Lloyd Bailey

“Bad Hair Day”

By Lloyd Bailey



The corridors seem distant, seem darker.

There are no bright countenances.

The morning hues are haunted and hostile.

Where have all my friends wandered?

Anger and aggression have replaced harmony.

It invades my R.E.M.

turning my morning wood

into pallid putty;

this is no way to meet the day…

I splash cold water on my face,

but the mirror doesn’t change.

It’s in the eyes

that never wash away.

The fresh air inhales stale,

ominous clouds dim the sun.

I squint my eyes still.

I’ve gone searching for my friends.

I’m looking for what I lost.




“Working for the Man Sucks!”

By Lloyd Bailey



Like a bullhorn he bellows,

“Before ye boys breach my domain,

with your bad manners and boisterous ways,

I require an inspection from coiffure to boot tips

beginning with crop, parted firmly down leftern crown,

countenances scrubbed squeaky,

eyes forward and determined,

and chin bare of whiskers.”


Now he marches up and down the line,

making adjustments,

“You sir, cannot enter my kitchen

until you starch that collar.

You, tighten up that shirt bottom.

You look bloated about your belly.

You, boy, unbuckle that belt. You’ve missed a loop in the back.

Good Christ man, you consider those pants creased?

They’re flat as a flapjack. Invest in an iron immediately.

Pull up that pant leg, sir. I suspect a sockless wonder.

What’s this? Ankle socks? You, sir, are not your sister.

Calf high gentlemen and colored black.

Now fetch your eyes fellows

and follow this man’s shoe shine”

He bends over and picks some biscuit in the reflection,


And continues,

“You, separate six dozen eggs.

You, take the whites, turn them into mayonnaise.

Make it tight.

You, make the yolks into hollendaise.

Snap to it boys. I haven’t got all day.”

As he marches through his office door,


“1,2,3,4. 1,2,3,4.”




“Bellow the Bowery off the Commons”

By Lloyd Bailey


Front porch a veritable ashtray,

wooden steps a smoker’s playground

of used butts and char black burns,

ash flakes reign everything.


Men speckle stoop sipping coffee,

thousand yard stares,

scattered “yeps” and “uh-huhs,”

foot shufflings and watch checkings.

Ruby sun in western purple sky

intimates time.


Tobacco rich air permeates the room –

that pungent after smoke stench –

wares heavy on the place

with a thick black coffee aftertaste.

Pensive is the mood

as eye contacts are made,

and head nods are had.

(Donuts sit stale in a box.)

After serenity is granted

everyone settles in

for the long haul.


Experience, strength, and hope

is the message.

New comers are most important,

but none are present.

This is no place for amateurs;

this meeting is not en vogue.

Gravely voices prevail.

Five o’clock shadows

are warranted.

You get two minutes.

Then shut up.

Sip, don’t slurp,

lest you relish the stink eye.


Holding hands is forbidden,

same goes for shoulder wraps.

When it’s time

stand up, bow your head, and clasp your fingers.

Now recite the “Lord’s Prayer.”


Outside it’s cool, freshing, and dark

save for firefly glows of cigarette tips.

The evening is cathartic.

Men wait to be delivered.

Someone suggest more

coffee and donuts

at a diner

down the street.

Most everyone migrates.

No one wants to be alone,

not at time like this.



Grant Guy

His Soul Was Operated On

Grant Guy

His soul was operated on in 1998
He no longer needed it & had it extracted
He had not loved since 1971

He gave up on man & the world in 1972
When God’s roof caved in on him
He gave up on God in 1963

He could have ended it all

Jumping on the Disraeli Bridge
in the Fall of 1949


None of that was good enough

Better to be a thorn in the side of the world

Yes he decided


Except he did in a cholera outbreak

In the summer of 1903



so this is love


Grant Guy


the twilight zone of love

i don’t want it

you can keep

put it in your pipe

& smoke it

dump the ashes in the ashtray of blues


what good is love in the twilight zone of love




Wayne F. Burke


I went shopping at Price Chopper
and walked around pushing my cart
up and down the aisles
and trying to remember what it was
that I needed to buy
and finally
I came to check-out
and pulled in behind a baby
in a bassinet
and I said “hi baby,” and
pulled on the baby’s toes
and he moved his feet a little
but not much
(had a pacifier in his mouth)
the mother, a blonde
had a harried-look to her pinched-face
and three other kids jumping around her
and the cart;
the teenage girl cashier pleasantly curt
the bagger something of a dim-bulb;
I left with my bags
under my arms
and without having connected to
in that place.


my friend Larry’s obituary was not in any
major newspaper;
he was a little man
a home-town creation,
part owner of
a granite shed
one night
pulled another man out of
his, Larry’s, ex-wife’s bed
and when a cop
Larry picked up a shot gun
and pointed it at the cop
who pointed his pistol
in response
and in the stand-off
Larry said, “if you shoot me, I will shoot you,”
and Larry’s relatives
who gathered
shouted at the cop
“shoot him! shoot him!”
but the cop, a rookie
was shaking too much to shoot
and nobody died that
and Larry got off with probation
six months to serve instead
of the years he could have got
and maybe deserved
for aiming a gun
at a cop.


I went to J C Penny’s to buy
a swim suit but
they had nothing remotely resembling
a swim suit, and
I bought a towel instead
and t-shirt with a pocket
(got to have the pocket)
and went home and
took a shower
and was excited to use the
new towel
which was soft and
felt good on my skin,
then I put my new t-shirt on
and walked downtown,
feeling good,
almost like a new man,
and I went to the meeting
it was not much,
same old members
same old blarney
stone shit
I thought
I have got to get me
some kind of
new life.

Randall Rogers

The Administration of Donald J. Trump





it leads to




He is

the hardest working


in showbiz history….


The Trumpster,


Donald John


his minions;




what it means

to be



a redefinition of

what it means

to be



nay, here, in

August 2018,


what it means

to be cool.




Fucking Right


Into perpetuity

my self

will be

showing me

groovy forever

and I’ll learn to adapt

to working

for minimum wage.



Rob Plath

right from the beginning

& around


listening to the man in black

i pretend
that i will
die after
each song
& it makes
me hear
the deep
voice better
like it’s a gun
not pressing
my temple
but inside
my skull
taking shots
at my war
& sparing
my peace
& the hard
is like the
are reins
shaking my
slow leper
heart into
a rapturous

Michael Lee Johnson

Old Men Walk Funny (V2)


Old men walk funny with shadows and time eating at their heels.

Pediatric walkers, prostate exams, bend over, then most die.

They grow poor, leave their grocery list at home,

and forget their social security checks bank account numbers,

dwell on whether they wear dentures, uppers or lowers;

did they put their underwear on?

They can’t remember where they put down their glasses,

did they drop them on memory lane U.S. Route 66?

Was it watermelon wine or drive in movies they forgot their virginity in?

Hammered late evenings alone bottle up Mogen David wine madness

mixed with diet 7-Up, all moving parts squeak and crack in unison.

At night, they scream in silent dreams no one else hears,

they are flapping jaws sexual exchange with monarch butterfly wings.

Old men walk funny to the barbershop with gray hair, no hair;

sagging pants to physical therapy.

They pray for sunflowers above their graves,

a plot that bears their name with a poem.

They purchase their burial plots, pennies in a jar for years,

beggar’s price for a deceased wife.

Proverb:  in this end, everything that was long at one time is now passive,

or cut short. Ignore us old moonshiners, or poets that walk funny,

“they aren’t hurting anyone anymore.”

J.D. Casey IV

Time Loves Heroes Heroes Hate Time


Heroes are ordinary people who make themselves timeless


Time loves heroes

In stove-pipe hat

Veve symboled suit

Cemetery lace cravat

Skull painted face

Bad blood veins


Time loves heroes

In tarot card skin

Tattooed and scarred

Wild wind-worn hair

Bone adorned jewelry

Outlaw’s boots


Time loves heroes

In feathered warbonnet

Dog chasing sun legs

Electric octopus arms

Iron horse blues

Rainbow eyes


Time loves heroes

In a porcelain soul

Underneath the bridge

Lost and broken

Abandoned and abused

Forgotten and alone


Time loves heroes

In all walks of life

Woman or man

Gay or straight

Black or white

Red or yellow

All genders and colors











All genders and colors

Yellow or red

White or black

Straight or gay

Man or woman

In all walks of life

Heroes hate time


Forgotten and alone

Abandoned and abused

Lost and broken

Underneath the bridge

In a porcelain soul

Heroes hate time


Rainbow eyes

Iron horse blues

Electric octopus arms

Dog chasing sun legs

In feathered warbonnet

Heroes hate time


Outlaw’s boots

Bone adorned jewelry

Wild wind-worn hair

Tattooed and scarred

In tarot card skin

Heroes hate time


Bad blood veins

Skull painted face

Cemetery lace cravat

Veve symboled suit

In stove-pipe hat

Heroes hate time


Time is a flat circle that strips heroes taken for granted away






Jeff Bridges

The Dude


Hunter S. Thompson

Gonzo Journalist


Oscar Zeta Acosta

Brown Buffalo


Maya Angelou

Civil Rights Poetess


Charles Bukowski

Dirty Old Man


Jim Morrison

Lizard King


Martin Luther King Jr.

Activist Minister


John Lennon



John Henry “Doc” Holiday

Huckleberry Gunfighter Dentist


Aleister Crowley

Occultist Wizard


Bill Hicks

Conspiracy Theorist Comedian


George Carlin

Truth Speaking Comedian


George Jung

Cocaine Kingpin


Keith Richards

Highlander Guitarist


Leonard Cohen

Musician Poet


Leonard Nimoy

Actor Poet


William S. Burroughs

Madman Novelist


Elvis Presley

Drug-Addled Rockabilly


Marilyn Monroe

Drug-Addled Mistress


Ron Jeramy