PSH: Poets of the Week

Thomas L. Vaultonburg
vaultonburg@gmail.com

Bio (auto)

My name is Thomas L. Vaultonburg. I am the editor of Zombie Logic Press, owner of Castaways Bar and Grill in Loves Park, Illinois and head of security for The Rockford Rage Women's Roller Derby League. I enjoy Tab Cola and zombie movies. I have made all of my books availble free of charge in ebook form at www.zombielogicpress.com.

Good Intentions

A well meaning
Comrade dropped
Off a basket of learning
Tools for my neice and nephew.
Among the colorful array
Of big red dogs
And purple dinosaurs
I found a book titled
"God Thought Of It First."
I paused to consider:
Pernicious anemia,
Gary, Indiana,
Republicans,
The Ford Pinto...
I sure never would
Have thought of it.

Robicide

In the darkness
My drunken, booted
Foot crushed
My nephew's
Robot that speaks
Seven languages
And makes great
Margaritas.
They're charging me
With robicide
But I'm pleading
Second degree
Roboslaughter with
Extenuating circumstances.

Fungicide

I dropped
A shittake
Mushroom
On the floor
Then stepped
On it
Leaving my
Salad
Without
Fungus.

Potency

Sexologists in Nashua say
When the male ejaculates
Multiple times in a day
The semen becomes
Increasingly potent
Until a single cumshot
Could impregnate
An entire nunnery.
Or is that a single
Thimblefull of botulism…
Either way this is my fifth
Poem of the day
And it won't be killing
Or impregnating
Anyone nun or otherwise.

Jennifer Ethington
greeneyedelf@juno.com

Bio (auto)

I reside in Lawrenceville, New Jersey. Poetry has always been a way for me to hold up a mirror to my soul and see what's really hiding therein. Among my new year's resolutions for 2008 is to begin doing readings in New York, so fingers crossed.

Balby Trash

She's taking it now, you know.
Did you really think she'd change?
become the perfect wife
perfect mommy
pushing the pram
Harder,
Faster
Such a good woman
Did you think she'd be relegated to
vacuuming your floors?
Back and forth
Back and forth
A ring on her finger,
A ring on his cock,
it's all the same to a ten-bob whore.
I think you enjoy the pain
the agony of not knowing
where she is
whom she's seeing
who's got her bent over a table
when she's coming home
how many tears you'll have to cry
before she's back
saying sorry once again
and you get to play the martyr
Jerking off in the shower
and thinking of me.

Winter

cathartic ambling
snotcicles, scarf too tight
blue flecks become steel in my eyes
but you never saw
my frozen tears
while you were gone
I shared them with the Sicilian lady
down the road