These are not Merely Words
These are not merely words
such a Saturday misunderstanding.
The focus of telescopes on distant worlds
tells us as much as a scoop of sand
starving for a beach.
A tall cool drink stood
on the inspection table
insulated from the summer heat.
I melted toward it and sweat and shit
moved a tick of the second hand
the clock, the boss, and
the crew all around it,
took notice of much less.
Keep up now as I recall it
many gods have crumbled
from our thoughts
and prayers as roman columns
crumbled
such are the ruins of progress.
In any case
Atlas can be outdone by a bra
holding up two lovely globes.
I should just stick with what I know
and leave the legends alone.
So much is unconcerned with this work.
Now forging presses rise and crash down
at a rate of 14 parts a minute
approximately far more numerous than
the count of empires come and gone.
Yet, a pittance of parts piling up
when compared to the collective universe.
Tonnage as it is adds up
not as fast as light but illuminated by it
such is the shimmer of steel
to stay lost in the commotion
of mass production.
“We hit steel hard every day!”
These are not merely words.
Every Poem is a Political Poem
Oh, federal debt
I pledge to you
No fidgeting, no
lapse of reason,
only consume
consume
con sue sue’ em
frivolously if it comes to it
There is dolphin meat in the tuna,
the ocean is being filled with plastic,
the canary in the coal mine
never had a union card,
and every poem is a political poem.
The silver minnow dappled in tiny rainbows
shimmering under the summer sun
where the crystal clear creek lazily pools,
does not know it!
The wide eyed grey mouse lemur
hugging a tree branch below the canopy
of the Madagascarian rain forest
spooked in the night by a roving
band of National Geographic photographers,
does not know it!
Our mistake is allowing
bullet points to pass for conscience,
holes in policy to pass for liberty,
for Christ’s sake to pass as leadership,
And politics to ever touchy putty
Mold blindly divisions in every poetry.
Poetry Scratch Off Tickets
An unholy level of disappointment
and extraordinary waste of imagination
like two zeppelins crashing in the sky
the hydrogen igniting and only ashes
meeting the people below
A Plath beating your excitement
to the punch with precise depression
Bukowski crushing you literally
with horse race winning
from decades ago
For instance a glowing review
of your rich estate diminished
after grappling with Tim Murray’s
account of Indiana flat tire Jones’
gold gilded Dinosaur Ditch
When all you really wanted was
Uncle Walt to account for your
personally greatest hit being,
being itself,
the scratching that really pays off
to live life
Ah Earth ,Earth
dig into that
and don’t put any money down
for a poetry scratch off ticket
Matthew Sradeja lives in Toledo, Ohio with his wife Kelly and their cat Eleanor.
“I have worked in the glass and automotive industries. I have been reading poetry at open mics and featured readings for 13 years approx. and spend most of my time reading and writing. Some of my poems have been published on-line and in print. Full of Crow, ppigppen, Red Fez, Rusty Truck, Everyreason zine, Toledo Free Press Star, ToledoPoetryPoject and such.”
