The Shish Kebab Genocide

The Germans made certain history

would know what they did when

they stacked the Jews in camps 

before putting them in gas chambers.

Not so with the Ottoman Turks 

who slaughtered Armenians

in 1915 and for years thereafter.

More than a million Armenians died.

Today their kin live like Jews

in diaspora the world over.

Had the Turks taken time to chunk 

Armenian corpses and put them

on skewers held over a fire

struck for a festive dinner, 

the world would know today

the Ottoman feast was a holocaust

raging hot as the German slaughter

that claimed six million Jews. 

Today no pope would have to call it 

genocide when others waffle and won’t.

Donal Mahoney

THE LAST LETTER    [Stefanie Bennett]

 

 

 

All evening spent under

The blue glaze of her eyes,

And the imported night-shade

Of a once fine satin.

 

The hop-scotch designed socks,

Knitted in her Nation’s colours -

Only three pair, that time,

Because of the talking.

 

“It’s getting close to winter.”

Is what she said. “Always,

Someone’s at some front.”

Then, tiredly -

 

“Always children. Cold. Threadbare.”

 

The needles were ridged. Twisted.

But sufficed. Loyally, they’d

Worked fifty taut years. “Hands...

My needles are hands”-

 

“The extensions of the heart.”

 

She died –, on an overcast day.

In Balmain it was.

How many knew she lived?

Only the landlady and those

 

Who dig graves for paupers

 

... And I, and a Polish postman,

Whose load

Has

Been lightened.

 

 

[Balmain; Sydney, Australia].

HILLARY BALL 
     Hillary, at bat, with her personal Blackberry,
Or switch hitting, for convenience, with an IPad or IPhone,
     Striking out while swinging away at a "handful" of "typical" private e-mails,
Trying her "easiest" to steal her way "home."

 

     But throwing a variety of pitches, Republicans,
Enough GOP hopefuls possibly running for Captain to more than field a team,
     Cleared her dugout of all but drama, not necessarily a plus for her party pennant race, skipping practice...
...Down the stretch could actually make it harder for Hillary to achieve her White House dream.

 

     And then there's the injuries, part and parcel of hardball,
The self inflicted wounds can take a toll...and may...
     ...Accumulate...become career ending...Democrats have no other power hitters to call up,
Putting them in the cellar long before Opening Day.

 

     How many times have baseball owners paid a huge salary,
Just to see "inevitable" expectations for the post season dashed,
     Beware donors to the Clinton Foundation, those who forked over inordinate speaking fees,
"Hidden" quid pro quo eggs put all in one basket can easily be hunted and bashed.

 

     As we prepare for the 2016 Fall Classic, minor and major leaguers in Spring training,
All eyes in camp on the ERA of a sunglasses shaded superstar with great "control,"
     But unless Hillary starts slugging solo home runs, she'll be called "out" stumbling over the Benghazi bags by the Uranium umpire,
 Slick Willie's fans' nostalgia for his championship seasons can only get her so far toward her goal. 

Karen Ann DeLuca

TALES FROM THE CHICKEN COOP
 The Clinton cash scandal sounds suspiciously similar to what Virginia's former Governor and First Lady were tried, convicted, and sentenced to prison for within the past year. Chicken feed and amateuristic compared to the financial exploits of Bill and Hill; the same (so far) in that there was no direct smoking gun quid pro quo evidence, but plenty of "coincidences" from which to infer a deliberate pattern and much more than a mere appearance of impropriety. In an attempt to salvage his political career, Bob McDonnell flaunted his religiosity, attempted to sell a saga of marital discord and disconnection, and slaughtered  his social climbing spouse by throwing the materialistic mother of his children under the bus. It smelt false and "fowl." The jury didn't buy it; neither did we. But there's still the appeal.
 And then we have the "pros," the way, way, way, less than candid former First Couple of our country, unless you count our 41st President's not so secret propensity for philandering. With a fresh batch of duplicitous dealings coming home to roost, and surprisingly being subjected to a Grade AA inspection, will Hillary preemptively "egg" her husband in a mad scramble to rescue her candidacy to crack the glass ceiling of the Oval Office? Rumor has it she has quite an arm! Clinton McNuggets! How else can she stay out of the fire and in the teflon cocoon of the campaign frying pan and control the heat? The vast right wing conspiracy victim card is all chewed up.
 What neither the McDonnells nor the Clintons seem to comprehend is that the climate has changed, and I am not talking about global warming. The bailout of those "too big to fail" ruffled quite a few feathers among the taxpaying "down-and- out-sized" and caused a cultural consciousness and compassion shift to "nail and jail." With the good times still not really rolling, that sentiment has solidified, and the greed and graft of the "in and out of government set" are no longer going to be forgiven as a given. What has remained constant is that the cover up is always worse than the crime. To those "caught" in the transition, no pun intended, truth and trust are the keys to unlocking the self imposed coop and keeping out of a very real one. It's no time to be a chicken and hide.
Karen Ann DeLuca

Undocumented Zombies

The nice thing about being dead

is you no longer care if the doctor 

mucked up your diagnosis and the  

pharmacist gave you the wrong pills.

You're cozy now in a comfy casket 

six feet below all the carnage  

in the world, without a worry, when 

a mastodon tsunami rolls over your 

peaceful cemetery and uproots 

thousands of caskets, tossing them 

high in the sky and forcing you 

and all the other zombies to float. 

You discover no port will take

undocumented zombies.

You have no papers, after all; 

you can't prove who you were or are

so you and the other zombies float 

for God knows how long since

God may not believe in zombies.

This is a rupture not a rapture.

And while you float, your lawyer

meets with your relatives who  

no longer weep about your passing.

They smile as he reads your will.

They plan on taking a family cruise 

with the proceeds from your estate. 

They'll dine on lobster and steak,

lay waste continuous buffets while

you and the other zombies float 

further out, unable to find a port 

where citizens will bury the likes of you.

Property values will drop, they shout.

They can't drop their signs and let you in. 

Donal Mahoney

Near Genius, like Almost Coughing

I am composed of mostly water.

The glacial shelf is melting.

The experts expect water levels

to rise.

Deductive reasoning:

I will get taller

and fill out

and need a whole new

wardrobe

before too

long.

Now you see

why I scored 136

on my IQ Test.

There is no fooling

me.

From Here to Maternity

The blow up doll

that came through the mail

was impossible to

inflate.

She had holes

where there were not supposed

to be holes.

So I shaved my beard

and glued the hair to her back.

Then I balled up all the socks

in my sock drawer

and threw them against the wall

like I was pitching the world

series.

Love it or Leave it

I eat again

at my favourite restaurant.

A secret little hole in the wall

that only the locals seem

to know.

With cheap plastic red-checkered

table coverings

and the best food.

And I like it because it is quiet.

There are no rednecks there.

The ones that tailgate you in jacked up trucks

and always say:

love it or leave it

as if they were words from the lost gospel

of St. Cletus.

Love it or leave it.

A redneck ultimatum.

As I pay my bill at the cash

and head for the exit

I wonder why I can’t

do both.

Maybe this is Why Van Gogh Did It?

The kid on the pavement struggled

to move his head

while two older boys held it

firmly in place,

turned to one side

so a third boy

leaning over the screaming child

could hock a loogie,

a long throaty thick one from the depths,

letting it fall closer and closer to the ear

then sucking it back up at the last moment

before it dropped finally into the ear canal

and the older boys ran off

laughing.

Capone

syphilitic

and

half

demented

in

the

end

in

his

Florida

estate

on

palm

island,

old

associates

flying

in

pretending

to

take

orders

like

big

Al

was

still

in

charge,

set

up

in

a

deck

chair

by

the

pool

with

his

fishing

rod

and

cap

by

his

wife,

spending

his

days

trying

to

hook

the

big

one

in

a

swimming

pool

of

no

fish.

Kennedy through the Streets of Dallas

with the Top Down

launch a lawsuit

launch a fanzine

launch a rocket to

the moon

spill your milk

spill oil in the North Sea

spill the beans

on Kennedy

through the streets

of Dallas

with the top

down.

Ryan Quinn Flanagan   

Moth Upside Down on the Ceiling

This black moth

flew in the front door

of the living room  

the other night 

and has been up 

on the ceiling

ever since.

It's hanging 

upside down

in the same spot

not moving

like a drone waiting 

for instructions.  

I'm in my recliner 

this morning

drinking coffee 

and watching him.

He's an immigrant 

from the light

that shines all night

on the front porch

letting burglars know

I have an AK-47  

should they decide

to drop in.

The last few nights

I've noticed other moths 

fluttering around the light 

perhaps wondering where 

this moth is. 

In his current fix, 

he too may be wondering

how they're doing.

When I was a boy,

there was a protocol

in my family when 

a moth commandeered  

the parlor ceiling.

My father would swing

the fly swatter

and flatten the intruder 

with one splat.

The last three mornings

I haven't seen this moth move.

I wouldn't kill him

even if I had a swatter. 

But if he were 

an inconvenience,  

like an unintended fetus

found in a womb, 

I still wouldn't do anything. 

We have people trained

to take care of that

and like my father 

they know what 

they're doing.

Donal Mahoney

READY FOR HILLARY? NO! 
     Fifty years after the Civil Rights and Women's Movements,
Push back against the '60s, turn the clock, way, way, back,
     Mostly subconscious, rarely expressed,
Could it be why certain groups are under attack?

 

     We declared ourselves proudly a nation "post-racial,"
When Obama was elected in 2008,
     Despite concern there might be an attempt on his life while in office, seven years later...
...The worst that's happened is the man who go into the White House after jumping the gate.

 

     But during his tenure other African-Americans lives haven't fared so well,
White cops "carding" to gunning down the unarmed, mostly young over race,
     Blue on Black, growth in incarceration, unemployment, inequalities,
"Brothers" perhaps being targeted in the Leader of the Free World's place?

 

     Which leads US to the ladies, headlines: campus rapes...sexual assaults in the military...
...Entitled athletes practicing their "hits" on wives, girlfriends, and kids,
     Misogynist males giving "liberation" lipservice, actions speak louder than words,
What, you say, does this have to do with upcoming Presidential bids?

 

     Overtly ambitious to be a "first," dues paid entitled...Here's Hillary...
...Standing on the stump of sisterhood, waving the "war on women" wedge worldwide,
     If she wins the nomination, then the office, more tension and backlash, this time based on gender?
Half a century of "progress," two "transformational" elections in a row - Enough! Widening the "house divide?"

 

     In a republic already rife with domestic "discord,"
In and out of the home, physical harm, emotional/verbal abuse, financial chains,
     The emasculated using violence to assert power over the more vulnerable,
Could an unintentional consequence of shattering the glass ceiling of the Oval Office be a reversal of feminist gains?

 

     Wife of the first "Black" President, the goals of the Girls' Club pinned to her pantsuit,
Messianic expectations - more - again - impossible to meet,
     As we mark the 150th anniversary of the end of the Civil War, will all the changes rooted in the resolution of that conflict...
...Be epitomized, and then go down to defeat? 

 

     "Hot mess" on our hands, why pick a politician who's polarizing, with potential to amplify "all of the above?"
Wouldn't someone avuncular, who can calm the country, way, way, down, be the wiser way to go?
     The Clinton machine comes with decades of baggage and continuing drama...so many macro and micro reasons why...
Right now, for US, the answer to the question "Ready for Hillary?" has to be a resounding "NO!"

 

Karen Ann DeLuca

THE WOMAN IN THE QUITO BAR

Here and there, I catch her eye.

A moment in her vision and then

a long time suffering through her blindness.

It's my fault I'm sure.

Sometimes., I'm all I've ever been.

Others, what I have come to.

It all depends on what she gets for her glances.

The guy with the gray-flecked two-day growth,

head hung low over a dying beer.

Or the one who's cruised the world,

who's taken part, acquired and given.

I could be a drunken fool by night's end

and her looks will find better things to do.

Or I could push the glass away,

stand to my attention,

exit that bar on a back street in Quito,

continue on my journey,

propelled in part by her admiring stare.

In the first version, I'm here and lost to her.

In the second, I'm gone but remain.

 ART'S PROPOSAL

Sick and sore. It's the arthritis.

Will you marry me?

I take a pill in the morning

and one before bed-time.

Can you remember that?

I am deathly afraid of fire.

And yes, I smoke two packs a day.

I have my habits.

And I snore like God.

Plus I spit a lot and wipe

it up with my wrinkled feet.

And the TV must be loud

so I can hear it

and you must be soft

so I can hear the TV.

I sing old war songs in the shower.

And I show old war scars

to strangers.

My mother is a sacred animal.

And I don't believe the dog I

had as a boy is dead.

My memory is going

but don't worry,

I'll write your name down

some place where I can always see it

Sex? I'm male

as if you didn't know.

And income? There's my army

pension and I still own that

desert block in Texas.

Most of me works.

And the parts that don't

are great for offending cousins.

Please, please,

if we don't wed soon I'll be dead.

Still available

but I won't go into details.

WATCHING SKATEBOARDERS

Four kids, baseball caps worn backwards,

t-shirts, jeans and Nikes,

skate-board the slopes of

the old dried-out canal.

They leap, they dive,

sometimes crash,

but mostly they swerve around each other,

come to rest in the dregs of slime,

high-five, back-slap, sigh.

I watch from a bench high above,

in a fit of long time jealousy -

if only there is something I do

that is such a willing synthesis

of coordination and dare,

limits and beyond,

camaraderie and Quixote,

proud bumps, glowing bruises,

instant gratification.

One boy ascends in a mad dash,

brakes at the horizontal,

then pushes off

from concrete catapult,

flips over, summersaults,

lands halfway down the slope

with ease.

I'm flabbergasted.

Up to that point,

I'd have been content enough

for my pain to want me.

John Grey

Yowling

Ed's wife found a sinkhole

in the yard a year ago

a foot wide, several feet deep

and she wanted it filled.

No problem said Ed.

The sinkhole is hidden 

behind a big bush 

next to their garage.  

Sometimes a feral cat, 

good as its eyes may be,

falls into the hole at night,

never to come out.

The yowling can go on

longer than a week.

Neighbors around 

Ed’s stockade fence 

ask where the yowling

is coming from and Ed 

asks them if they

have a cat in heat.

They always say no

and the questions stop.

Meanwhile, feral cats, 

once a plague in Ed's yard,

no longer crouch

in the foliage and leap 

to pluck robins and 

cardinals out of the air.

Birds can worship now

at Ed’s suet and feeders, 

wipe their beaks in peace,

serenaded at times

by the yowling.

Donal Mahoney

C'mon Hillary

 

     Madison Avenue made "Main Street" montage rollout video,
But to champion the middle class, start to finish, you have to engage,
     Stiff salutation in conclusion won't cut it, C'mon Hillary,
Delete your "fun" deficit and let some personality out of that carefully crafted cage.

 

     Crossing the country, couture Chevy, full of mystery, but where's the magic?
Twenty-five minutes at Chipotle, unrecognized, beyond low key to no fuss,
     Mingling with the ordinary people means more than sitting sunglasses shielded among them, Hillary O!
Just craving a burrito? There's take out and drive thru. Missed opportunity. Is to use the bathroom why you bothered to get off the bus?

 

     Standing on the stump of sisterhood, concern for kids, fighting for families,
Sharing stories about your parents and growing up Methodist, that's great!
     But you're a Baby Boomer bride, put his hopes and dreams first and he cheated...
The Girls' Club of your generation - and probably others' - can easily relate.

 

     Talk about that gender issue, how you're "every woman," why "it's your turn now" is personal, on deciding to stay or to go,
Brains behind Bubba, worked while he played, you and Tammy Wynette aren't apart that far,

     The female vote's not a given, if you want it, no more "make up," no more masks, C'mon Hillary,
Come clean, let your hair down, and finally show US who you really are.

 

     Because fake Facebook friends don't turn out on Election Day,
Sky high on the scandalmeter, empathy and sympathy are the only way for you to go,
     Cashier, cook, cry about the conjugal cad...drive-by "conversations" in lofty lingo...
...Mostly mum, won't connect you with how to help John and Jane Doe.

 

 

Karen Ann DeLuca

Coma

Sleet on the turnpike

in the middle of the night 

but I keep driving,

both hands on the wheel,

nowhere to pull off,

and a yellow bus

comes over the line

and kisses my truck.

That's all I remember.

Now I'm in bed,

wired to things,

unable to move,

listening to a doctor 

telling my wife,

"It's been two weeks,

no improvement."

He asks her nicely

if we should let him go,

the dimwit bastard.

If I could, I'd scream 

but I can't even

wiggle my toes.

Donal Mahoney

ON EDUCATION
     Racism running rampant and casual on campuses,
Where sexual assaults have also come to the fore,
     All that whining about the high price of tuition,
Is this worth - and what - we're going five or six figures into hock for? 

     Or is it athletics...architecture...amenities...or alcohol?
Sheepskin status? Now that it's made to seem required that everyone have post secondary degrees,
     What happened to learning? True "A's?" The Education-Industrial Economic Complex...
...Has resulted in credentials for cash, locked in for life to consecutive, continuing fees. 

     With liberal arts on the decline; lipservice given to critical thinking,
And women's only colleges like Sweetbriar approaching their demise,
     Making schooling all about STIM; go into tech even if you have no passion or talent...when the job market saturates and changes...
...may result in a country uncompetitive and unhappy, not being well rounded is not wise. 

     As high school seniors receive their acceptance letters and contemplate...
...Their Fall homes and compare offers of financial aid,
     Look at your parents, Baby Boomers guilted into the "certain" careers of their generation,
Lest history repeat itself, life and work's about more than a means for bills to be paid.

 

Karen Ann DeLuca

  WHY "READY FOR HILLARY," NO 
     Bill Clinton, the first Black President,
During his tenure we got "Three Strikes,"
     Opening the door for the burgeoning Prison-Industrial Complex,
With African Americans receiving a disproportionate number of "likes."

     He also oversaw NATO expansion,
Gobbling up former Warsaw Pact members for the organization's lunch,
     Breaking promises made when the Cold War ended; butting in nonmembers' business,
All putting Putin's panties now in a bunch.

     Have we forgotten he failed to "take out" Osama?
Setting up 9/11 and one excuse for his wife to vote for the Iraq War,
     Kissing his fiscally responsible handling of the deficit and debt good-bye,
All because the Lewinsky affair strained his relationship with Al Gore!

     And then there's the repeal of Glass Steagall,
The grassroots of the Great Recession of 2008,
     "Lucky" seven years later, stocks soaring, bubbles blowing...
...with a leader wedded to Wall Street, literally and figuratively...post 2016, the same fate?

     Not last and not least, NAFTA, that "giant sucking sound,"
Prophetically forewarned Ross Perot in a 1992 debate,
     The template for future trade agreements, foreign policy that signed, sealed, and delivered...
...the middle class' current "everyday" low or no wage "job" fate.

 

     Why in the world with many of today's problems stemming from the policies of his Administration,
Would Americans elect Hillary and get Slick Willie back in the "twofer" deal?
     It takes a Clinton to finally clean up after one?
Knowing where the bodies are buried not enough to stamp "that woman" with the Presidential Seal!

     Yes, he's the most popular recent "ex,"
But how many Americans know or have examined HIStory?
     Hillary's vision? Wanting to be the first woman to break the Oval Office glass ceiling?
But what the US needs is first and foremost the key.

     Can she feel all our pain? Standing on the sisterhood stump, corporate champion clothed in the color of money,
How can we trust if she doesn't? Paranoia pinned to her pantsuit, everywhere and everyone a political foe,
     Chafing under decades' long chains...secret server scrub opera......just the tip of the iceberg, inevitable...
...continuing drama when the country needs calm...the best reason why "Ready for Hillary," NO!

 

Karen Ann DeLuca

STARBUCKING

 

     "Race forward," spoke Starbucks, but were their now back to bantering baristas...
...going to get training - and a raise - to talk to customers about this highly charged topic?
     At corporate, were the cubicles and corridors humming with deep discussion?
Was the company genuinely concerned - or was this a contrived marketing gimmick?

 

     Because in the case of most of their locations, the slogan was "preaching to the choir,"
Few are in low income and/or racial and ethnic "conflict zones,"
     The moneyed have morphed from donating to conspicuous "feel good" consumption...was this thought to be the next logical leap of faith?
Broaching a subject so hot where it is needed most could have gotten a barista broken bones!

    

     Ever tried to "reason" with an addict in search of a fix?
How many times have you heard "don't talk to me before I've had my morning cup?"
     And there's everyday etiquette - avoid politics and religion in civil conversation with relative strangers,
Pretentious ploy! Planned for a year, pulled after a week...is the consumer finally starting to get fed up?

 

     Craft caffeine...logo lust...discriminating drinks...a church on every corner,
Hasn't Howard Schultz already thrust enough of his vision for the world upon US?
     Wake up! Smell the coffee! Exercise freedom of association, "come together" in protest,
Choose not to be continued to be chained to basic brew being relegated to the back of the bus!

 

Karen Ann DeLuca

CREATION’S CHANT     [Stefanie Bennett]

 

 

Do not wake me from

This dream. Do not

Stir the pyre

Or disturb one stone.

The wildflowers are

In abundance

And the hills serene

With their own dreaming.

 

Whether it be noon

Or night’s haven,

The opposites console

And walk

A skyway fit for

The evolution of mammalia,

And winged chariots

Of soft gold.

 

To my right

The marshlands murmur

Legendary

Music of birch flute

And drumming.

To my left, a desert

As bountiful and clear

As permanent spring...

 

In the distance,

Wise spirits ritualise

The song and dance

Of the everlasting.

Behind me

A fearless rainbow

Bends to kiss

The sacred ground.

 

Do not wake me from

This dream.

Do not tamper

With what quietude

Remains

In which

We live and die.

Do not wake me yet –.

I am ‘not ready’

To face

           My

Too human

Boysenberry Eyes Awhirl

A Caseworker's Nightmare

In a corner of the room

scribbles of loose yarn soar,

interweave and dive

like coasters at a carnival.

At dusk rats slither from the drain

and barrel through the room

stirring atom puffs of dust

beneath the paper sprung

tongue out from each wall.

Tails wound tight, the rats

skate their figure eights

between the table legs and swirl.

They pause to supper on salami bits, 

gherkin nodes, crusts of ancient bread.

At dawn, with boysenberry eyes awhirl,

they belly back and leap atop the sink.

Popping sounds announce

the drain has called them home.

Donal Mahoney

A Song in Her Valley

When he saw her in heels

he said she’s the one so

he said his “I do,” never to 

climb a different mountain.

That night he began  

at her ankles, climbed 

seams in her stockings,

moved over her hips

and circled her waist,

strolled up her spine and 

stood on her shoulders, 

took a deep breath and

rappelled to the smile 

he saw on her breasts. 

Many years later his life 

is a song in her valley.

Donal Mahoney

Miss Lakeishia Sings The Blues

Listen, mister, you're a guest
at the Night Owl Club
so you can sit here
all night long, tip me
after every song,
buy me scotch
till the final gong
but none of that will help.

You'll still go home alone
unless some other lady has a need
to make her rent
and sees the opportunity
you offer. It won't be me;
I can't be bothered.
I need a different kind of man,
a man who'll hug me tighter

than my panties can,
a big ole man
whose big ole tongue
will be my tampon
when I'm dry.
Get off that stool
and look in the mirror
behind those whiskey bottles

so you can see what I see.
Then we'll both know why
you can never be that man,
not even for an hour.
I'm no Billie Holiday,
but even with my glasses off,
I can see that you
ain't no John Wayne.

Donal Mahoney

An Unfortunate Remark

The old couple sits in recliners

after dinner the way old couples do

and she tells him what she saw

in the yard that first warm day

and it’s crocuses  and daffodils 

no tulips yet but she knows 

tulips will pop any day 

and he listens because there 

might be a quiz but then

she sees the gun in his lap 

and she asks why it’s there

and he says it’s in case 

she repeats the remark 

she made the night before 

because this time he’ll shoot 

the words out of the air 

quicker than a pheasant

in hunting season and 

blood will splatter 

on the ceiling and walls 

because this time she won't 

put a hole in his heart as she 

did last night and maybe 

the two of them can return 

to who they were before 

she spoke and he survived,

hanging on to life.

Donal Mahoney

Universal Truths

When Bill was a lad

his parents preached that

Scripture was the truth.

Decades later now

Bill still believes that.

In college, though, 

his professors told him

science was the truth.

Bill still believes that, too.

But there’s another truth

that Scripture and science

never clarified for Bill.

At age 13 he saw it

scratched on a wall

in black graffiti

above a public urinal,

a universal truth he had 

just begun to understand.

The message was

“Big tits are the greatest!”

a truth he still believes as well.

Donal Mahoney