BALLAD OF SARAH PALIN

by Karen Greenbaum-Maya


Glenn Beck would burn his cards to please her,
leaks real tears each time he sees her.
You’d think she’d brought the Holy Grail in,
the way they roar for Sarah Palin.

If her lipstick sent a message,
we all know what it would presage.
Sarah says she’s called by God,
and no one even finds it odd.

She named her kids Track, Trig and Bristol.
For peace of mind, she shoots a pistol.
She doesn’t finish what she starts
(in Sarah’s case, this breaks no hearts).

A country gal who rakes the cash in
(don’t say someone brought the trash in),
there is no lie too mean or low
if Sarah gets her pot of dough.

Look out—she’s seizing on some word
that didn’t mean quite what she heard.
She took offense, she bellowed “Foul!”
Today, those words are what she’ll howl.

She goes for those designer suits
that show off boobs and hard-worked glutes.
She runs to trim her thighs and hips:
she’s cheerleader for the Apocalypse.

She’s gleeful when she causes sorrow;
she talks like there’ll be no tomorrow.
But teeth will gnash, and there’ll be wailin’,
if we get stuck with President Palin.


Karen Greenbaum-Maya is a clinical psychologist in Claremont, California.  She came of age politically when she was 12, and her mother compelled her to make phone calls for Barry Goldwater.  Karen complied, but added her own voice, namely, that her mother had signed up for the job, and that if she didn’t care enough about the candidate to do it herself, they probably shouldn’t vote for him.  Her mother still doesn’t know about this.  In an earlier life, she was a German Lit major so that she could read poetry for credit.  Her poems have appeared recently in:  The Dirty Napkin, Off the Coast, Umbrella, qarrtsiluni, Poemeleon, Lilliput Review, and Abyss & Apex. Others are forthcoming in Sow’s Ear Poetry Review.  She was nominated for the 2010 Pushcart Prize.
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FINAL REPORT OF AUTOPSY

Host of the Gelato Poetry Series, instigator of the San Diego Poetry Un-Slam, and an editor of the San Diego Poetry Annual, Jon Wesick has published over two hundred poems in journals such as the The New Verse News, New Orphic Review, Pearl, Pudding, and Slipstream. He has also published forty short stories. Jon has a Ph.D. in physics and is a longtime student of Buddhism and the martial arts. One of his poems won second place in the 2007 African American Writers and Artists contest.
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MR. OBAMA, IT'S TIME FOR SOME POETRY

by Nicholas D. Kristof in The New York Times.

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STREET PEOPLE

by Elly Cummens


I met a brave traveler today,
The woman and I talked.
Have a place to stay? I asked.
Not tonight . . . apartment rent
Cost me too much, she said.
But it’s okay. My kid is going
To college on a scholarship!
Her smile lost a front tooth.
It will be all right this time,
I’m headed for Portland.
St. Vincent’s is cheaper.

I can eat good over there.
All I need is a bus ticket.
Her eyes asked do you care?
Being a proud woman, too, I
Have a soft spot for my sex.
We make up the most poor
Of the very poor, they say.
I watched her gather up her
Bundles for the trip. It was
Something to keep in mind.
A moment to remember.

Always giving, feeding and
Volunteering . . . unless you
Get hooked on satisfaction.
I can’t be satisfied for long.
I love poetry, and when it
Rings clear, I gloat happily.
But who can be satisfied for
Long when injustice walks
The streets without a bed,
And she only needs one gift:
A ticket to Portland?


Elly Cummens is a teacher in the visual arts and lecturer. She plays in a recorder ensemble and is a volunteer for special music and arts programs in local schools. She lives in Eugene, Oregon. She has received grants and awards and is published in Passager, Binnacle, The Canada Poetry Journal, Argus News, The Black Book, Lakeland's Paradise (a book she also illustrated), Oregon Writers' Colony, and others.
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RUNNING FOR PRESIDENT FROM THE FRONT PORCH

by Gary Lehmann


In 1896, running for President of the United States was simple for Republican William McKinley.  All he had to do was sit on his front porch in Canton , Ohio and answer reporters’ questions as diplomatically as possible.  The idea was not to offend anyone.

He was the clear front-runner and had few opponents.  Grover Cleveland, the Democrat who held the presidency before him, had ushered in a period of economic depression.  The nation was tired of Democratic Depression.  Time for a change.

McKinley carefully engineered his campaign so that he didn’t need to take a stand on any of the burning issues of his day.   Why should he speak up on the currency question and take the chance of offending people who were already set to vote for him?

McKinley’s campaign was over-funded and lacked any real opposition.  Like James Garfield and William Henry Harrison before him, McKinley sat on his front porch and said, if the press wants to talk with me, they know where I live.  Stop by and have a chat.

While McKinley’s opponent, William Jennings Bryan gave over 600 speeches and traveled the country over by train, McKinley ran a winning campaign by doing nothing.  He sat back in his rocking chair, smoked a few cigars, and talked nice to people.

McKinley’s campaign organizer, Mark Hanna, spent millions of dollars putting up posters all over America.  A vote for McKinley is a vote for Republican Prosperity.  Who’s going to vote against that? This running for President is a breeze.


Twice nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Gary Lehmann’s essays, poetry and short stories are widely published. Books include The Span I Will Cross [Process Press, 2004], Public Lives and Private Secrets [Foothills Publishing, 2005], and American Sponsored Torture [FootHills Publishing, 2007].
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ODE TO CALIFORNIA AND DELAWARE

by J. D. Mackenzie


I miss the honest Senators
the ones from Rome of old
whose coffers swelled with stolen loot
their togas hemmed in gold

Their pay included shameless bribes
like young boys, nymphs and wine
their power stretched across the land
from Carthage to the Rhine

They held some strange religious views
that never seemed to matter
no one cared which gods they served
which vices made them fatter

Their campaigns spoke of honesty
through eloquent debates
informed enough to tell between the
Furies and the Fates

So as this dreadful season ends
I cannot help but note
Christine and Carly don’t have game
and have not earned your vote


J. D. Mackenzie, having patiently observed the psychiatry of the current crop of conservative candidates, now deeply regrets leaving the mental health profession twenty years ago.  His poems can be found in The New Verse News and other political publications.
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MID-TERM HALLOWEEN

by Earl J. Wilcox


‘Tis not a children’s night, not a costume party,
this season when goblins and ghosts rule the land.
Take heed, all you who are sober and sane.
Keep a wary eye on covens controlled by candidates
who dabble in witchcraft, who want to clean out
Washington with ammo treats from the Second Amendment.

Pray for a gracious harvest moon to shed light
on those who scour the land to trick naïve, foolish,
unsuspecting independent-minded children not yet
schooled in the old game of hide the truth, seek evil.


Earl J. Wilcox writes about aging, baseball, literary icons, politics, and southern culture. His work appears in more than two dozen journals; he is a regular contributor to The New Verse News. More of Earl's poetry appears at his blog, Writing by Earl.
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