January 16-22, 2006: Jim Moreno and William Michael Coughlan

week of January 16-22, 2006



Jim Moreno and William Michael Coughlan


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Jim Moreno
jimpoet@hotmail.com

Bio (auto)

Jim Moreno is a member of the Langston Hughes Poetry Circle and the International Action Center in San Diego California He is the resident poet at the Encanto Boys and Girls Club in Southeast San Diego Jim has two poetry clubs there; a teen and a 12 and under club Jim’s students will read their original poetry in the Big Saturday Youth Poetry at the Arts and Entertainment Center on February 18 as part of Black History Month He lives in City Heights with his daughter and two Huskies, Foxy & Butterscotch Jim is an adopted member of the Barbareno Chumash tribe.

The following work is Copyright © 2006, and owned by Jim Moreno and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

President Swastika Eyes

President shrub came on tv
The other day,
If you read between
The lines he was heard to say
Don’t be afraid of my swastika eyes,
Work will set you free
President shrub was heard to say,
Don’t be afraid of my
swastika arm bands,
our invasion of Iraq
is not the same as Hitler’s
invasion of Poland,
Hitler had a moustache

President shrub was heard to say,
If you remember
To read between the lines,
Don’t be afraid of my
Swastika dotted i’s
Filling page after page
Of the Patriot Act,
You have to give me your
Freedom in order to save it You have to help me trash
Your constitution in order to save it,
You have to burn your Bill of Rights
As the Reichstag was burned,
Or was that your twin towers?

President swastika shrub,
If you read between the lines,
Was heard to say,
Sure we’ve murdered 100,000
Iraqis to bring them democracy,
But nowadays, who speaks of the Armenians?

President Gulag Guantanimo,
If you remember to read between the lines,
Was heard to say the other day,
Don’t be angry when
Your tax dollars are used to
Fight terrorism to pay terrorist torturers
to rape nuns, burn innocent backs with lit cigarettes,
Murder children, execute democratic patriots,
disappear political opponents,
And train death squads in Fort Benning, Georgia,
You see, this sick president,
sick with power,
Tells us it is in freedom’s name,
It is in your name Who nowadays speaks of the Indians?

President shrub swastika
The other day,
Was heard to say,
If you please, please remember
To read between the bloody fascist lines,
Don’t be afraid that my grandfather
Was fond of the cobble boot goosestep,
Don’t be afraid that my grandfather
Financed goosestep boots
That crushed the necks of Hebrew innocents,
Don’t be afraid that my republican party
Helped elect the Austrian son of a Nazi
In the conquered state of California,
Don’t be afraid that Amerika
Now has a department of homeland
Security who can stop you at any
Time and say, where are your papers?
And don’t forget this enemy of democracy,
Abandon the people president was
Heard to say, if you read between
His swastika lines:
Don’t be afraid to admit
It would be so nice to substitute
Two simple words for democracy:
Seig Heil.


William Michael Coughlan
wmcoughlan@yahoo.com

Bio (auto)

William Michael Coughlan was born in New Brunswick, Canada in 1968 His first poem was published in a schoolboard anthology in 1983 Since that time he has continued to write, and cites Jack Kerouac, William Shakespeare, Walt Whitman, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Bob Dylan and Neil Young as influences He has worked as a production assistant in Halifax, Nova Scotia, an ESL teacher in Drummondville, Québec, and nearly lost his soul to the corporate gods while working for the largest Canadian owned brewery Coughlan now makes Toronto his home, bartending part time at a local pub and doing the things in life he finds worthwhile: acting in film and television, exploring the world of music both new and old, playing his guitar and sipping rum and cola, writing in little notebooks on moody winter nights.

The following work is Copyright © 2006, and owned by William Michael Coughlan and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

The Great Summer of Nothing

It was the great summer of nothing
Of great pretense and promise
But little fanfare
It was an impatient summer
Of waiting
Of undetermined plans
The city sighed indifferently under gray skies
Buildings stood baleful on every block
Stern faced New Yorkers paced restlessly on subway
platforms
And checked the time on expensive wristwatches
For trains that were late in coming
It was a summer of hopeless luck
It was the summer everyone knew what was wrong
But did nothing to correct
Or just made due
It rained forever that summer
It really seemed that way
It was the summer of phone calls from Kobe
And dreaming in Japanese
The summer of lost opportunity and lost religion
It was the summer of finding voice but not speaking
Like corked bottles in dark damp cellars
Poets stood with poised lips and said nothing
The silence of empty halls roared back at them
It was no time for flowing verse
It was in fact the great summer of nothing
Of no poets
Of artless words
Of crippling ignorance
Of disharmony