January 11-17, 2016: John Kaniecki and Jack D. Harvey

John Kaniecki and Jack D. Harvey

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John Kaniecki
johnkaniecki@aol.com

Bio (auto)

I write poetry for the enjoyment of the art. I believe that a poet must first establish that they can write in rhyme and rhythm and only then move to the more advanced free verse. I have been published by Struggle Magazine, The Blue Collar Review, Burning Books, Jerry Jazz, IWW Newspaper, Protest Poems, Flute, Black Magnolia, Left Curve, She Mom, Whisper, Vox Poetica and others. Though political or moral in nature I write in various forms. My poems have appeared in over sixty outlets. I have two chapbooks of poetry published on Cavalcade of Stars. In addition I have a poetry book entitled "Murmurings of a Mad Man". I have my second poetry book "Poet to the Poor, Poems of Hope for the Bottom One Percent", just out in October of 2015.
I have a dozen stories published in various publications. I have a book of science fiction stories entitled "Words of the Future" published by Witty Bard last December.
My chapbook "The Second Coming of Victoria" was a quarter finalist in the Mary Ballard chapbook contest in 2014.
I have been married over eleven years to my wife Sylvia. I am a member of the Church of Christ at Chancellor Avenue where I sometimes preach and work on out reach. I worked last as a customer service agent. I am a firm believer in the power of poetry to transform society for the better. The artist I most admire is Woody Guthrie because he lived what he wrote and what he wrote was wonderful.
I won the Joe Hill Poetry Labor Prize where I read my poem Tea With Joe Hill, in front of a crowd of over six hundred people in Banning Park, Los Angeles.
I currently serve as secretary for Rhyming Poets International and I am a member of the Revolutionary Poet’s Brigade.

Visit John on the web here: http://johnkaniecki.weebly.com/.

The following work is Copyright © 2015, and owned by John Kaniecki and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

The Patriotic Plumber

“I have the perfect solution” he boasts
Dripping plunger and oily wrench in hand
Dredge the lake
Full investigation
We’ll see if any corpses surface
There’s a soldier from 1964
Vietnam era
Recorded as A.W.O.L.
You can even Google the shameful details
Dark mark on our upright righteous hamlet
Kinda like slaughtering
Countless hordes of buffalo
Shooting the majestic beasts
As easy target practice
Like carnival ducks in a line
From slow trespassing trains
WE DARE NOT REPEAT OUR MISTAKES
We’ll leave no stone unturned
And not just the flat ones
The easy to flip ones
Which harbor stealthy lizards
And clever centipedes curling into balls
Why we’ll even lift the boulders
Archimedes principles rocks
It’ll be like killing two birds
With one fragmentation grenade
I detest a coward
Who refuses to commit genocide
For corporate profits
It just ain’t the American way

Standing in her loosely fitting bath rode
One saggy breast almost exposed
Blue curlers in her bleach blonde hair
Cigarette dangling from her mouth
Ashes dashing the ground by her pink bunny slippers
“Lot of work for a leaky faucet”
“How much?”

 

 



Jack D. Harvey
jharvey@nycap.rr.com

Bio (auto)

Jack D. Harvey’s poetry has appeared in Scrivener, Mind In Motion, Slow Dancer, The New Laurel Review, Bay Area Poets’ Coalition, The University of Texas Review, Innisfree Poetry Journal, The Piedmont Journal of Poetry and a number of other poetry magazines over the years, many of which are probably kaput by now, given the high mortality rate of poetry magazines. The author has been writing poetry since he was sixteen and lives in a small town, Bethlehem, near Albany, N.Y. He was born, worked and will probably die in upstate New York. He is retired from doing whatever he was doing before he retired.

 

The following work is Copyright © 2015, and owned by Jack D. Harvey and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Bonnie

My Bonnie lies;
the gold hairs
of her pubes
coarse as toast.
The bell of the church
in our quarter
bongs clear
on a Sunday;
banging Bonnie
I hear it
again and again.
Like the dull
ocean’s roar,
the blood roars
in my ears;
I lie
over her flesh,
her lips, her hips,
her knees,
her flaps hold me
as I push forward.

The journey is over
soon enough-
my Bonnie brings me
back to the quiet sea
and we come apart
like boxes.

Two for a tranquil breakfast
recollect but
the habit of kind,
the heat of the act.
Days and nights,
seasons, years, circle
with the going of the light;
before our wondering eyes
time flies
to bygones soon enough
and love dies easy
on the long march.

God, there
beyond the bournes,
cast
your beneficent gaze
this way;
preserve us intact
this is my prayer;
my Bonnie and I
like two peas in a pod,
still lying together,
still laboring together,
in the same boat.