MAP 168-1 Theme: If Poetry Were On The Inaugural Program

1. No Poets Aloud by Rod C. Stryker


this is how it starts...

presidential suppression

of poetic expression.

It's all down hill from here.


G.W., when the poets

are safely ensconsed in their closets

or graves,

who's next:

painters, musicians, liberal arts majors?


where will it end, Friend Bush?

If one of your sweet twins loves a poet,

would you deny his existence?


Mr. President(installed),

in the deep hours of night,

would you lie awake,

troubled, sweating, tossing,

turning at the knowledge

that maybe,

quite possibly,

one of your own precious daughters

might be....

a poet?

© 2001 Rod C. Stryker

Sun Poet's Society,


2. Thom the World Poet, recently naturalized American citizen, comments in Japanese form senryu.

Supremely Crowned.

They want a Fool for King

So they can pull his strings.

© 2001 TTWP


3. When Does A Therapist Call The Police by R. U. Outavit

I have had this dream since early childhood

at least since before puberty and the onslaught of maturity or manhood.

I was in a hayloft of a dilapidated, run-down barn

at the back edge of what was once a working farm

now abandoned due to its proximity to Eva Braun's

summer retreat where the Fuhrer (as rumor had it,

rumor being the only news you could believe,)

was now in a top-secret meeting to map out

the strategy of what would be the new world order

after final victory. I was not naked but

nearly so having torn and shredded my clothes

crawling across the stubble of the meadow

in the predawn darkness of a stormy, thunderous

night. Even my underwear was wet but my gun,

a new rifle with a telescopic sight, hidden in

the barn by an anonymous member of the Resistance

Underground was dry and well oiled having never been fired.

As I focused the cross hairs on his mustachioed head

I knew I couldn't allow the barrel to protrude

through the window, for all the sentries on guard duty

were watching. As the whole world urged me on

the thought occurred to me that this would be

the most important shot fired in the history of humanity;

but the actual pulling of the trigger, I was hesitant…

Won't someone please shoot the President!

© 2000 R.U. Outavit


4. Inauguration Day by Dunkin a/k/a Stephen Geller

The day after tomorrow came yesterday

in a syphilis infected society

pap smeared by forgotten destiny

Those red, white, and blue lies

or tattered black and gray truths

worn feeble under dirty wet linen

That reverberating hysteria

still rings cellular phone annoyance

an echo formed in primary nightmare

Sin easily confessed in curtained booths

I pull that garbage crusher lever

a castrated vote at best

But in my dreams

None of the Above

won this decision.


5. Mada Plummer submitted her poem for the "Civil Wrongs/Civil Rights" theme, but I decided to include it in this issue instead.

Civil Wrong:

Election 2000

Splattered America's landscape

With fresh pain;

I stand wordless before

Rusting walls of evening fog

That shut out the setting sun over

My cremated dreams poured into a plastic bag;

I sit heavy-headed and hopeless thinking,

"You don't stand a chance."

With either House of dry season ticks

Or wet season leeches.

Flames roar through my bones

Whenever my right to vote -

And the right of those colored a shade of brown -

Has to be debated, approved and voted upon.

I was bred on this land

The sweat of my father's father brow wet the mortar

Between the bricks;

The milk of my mother's mother breasts fed the mouths

Of many.

I was bred on this land,

I was not imported

Or granted asylum

Or sneaked across the border.

The 43rd leader with his tight smile

Attempts to erase my father's father seed

With one stroke of his pen;

The nation behind prison bars

He empties with lethal injections from moon to moon;

Beware: His red glowing crocodile eyes are watching.

Civil Right:


The land's timeless rhythm

Will be balanced again

Jah will sweep snow from grass

And uncover food for cattle;

He will spread His hand

And reveal deep holes of ancient lakes;

He will right the wrongs

And fill the hills

With deep green mystery and mist;

And ensure that all men created equal

Will be treated so.

© 2001 Mada Plummer