Tuesday, June 23, 2015

At Zoetrope: The Day the Poetry Died

by GC

 It's goodbye 
to Sunday poetry 
almost as if there's 
no more American Pie 
no Chevvy 
no Levee 
we cry 
because yesterday 
was the sad day 
that Sunday poetry 
 was to die 

 R.I.P. Sunday Flash Poetry 
A Zoetrope Tradition 


Monday, June 15, 2015

Live it!

It's A Hungry Life

Life can be a rib eye steak,
bloody red and waiting
to be devoured by a
gluttonous world

Life can be a petit four,
pink and white, sugar coated,
ever ready to assuage
a hungry world

Life can be a Hershey kiss,
brightly wrapped in foil,
waiting to be tasted
to be savored

Life can be moonshine whiskey,
distilled through an old auto radiator;
fiery raw and poisonous,
tearing guts, blinding us.

Life can be a jug
of heavy cream
to sooth the wild beasts
who roam our worlds

That's life, the good and the bad of it,
the smooth and the rough of it,
the tranquil and the wild of it;
life, she's a funny old possum

Sunday, June 14, 2015


Lazy Daze

I should
done it
but tomorrow
an other day
here in the
is where
I'll stay

Sunday, May 10, 2015

Such a deal

Free BooK @ Amazon: May 10 through 14.


Sunday, April 19, 2015

Some History

by GC

 Deep beneath Pennsylvania mountains
the precious black gold of the last century
was found in in wide veins that run horizontally
interconnected by tunnels reached by rickety man lifts.

 Back then, sinewy men with hammers and chisels
cut the hard coal from Mother earth's tenacious grip
their kith and kin worried about the inevitable cave in
while fat cat owners sat safe in plush offices, gentlemen's clubs, and mansions.

Saturday, March 7, 2015

They cannot.


Who would save the world?
zealots who have all answers?

Those who insist on censorship
while exclaiming love of freedom?

Purveyors of political correctness
squelchers of the right to divergent opinion?

The know-it-alls who brook no dissent
while cramming ideology down out ignorant throats?

The self righteous flag waving, cross bearing keepers
of all that they consider inviolable while violating you and me?

Who would save the world?
the know-nothings who believe that they know all?

And if they save the world
it will not be fit place for human habitat.

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

Low Hanging

Billie Sang Of "Strange" Fruit

There’s a moss draped century oak
near the old cypress episcopal church
gnarled branches reach to the ground

Resurrection fern covers the branches
and looks like a weed that had died
but it greens with the coming of rain

The oak’s history is bloodied
by the white folk who worship
while selling their souls every day

The oak’s story is not over
there’s still much to be written
and time will tell what that will be

There may be atonement
under the old oak’s branches
or time might go on as it has yesterday