by Michael Grover “Bread and Circuses” (or bread and games) (from Latin: panem et circenses) is a metaphor for a superficial means of appeasement. It was the basic Roman formula for the well-being of the population, and hence a political strategy unto itself. In the case of politics, the phrase is used to describe the …
Category Archive: Poetry
Aug 15
Black Kite Poems #2
by Michael Grover Made a little extra money over the weekend So today it is iced coffee & veggie pie Two people at the bar meet She sizes him up Where do you live He lives up the street It’s a safe part So the next inevitable question What do you do He works against …
Aug 15
Political Poem (If It Doesn’t Have A Soul)
by Michael Grover In the name of freedom They spread oppression People fight for freedom People die for freedom As if it were more than a word A thought someone put in their head Maybe they just needed a job Because the future looks bleak I remember the recruiting billboards in West Philly Besides those …
Aug 15
economics for bystanders
by Carl Miller Daniels tie-dye the corrosive elements of society. bring them down with big hay-filled barns. the kind of hay that’s golden yellow, with threads of silver and streaks of rubicon, after caesar crossed that goddamn river. social norms and balances are something worth preserving, keeping the youth on the right track, make-shift solutions …
Aug 15
communications satellite
by Carl Miller Daniels knuckles crackling and toes tingling, the sexy naked athletic big-dicked teenage boy lifted a big bale of hay from a stack in the barn and tossed that bale of hay against the wall. it hit with a thud and fell onto the floor. “not bad,” the sexy naked athletic big-dicked teenage …
Aug 15
Under Douche Bag
by Shali Nicholas List the guy who tosses his soda can out of the car on the freeway. List the guy who tosses his beer can out of the car on the freeway. List artists who randomly slap paint globs on canvas and then charge $300 for it. List Andy Warhol. List the guy who …
Aug 15
Norman – Return to Saltley Gate
by Nick Gerrard When I was a younger man, myself and a group of friends lived in South Birmingham. We shared old run down Victorian houses, rented out as bedsits. They were cheap, which is just as well, as we had no paid work as such. The factories had all been closed down, but we …
Jul 29
Sonata of a Sunday Afternoon
Waiting on the six-string orchestra of the gods, waiting on the tiny cat to growl, waiting on yesterday to become tomorrow, waiting on the vacant stars to fall from the sky, waiting on the 4am lay, waiting on the children to start playing again, waiting on the people to let go of advancement—and advance themselves, …
Jul 20
The Code
The internet’s our last bastion of freedom; take that away & we have nothing, or next to it. Tax it! Tariff it! Keep it for yourself if that’s what your god tells you to do. Spit on everything else. But, we’ll find another. Oh, yes. Matter of fact, we’re riding the thermals of alternate means …
Jul 17
Daniel
Daniel came to school that Monday morning with his head shaved and a rats tail at the back which he had peroxided blonde, it looked more orange than blonde– all day that day the other boys teased him, we were in grade 4 and they called him a fag and a sissy and kept pushing …