"cleveland" poems
The rusted belt is tight
in our hometown city.
Black smoke masks the lights
In one gaseous setting;
the permenant fitting
Of our hometown city
Trees exchange steel
In our hometown city.
You’ve never seen the wheels
churn and the deals burnt
In the factories that take pity
On the nitty-gritty of our
Own hometown city.
The last laughs with us
In our hometown city
We don’t’ ride the Cali bus,
But yea, I'd say we are witty,
cause al'the prettiest girls
Live in our hometown city.
The river’s been burnt
In our hometown city.
Yea we’ve learned a lot
From our own ad(e)missions;
And now, clinics fill prescriptions
in ourown hometown city
In my own hometown city
We’re slicker than you,
Even though our York’s isn’t new…
Why? Watch my city revive in
Front of your eyes- then ask me;
Why is this your hometown city?
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 3:04 AM UTC
the earth is curved - sure y’all knew that.
but to get to the Northwest,
Interstate 84
ain’t le route plus directe
nope curve north to Ontario,
wave to Bex as I cross over
London and Toronto, also can’t recall
which poet from Rochester hails,
or did they shuffle off to Buffalo?
Crossing Erie, Huron, and Michigan Great Lakes all,
brings to mind
my mother’s birthplace,
Last of the Mohicans,
and the three years I did in the Cleveland Penitentiary,
where sun was illegal and baseball was a pretend play
of cowboys and Indians
but by god, it made me
the penitent fella I am today
Look skyward to Montreal,
yes, there he is, the Leo Priest,
the baffled king,
blessing this poetic meet ‘n greet trip
with a smiling unsurprising
hallelujah
Apparently some US citizens still can traverse O Canada,
even if one forgot their passports,
and are not PNG’s (Persons Not so GREAT)
over Minneapolis shed a tear for Diane,
a poet- gone-missing, and wonder if you reader come from
St. Cloud, Fargo or Duluth, Bismarck or Aberdeen,
surely they still speak poetic English there
in a twangy metering methodology - well, message me asap
wow there really is a Saskatoon!
the pilot asks us to lean left in our seats
to help turn the plane
so we go to Portland and not to Vancouver...
me thinks he might be a touch Rockie Mountain High,
considering we are at 30 thousand something Imperial,
as he walks the main cabin with an oxygen mask and a
huuuuuge grin
see the distant Cascades
through a crack in the shuttered windows,
must be close to “the coast”
(as if, harrumph, there were but one)
ah, words in the clouds, ripe for the plucking
must be getting close to Oregon,
where poets grow on trees, woody words like ****
and log-float poems down the Columbia to the sea
gonna drink me some poets
under the table cause this
trip I ain’t no driving and I am already
“flying” ‘n scribing and arriving
on a high tide and a good wind
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 5:47 AM UTC
An Oklahoma politician
wants to outlaw hoodies
in the hood
It's true, it must be
I read it in Fox News :)
I'd sooner be in Missouri or Cleveland
or New York City where you don't have to
wear a hoody or raise your hands to get shot
There are other things more pressing
than hoodies in the hood
that don't need ironing
like hoods in suits
and the elephant in the room
that needs shooting.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 10:11 AM UTC
IT'S a jazz affair, drum crashes and cornet razzes
The trombone pony neighs and the tuba ******* snorts.
The banjo tickles and titters too awful.
The chippies talk about the funnies in the papers.
The cartoonists weep in their beer.
Ship riveters talk with their feet
To the feet of floozies under the tables.
A quartet of white hopes mourn with interspersed snickers:
"I got the blues.
I got the blues.
I got the blues."
And ... as we said earlier:
The cartoonists weep in their beer.
6.3k
eye sometimes go to bed wearing an old hoody. It has a metal zipper to close the front and the zipper is always cold, unpleasantly so, on my bare skin. After awhile though, my body temperature warms the metal just enough, that it is no longer a cause of discomfort though the metal still remains inherently cool to the touch
While science can easily explain this I guess, I felt this to be a major miracle. That flesh pliable and heart-heated to 98 degrees could conquer the molecules of metal that were made in China struck me as extra ordinary (always two words, please!) and nothing short of a personal intervention by a personal deity
When I put the hoodie on at first I would think
******* (that's cold)
When I awoke, cosy and warm, I would think
******* (that's so cool)
having studied philosophy in Cleveland,
I knew that the logic of the situation,
what I had experienced was not an
interregnum, but the invisible intervening handiwork of god, who, also knocked my glasses from the nightable to the floor,
just cause she/ he was in a bad mood, on account of having to come such a long way, just,
to reheat me
one more time.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 9:38 AM UTC
Seven sit around a fire,
burnt marshmallows on two foot sticks
stuck between grahams,
talk *** and film.
Had her naked like Kate Winslet,
not Titanic Kate,
but Little Children Kate.
**** on the washing machine
behind Jennifer Connelly's back.
But the part about Madame Bovary,
who really needs feminist literature in a feminist film?
Okay, maybe it's classic romantic...
I felt lost like a pebble
sinking in the ocean
five miles deep
in the Puerto Rican trench.
I hadn't seen either movie
nor was I well versed
in feminism or romance.
My mind drifted to my first time.
Started with a french kiss
from a Latina girl,
at a house on Cleveland Ave,
I wish I could remember more.
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 9:15 PM UTC
The Annual POCU Fashion Show held by the campus organization “People of Color United,” was held in the Student Activities Center on Saturday, April 18. The fashion show is the final activity of the year held by POCU. Junior Martell Prayear and senior Miranda Jackson were the show’s hosts and announcers.
The fashion show is a competition where various designers, or teams of designers, are required to create outfits that adhere to a general theme, but also incorporate the designer’s unique, personal concepts. This year, the general theme for the fashion show was: Thrift Shop. Each designer, or group of designers, was required to utilize clothes purchased from the local Goodwill and maintain a $50 budget. Preparations for the event, Jackson said, were very short. “I was really surprised how well it turned out, because we started practicing for the show at four o’clock that day,” Jackson said. “They typically start practicing way a head of time.” Despite the delayed preparation, the fashion show was an overall success. The first designer to present at the fashion show was Victoria Webster.
Webster’s fashion line was inspired by professional work attire. “I think it can be hard transitioning college wear into professional wear, on a budget,” Webster said of her outfits. Webster was able to find three models to wear the clothes, which she said was a combination of the model’s personal items, as well as those purchased through Goodwill. The second fashion line presented at the fashion show was designed by Iyana Lynch. For her personal theme, Lynch designed outfits that were inspired by the different seasons. The third designer to present that evening was Alyssa Nieset. Inspired by 90’s menswear, Nieset designed a line of androgynous outfits. The final clothing line presented was a team effort from: Jeanita Blue and Angel Powell.
Their theme was considered “90’s Reloaded,” and featured various throwbacks to 1990’s pop culture such as TLC and The Spice Girls. Blue said that most of the outfits in their fashion line were inspired by “eco-friendly fashion,” and were intended to decrease hesitation toward shopping at thrift stores. While the judges finalized the scores for each designer or team, the Urban Dance Association entertained the crowd with a quick performance. The judge’s scores resulted in a tie between Jeanita Blue & Angel Powell, and Iyana Lynch. Despite the general tie, Blue and Powell were awarded first place, while Lynch was granted second place. There was an off-campus reception held in Cleveland after the event. Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/purple-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/green-formal-dresses
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 10:36 PM UTC
I’m not quite sure, yet everything I do
appears to me as being viciously half-assed
yet sincere.
I write this mid-winter [I guess?] on the RTA
with twenty dollars on me and I don’t want to know
in the bank, with cold feet, both literally and metaphorically.
The future looks decent from a distance in bar light.
As I feign some resemblance of being classy and
collect more sodium on my footwear,
I ponder the passing of an officer who flashed a light
to look at me in the dark on my way from home.
It makes me glad I speak English, where there
are such hard, sharp and unsympathetic undertones
to phrases like, **** off”.
It’s dark on the way through Cleveland.
Try to stay warm.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 6:22 PM UTC
Winter has steadily come,
And I'm not sure I can convey
How readily glum
The frost singed air
Feels as it sticks in my throat.
I might as well,
I might as well.
A pig pulled a
U-turn to warn me
Of the ghetto youths
Roaming the neighborhood,
He said to put my phone away
And be on guard,
This area is dangerous, you know,
How long have you lived here,
How long have you been alive?
My knuckles are stiff
And my toes need stretching,
And my mind keeps retching
From the smell
Of rotting leaves
Mixed with deferred dreams.
In this section of town
Named for Hughes,
I perceive the blues
He was wont
To sing,
I breathe the fluid
Inherent in the slums,
And think on why
The oil shines in
The gutter,
Why it's working in our blood,
But it's not the same as love
Why vagrants mutter
And Hope dissolves
Once the glitter of
The campaign wears off,
Left to sparkle in the dirt
With the cast-off gloves
And chunks of weave.
Oppression in the guise
Of freedom stresses
My beliefs,
And it's all I can do
To take solace in the relief
Of taking my seat on the
Bus I've been waiting for
That will drive me
Towards a different lie
And a less realistic
Metaphor;
Cleveland Park
And its expensive stores.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
A three-year-old boy in Cleveland,
Himself a very young little kid,
Shot a baby dead on Sunday night.
The bullet hit in the face of the baby,
Then it was rushed to a hospital,
But was pronounced brought dead.
Who is to be blamed now?
The kid toying with the gun??
Or the irresponsible parents???
I think it is the society's fault,
Needless are the guns in homes,
Shouldn't the society repair itself?
But are the blames enough now?
Can blaming bring the baby back to life?
No. A big NO!
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 11:23 PM UTC
NFL Cleveland Rams
*They started out in Cleveland
Just some news for you
The Cleveland Rams the were called
Before they even moved
L.A. is where they grew up
Then Saint Louis they called home
But Cleveland was the very first
Just wanted you to know
The sports shows say they're going home
But we know that its not true
We sure do wish they'd come back
So we can win a game or two*
Yes the original L.A. Rams were actually the Cleveland Rams.
Poem by: Carl Joseph Roberts (Joe)
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 8:54 AM UTC
[Hook: Ester Dean]
Voices in the air
I hear them loud and clear
Telling me to listen
Whispers in my ear
Nothing can compare
I just wanna listen
[Verse 1: MGK]
As my, world turns
The heart beats
Not only in my chest
But the heart in these streets
So when they feel this, they feel me
But I can't feel nothin', outside these dre beats
I am from the city of evil, came from the bottom
Standing on top of what was supposed to be my coffin, whats up?
Inception shows me as a dead man walkin', but reflections shows this kid's still got it
Let it be known I got the throne like I don't know that there's a king
Never grew up around a family because I'm not a human being
And anyone under my level that’s coming at my spot for the top
Let them have it, cause when I leave, the whole world drops
Lace up Kells
[Hook]
I hear voices in the air
I hear em’ loud and clear
Telling me to listen
Whispers in my ear
Nothing can compare
I just want to listen
Telling me I am Invincible (3x) - oh oh
Telling me I am Invincible (3x) - oh oh I am
[Verse 2]
Waking up sweatin from the stress of being caged down
Everything I write is played out like what is this ?
Tear the whole page out
Man I come from holes in the wall but they don’t know the path
Even if I told them it all, they wouldn't know the half
So maybe I fill up my luggage with all of these dreams and put on my black coat and my black chucks and nothing in my jeans
And just run, till the day comes like Rocky’s movie scene
And I’m on top of the world, look up and scream like this is me, this is Kells
Crucified by the public without the nails
Do or die in my city but clearly I never failed
Lost myself in the game when I found myself in a cell
Then I found myself in the fame when I lost myself in the pills
And you cannot mess with me still , seen them boys and they winnin
Underdogs of the year Cleveland boys in the buildin'
What the **** is a ceiling I’m taking this to the top, and when I leave the whole world drops Lace Up Kells
[Hook]
I hear voices in the air
I hear em’ loud and clear
Telling me to listen
Whispers in my ear nothing can compare
I just want to listen
Telling me I am Invincible (3x) - oh oh
Telling me I am Invincible (3x) - oh oh I am…..
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 2:59 PM UTC
(
)
(
)
(
)
\/
/\
/ \
::::::
On the ground
Bombs exploding
The soldier is 19
•
All for a touch of god
///
The money being made by elite corporations
////
The utterly debased country being torn down
As the people watch it all on television
///
The mothers !
The fathers !
Friends !
///
LeBron James
///
He signed with Cleveland
///
What do think !
/::/
On the ground
The 19 year old soldier moves around
Then he stops moving
//
I think Cleveland will win the CHAMPIONSHIP
//
What do you think ?
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC
[Verse 1: MGK]
Every day I, wake up, to the same ****
In the same house, with the same bricks
In the same clothes, with the same kicks
I might as well be in jail
Caged in, stairin' at the wall waitin' for a change but
Dad telling me I gotta get a job
Couldn't pay the bills so the lights turned off
Them Cleveland boys got it hard
Oh my god, we been living like this too long
Just to lose it all in a week
My people too strong
Get it? Me and my boys be gone
Puffing on **** like this the lawn
Me and my boys tired of being here
That is why we gone
They say we wouldn't amount to nothing, huh?
Y’all thought we was bluffing, huh?
Fought every temptation **** I guess I’m David Ruffin huh?
Nowadays, we don’t gotta do that dirt, tell my boys they good
And nowadays my little girl won’t have to work, moved her out the hood
Look man, I done been through it all, and I’ma ****** if I got this far
And if I let them strip me of this message let these haters take my heart
This for the ones that had it hard, the ones like me, the underdogs
This for the ones that waited for them clouds to fall, please god let it
[Hook]
You can't see my tears, in the rain
Underneath it all, we’re just the same, same, same
You can't see my tears, in the rain
All around the world it’s just the same, same, same
You can't see my tears, in the rain
So I let it rain
[Verse 2]
And they mad that I made it out the city
But if you look I'm still out in the city
Before everything I had clout in the city
Two other states and never bounced on the city
Shout out to everybody that’s proud in the city
Everybody cheering in the crowd from the city
Everyone that never had doubts in the city
Cause they know I represent what we about in the city
And I’m still laced up, tell the world that’s nothing changed
Till it’s hundred dollar bills in my pocket, then nothings change
If my team ain't with me, then I don’t wanna thang, tell them I'll go broke before I run out on my gang
EST over everything
100 thousand plus, cult fan base yea that is us, my songs tattooed on they body troubled youth, we bad as **** and what?
Nobody gave a **** about for broken mirrors
So I care less about appearance
Just as long as they can hear us
We’re fearless, we’re stupid, we’re dealers, we’re loser's
We’re killers, we're orphan's, we’re addicts, we’re stealers
We’re shooters so **** us
We are what they say we are until conformity hits us
Or those clouds come down and take them all with us, please god let it
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 2:57 PM UTC
***We are hittin' hard in Oakland
Word!
We are hittin' hard in L.A.
Word!
Cleveland, Chicago & Yo-town is on fire
Word, word, word!
Atlanta's proper
Word!
And in Miami, we are mooovin' somethin'
Hmmmmm.
Turn this ***** out
Oaktown posse they will
Turn this ***** out
Yeah boy, they will
Turn this ***** out
M.C. Hammer he will
(chorus ends early)
Hammer, you ain't hittin' in New York
What?
So what you gon' do about that, Hammer?
I'm gon' turn this ***** out.
Hammer, he is...
Strong like a lion, no denyin'
I'm in effect and you suckas are tryin'
To get with me, you can't hang
Doin' it like this, I'm in with a bang
Goin' boom like thunda, and you wonder,
How in the world can the Hammer be underneath me?
He's gonna beat me, say yes to the master and I will teach thee
(chorus)
Turn this ***** out
Turn this ***** out
Turn this ***** out
Turn this ***** out
Hammer, tell 'em how you came up babeeee!
I was a student, now I'm the teacher,
I was a member, now I'm the preacher,
I was a worker, and you were the boss,
Now I'm gettin' paid and you're takin' the loss
Once says stop, the other says flee
No, don't perpetrate M.C. Hammer is the feature
Step off, you punk, no fear, I'm M.C. Hammer and I came here to...
(chorus)
I'm improvin', better start schoolin
Headed to the top where I'll be rulin'
On top, of hip-hop, I'm in effect and you're not
Your records aren't cool, your shows are weak
Duel with the Hammer and meet defeat
Every night, every week,
I'm comin' correct, you don't want none of me.
(chorus)
X2
I keep hearin' what you sayin'
"Yo Hammer, we knowin' New York's on the wayin'"
I don't care where you from,
I make most look silly, and others look dumb
Yeah suckas, you should, run,
I am, def on the stage, pumpin' at the club
Hammer is an eagle, and you a dove
(chorus)
(funky beats & breaks)
(chorus)
I'm from Oaktown, B-boy straight down
Takin all comers, whoever want to get some
I'm original, you're digital
You want somethin' to say, you're show is pitiful
Don't worry, I'm in tact
Whatever I say, the Hammer will back
Twice as strong, It's goin' on
And I willll...
(chorus)***
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1q2TA2zPtac
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 8:32 PM UTC
she posts her credentials
privately, to just you,
in the din of a currently popular
university barroom
and you dressed in your
pick up best,
plumes of all male grinning,
reeking in thinking -
oh yeah!
va va voom,
lucky
laughs and liquor,
cheap 3.2 Ohio beers on tap,
come super highway fast via
as my finger flick be wagging
to an attentive bartender
who recognizes,
a new venture worth
his investing in a newly forming
gene pool of the
collegial world of what you children
can google as
The Sixities
you see, she says,
she is minor famous,
had two minutes in a movie
called Woodstock,
instantly recalled distinctively,
which you honor with
a dozen roses rising of
very cool
and a few daisies of
wow
so young,
she's hitch hiking thru life,
karma, ying and yang, Sagittarius and
Hesse's Siddharta,
a little ****** break out back,
our lives have intersected in
Cleveland in 1969,
and there is no question unanswered,
your bed, is her bed,
this night
you puzzle yourself,
memory recycler,
why in 2015,
you celebrate a one stand,
a single strand
excavated from
the meta data of your brain
tonight,
from among a hundred lifetimes previous
*Why Woodstock Woman Wonder
and you do,
why, wonder,
have you stayed with me so long,
that your face is indelible tattooed,
easy extracted from ancient cells
risen by this
dawn's early light?*
are you pining old man,
are you dying old man,
trying to write it all down
before the insurance company
grumpily has to pay up?
this carefree woman, no,
young forever girl,
looking up to you
asking where can she crash tonight,
answered in a single guttural
exclamation sensation,
with me babe,
with me baby
fifty years later,
crashing you,
crashing with you,
with roses and daisies that never died
wonder where she is today,
a grandmother multiple,
or sleeping gone from an overdose
of stuff you occasionally fooled around with,
or are you spending another night
in your tripping life,
with another
one night man*
no answers given,
but it is, it was,
a single dot on the trail of dots and dashes,
the existential Camus moments of
of two ordinaries that intersected,
however briefly,
and you wonder,
not why, but if,
*Woodstock Woman,
do you remember me?
I need you to,
I want you to,
explain better
why we are crashing together
one more time*
~~~
August 20, 2015
5:32am
nyc
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
Last year's version of the mind-body problem:
my mind gives orders that my body won’t obey.
It’s a problem.
The body’s warranty has expired and
spare parts are scarce. Plastic tubes
To help me drain have become part of my day.
So there’s still a will. But sometimes no way.
I am now my sister’s age when she died.
And some nights
as I lie down in darkness
there’s a moment of wondering
could this be the night
of the Great Reckoning
when everything I’ve said and done
goes mute and I am gone.
And crawling over me like a slow stain
is dread that everything important in life
has already happened. I remember some days
less than my dreams.
But friend, not this tone!
Let us write a history of now.
Body and soul, stand up and shout
“Baseball road trip!”
Car: check. Best friend: check. Nostalgia for a simpler
time. We can fake that one.
The red zigzags on our map turn into places:
Six ballparks in a week.
Detroit haze, gasping Chicago wind,
Milwaukee self-serve micro brew
Cincinnati chili and watering eyes,
Cleveland’s defiant self-love,
Pittsburgh’s Primanti brothers monstrosity sandwich—
Burger, coleslaw, and fries on toast.
The American dream tastes like fast food,
But the mystery lives between the lines.
Thwack of fastball into catcher’s glove,
Whock! of line drive into the gap,
Ball rolling free across the green
While the runner speeds for home.
Home.
Let’s keep going, friend.
There’s another bridge up ahead and
a ballpark’s lights shining somewhere in the dusk
of the upper Midwest and the open road
unrolls toward the setting sun.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 7:16 PM UTC
Any brighter and
streams in the ditches
would look like Cuyahoga River
across Cleveland during the 1960's
There is no fire, only flies
who make bright their bellies
and flash for show like the perverts
in metropolitan inner city parks
Enticed to the flies, like moths
to the ceiling globes,
we gather jars and lids
with air holes hammered hard
No walking as we streak
along gravel roads built after WWII
when rationing was lifted
and road speeds jumped
Flies caught one by one
are smashed on white tees,
luminous signals for drivers
alert to the folly of our play
Our madness endures
until Ball jars become
dim lanterns of joy for us and jail
for the bugs doomed
to die before daybreak
until swept from the garage
floor as we plot our assault
on airborne glimmers along
tonight's roadsides
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 8:37 AM UTC
"Dear Austin Heath:
Thank you for sending “Poems by Austin Heath.” Your work received careful consideration here.
We’ve decided this manuscript isn’t right for us, but we wish you luck placing it elsewhere.
Kind regards,
The Editors”
Dear editors;
I’ve carefully considered your disposal of my material
and found it troubles me not. Whether you accept these
confessions or not, they’re still hand written on the liver
of every drinker from Cleveland to Ithaca and back.
Thanks for nothing,
Austin Heath.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC
Art follower who barks from Cleveland
Hollow be thy fame
Your kingdom ***
Your makeup runs
On queue as it was in high school
Forgive me my jest
As I forgive those who protest against me
Lead me not into a confrontation
For I am truly evil
And mine is the kingdom
The power and the glory
Forever and ever
Aye men?
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 3:14 PM UTC
Saw the apathy that hurt her, the want of nothing;
a lust for sudden death, but staring it in the face
I saw the pain of death.
I was too caught up in dying.
It usually takes years to just ******* see.
I woke up to the sound of my name as a vulgarity.
I left abruptly, defeated, disjointed,
"If I stay here I will die."
I walked thirty minutes with no destination,
until I decided I would go to the beach.
Did not prepare for the beach.
Walked from downtown Cleveland, CSU,
to Edgewater park. Burned.
Gave a man my last couple dollars.
Had no idea how to get where I was going,
crossed a bridge, walked on the highway.
I got there, took off my socks and shoes,
my yellow and black plaid shirt,
and walked backwards into the water in my jeans.
Burned some more on the sand.
Got sand in my pockets still.
Decided I want to live.
I could see the city in it's entirety from the pier,
behind me; somehow conquered by distance.
Visually smaller. Tamed?
I walked some more until I hobbled and came to her.
Held her. Kissed her shoulders. Just melted.
I just melted.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 1:35 PM UTC
Is it just imagination, or
Is Wal-Mart running out of
**** to put on their shelves?
I swear.
(And I intend on cee-ceeing
Elizabeth Warren with this.)
So, you want to do something
About inequality in America?
So, you want to give the working stiffs,
A Fighting Chance,
Is that the name of
Your book, Senator Liz?
I’ve heard it all before:
It’s Hope & Change Redux, Babaloo!
(And don’t get me started on Osama Obama.)
Here’s my plan:
You go aisle to aisle in any Superstore
With a little notepad and pencil.
Every time you see some
Large plastic piece of ****
Realizing they sell
15 million of ‘em every year,
All made by some Dink-Chink in China.
QUESTION: So, what do you do, Mr. Policy Wonk?
ANSWER: Federally-subsidize the
Building & Operation of a plant
Manufacturing that **** right here in Detroit.
Or Atlanta, or Hartford,
Cleveland or Fitchburg,
Or even Oakland,
Where San Francisco poor continue to squeeze.
(Don’t get me started on Urban Gentrification.)
Trust me on this:
AMERICAN JOBS
Will deodorize everything that
Stinks about The Economy.
“Capital Flight Gone Global:
Invest where Labor comes cheap.
Export those American jobs again & again.”
QUESTION: What’s the difference
Between a middle-class person
And a poor person in America?
A middle-class job,
********
But I digress.
I was sharing an observation:
Wal-Mart’s shelves are
Not as luscious, as they once were.
Gaps left for
PINEAPPLE CHUNKS,
With only CRUSHED PINEAPPLE
Cans in stock, e.g.
So much for that On-line,
Real-time,
Instant supply-chain,
Super-duper
Inventory system, Mr. Walton.
Arkansas wasn’t such a good idea, after all.
Was it Mr. Sam?
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 4:39 PM UTC
To poetry
guarding chickens
and chronicling crisis in Cleveland
To poetry
fighting back sleep
in a factory of miscarried dreams
To poetry
fighting for justice
with hashtags and cameraphones
To poetry in caves
gathering people like fire
To poetry in Halls
gathering children like home
To poetry
that is loud and activating,
To poetry
that is quiet and contemplative,
To poetry
that is honest and brutal
To poetry
that is tongue in cheek
To poetry,
in all shapes, colors, sizes
forms and meters
To poetry,
and to all of us
who are full of it
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 8:02 PM UTC
There was none of your itsy-bitsy, teenie-weenie bikinis at a fashion show of vintage swimwear in aid of the Cleveland Pools.
The costumes on show on the catwalk at Green Park Station were a much more modest affair, with a lot less flesh on view, and with some very interesting costumes which seemed to amuse the younger audience.
The Vintage Swimwear fashion show celebrated the last 200 years of bathing suits – the pools celebrate their 200th birthday next year.
Costumes from the last two centuries were modelled down the catwalk, with some interesting reactions from the audience, many of them design or fashion students from Bath Spa University.
It was a great turnout according to Sally Helvey from the Cleveland Pools Trust.
"We had a great night, and it really was great fun," she said.
There was a bar and barbecue hosted by Green Park Brasserie, and ice cream from a vintage Humphry van.
The audience also enjoyed a photography booth, and picture and video slideshows.
The Cleveland Pools is the only surviving Georgian Lido in the country, with a beautiful outdoor pool nestling in the back woods by the River Avon near the Bathwick estate.
But it is very derelict and will need millions spent on it before it can be re-opened again to the public. Last summer the trust received the welcome news the amenity is to be granted more than £4 million from the Heritage Lottery Fund, so plans are in place to have the pools restored and open for use again possibly as early as 2017.
A lot more funding needs to be raised to try and match the funds given by the HLF, and the fashion show, organised by Bath Spa student Jenny Brown, was just one of many events being organised over the summer.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 10:33 PM UTC
welcome home!
i don’t have money for balloons but i figure since the county had enough money to repaint the roads, white and yellow might be just enough color to welcome you back to northeast ohio.
it’s a nice contrast. against the grey sky and the grey grass and the grey trees and my greying hair.
but enough about me. tell me what you’ve seen.
you’ve seen the pyramids and the pyrenees and the pygmies and the phillipines and i’ve seen pennsylvania and passed through Paris township
you’ve seen thailand and i’ve seen a therapist
you’re taking your life as far as you can take it and i take a pill because there are times when i just can’t take anything but enough about me
welcome home
i don’t have money for flowers but i figure since the county had enough money to repaint the roads, we could take a drive while you talk to me about all the girls you’ve seen.
the ones who are prettier than me with beautiful accents while my tongue is heavy with the cleveland “A” and my hair is turning grey and i’m starting not to wear so much makeup but you won’t notice anyway
you’ve crossed mongolia while i threw pennies in the monongahela
you’ve leaned your head on the wailing wall and i’ve leaned my head on my bathroom wall, wailing because i actually wanted you after all
i looked so beautiful that day and you know it. i looked at the mirror and thanked god for giving me at least one day.
and then i looked at you and i cursed him for not giving me at least one more.
welcome home.
i don’t have any plans but i figure since the county had enough money to repaint the roads, we could end up wherever you wanted.
i don’t know what the roads you’ve been on were lined with, with but here they’re lined with telephone lines and cash advances, even though no one talks to each other and we’re not advancing on anything, let alone cash
things haven’t changed. except my hair is getting gray but you’ve known me for twenty years, it was bound to happen someday. and i’ve decided that not wearing a lot of eye makeup is okay because i can see my family every day that way
but enough about me. tell me what you see.
i don’t have any place to be.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 6:44 AM UTC