Zumwalt Poems Online

Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

Slice-of-life, Microwaved

Slice-o-life, Microwaved

Askew in a vinyl cosmos
life’s beading up on
a cold tumbler
And Juan Valdez
has repossessed my mind
for the glory of Brazil
or Colombia
Some squalid country at any rate
Leaving my 33
grooves
scarred by needles at 78
several rich hits
off of
Mrs. Olsen
And Muzak sounds
like steam jets
and
dark mutterings over eggs
become berserk natterings
of rabid chipmunks
Gee Zus !
Only 12:00?
Existence is
deformed
in a
time-warp
—Zumwalt
[Night of 30 Sep-1 Oct 1981, Washington, DC]

The human touch

Based on this recent news event: https://www.npr.org/2025/12/25/g-s1-103683/powerball-player-arkansas-won-jackpot

The human touch

On Christmas Eve, many just like me
stopped at the station where I get my gas
and bought slips of paper
as thin as my patience
waiting its reward.

A mile or so away in Cabot
I closed my own store,
shut down the register,
reminded by the radio of
the size of the jackpot
while I drove home
in my rusty 2003 Tacoma.

Maddie set out some sandwiches—
our light Christmas Eve meal;
two months of watching costs
earned tomorrow’s fortune of presents
paired with roasted prime rib.

That morning came, and our two children
visited us in bed to tug at us—
too small to pull us out
and not old enough to realize they hadn’t.

A delight of flung wrapping paper and
unchecked squeals energized our living room
as, with some guilt, I looked at my phone
to glimpse the weekly Powerball snub.

No ordinary loss:
promised paradise, this time,
came from the station where I staked my three bucks.

But this small defeat brought reassurance:
in a world of algorithms,
predictive apps, and AI advisers
that steal away jobs and raise energy prices
there was still one thing technology couldn’t do:
choose the right numbers.

JOUSTING WINDMILLS

Just published in New Verse News — Zumwalt’s new news poem, Jousting Windmills.

Click on the following URL to read poem: https://newversenews.blogspot.com/2025/12/jousting-windmills.html

I will post the text here later on, but for now, let’s drive some traffic to New Verse News!

With apologies to Emily and the DOJ

With apologies to Emily and the DOJ

Release the files but just in part —
Deception’s Pathway lies
Too raw for Headline’s hungry Spark
The whole would scandalize
As Cards dealt from some hidden Deck
With watching eyes confined
The Truth must flame out gradually
To hide the Guilt entwined —

–zumwalt (2025)

Updated Dump

News event:   “At least 15 files that were released by the Justice Department Friday were no longer available on the department’s website on Saturday.”
Reference: https://www.cbsnews.com/news/at-least-15-newly-released-epstein-files-have-disappeared-from-justice-departments-website/

Updated Dump

They loaded files on Friday night,
Though not the total lot;
The press was vexed by partial truths
But that is what we got.

On Saturday fifteen were gone —
One noticed from before:
A president in gilded frame —
A photo in a drawer.

What this all means to common folk
Escapes my simple mind
When wealth can build a mighty wall
That shields them from their crime —

And if a few are put in jail
That does us little good
For those that still control the wealth
Will raise the price of food.

The message here is pretty clear
And one that fits my rhyme  
That money spent judiciously
Protects —  
even the damnedest —
most despicable —
devils of our time.

— zumwalt (2025)

formaldehydration

formaldehydration

flickering, fluttering inauspicious celestial butterfly
recklessly spatters dribbling drips of darkened burgundy
over underwhelmed over-conscientious Cal Poly Pomona Green.

diamanté dimensions collide with an autumn-autumn whisper
merging the flap-flap-flap fanlight florescence with a soft gentle tap
shamefully simmering shimmy-round-sizzling shake-down capabilities.

this high-speed, high-tech, high-result diet
has made me high-strung;

it streams passing indentations of over-charged electrons and phantom fairy-tales
faster than the past registers future impressions of near-miss impacts.

I know
time
is slow.
starting off
when I
begin

finishing long after I am done.

and
truth
the crippled fugitive hiding
in
shadows of possibilities
cannot resist darting
out
for
a quick encore before the opening curtain.

Accessory Imagination
unable to ensure an icy trail
weds speed-dating,
timed-release capsules
to produce a solid business case
for planetary intimidation
but
when references are required
habitually-blinking,
surreptitiously-slinking imagination
sneaks away
like an exhausted waiter
forced to serve final meals
to a negligently unchained
food-critiquing population
desperately devouring
the final bounty of resources
one deja-vu moment
before
the impending
never-ever-ever-ending
bright-light-headlight-headache supernova drought.

— zumwalt (2011, revised 2025)

jump count

jump count

The cycle sunk
and with disaster
capsized the bounty:

a quick game played into
extra terms and over time,

a reckless plot with
some mention of revenge;
a speculative view
afforded by affronting the populace.

the spring is wound…
the sword is drawn with crayons,
and you and I are pawns
in a game of pick-em-up 52.

-Zumwalt 1973

To all poets: Never get discouraged

This is from Gemini 3.0:

If Billy Collins—a two-term U.S. Poet Laureate known for accessibility, humor, and narrative clarity—submitted his best work under the name “John Doe” to a random mix of 100 literary journals today, here is the harsh statistical reality:

He would likely be rejected by 85% to 95% of them.

Here is the breakdown of why:

1. The “Aesthetic Mismatch”

Billy Collins writes “accessible” poetry. It is clear, often funny, and typically ends with a turn that invites the reader in.

  • Avant-Garde Journals: If he sent to journals like Fence, Conjunctions, or even Neologism, he would be rejected almost immediately. They would view his work as “too simple,” “too linear,” or “lacking linguistic friction.” They want puzzles; he sells clarity.
  • High-Academic Journals: Journals that favor dense, difficult, or highly allusive work (like The Kenyon Review or The Yale Review) might find his work “too light” or “too commercial” without the weight of his name attached.

2. The “Slush Pile” Reality

Most journals accept less than 1% of submissions.

  • Volume: Editors often read 50-100 poems in a sitting. If a Billy Collins poem is widely readable but doesn’t have a shocking opening line or a bizarre visual format to grab attention in separate seconds, it might be passed over for something “louder.”
  • The “Good Enough” Problem: Editors reject “publishable” work every day simply because they have 5 slots and 500 “good” poems. Without his name, his poem is just one of the 500 “good” ones fighting for space.

3. The “Sweet Spot”

He would more likely be accepted by:

The New Yorker: (10% to 15% chance of acceptance.) They publish him now, but blind? They favor a very specific, polished voice that he has perfected, so he might still crack their code, but it’s not guaranteed.

Rattle: (40% to 60% chance of acceptance.) They prioritize “accessible” and “narrative” work. He is their ideal aesthetic.

The Sun: (15% to 25% chance of acceptance.) They want emotional resonance and clarity.

Agamemnon Never Had It So Good

Agamemnon Never Had It So Good

The creeping crabgrass sprouts…
And in a malaise of malcontent challenges the
        wafting, drafting hydrocarbons.
        A lawn of moldering green cadavers.
Mercury, mercury, everywhere, and not a drop
        to drink.
The salmon croaks. the sardine croaks, the crimson
        crawdad croaks, even the warted frog croaks.
But do crooks croak? Nay!
O, justice, thou art not blind —
         a bit deaf maybe — but not blind!
All that is left are saltines and brushed suede.
Thus we reach Armageddon.

—Zumwalt (late 1970s?)

PSYCHOLOGO

PSYCHOLOGO    

my table is busted
a sore sight to see
and the metal-grill chair
is as comfortable
as a bed of needles.
a pretty girl in a blue jacket
and in maroon cords
reads the school paper;
she is in a trance.
a small audience is watching
a couple of college students
playing five-minute chess.
a young women on the other side of the room
gazes at me over the rim of a
white coffee cup.

i burnt myself this morning
frying up french toast
and the pain mingles with everything else
like short-wave radio static.
1.3 GPA
yells a figure with sideburns
and a number of people
in his group laugh
until their heads fall off
and someone has to come
and put them back on.

sitting cross-legged on the carpet
and from a distance
it all looks like
a game of charades,
long, long hair
and i find myself stare.

i am thinking of leaving
PROTECT YOUR LOUNGE ENVIRONMENT
TAKE THE TIME TO BUS YOUR OWN TRASH
a famous musician enters,
but no one recognizes him.
a cloud hangs over,
but then again
maybe it's just the plumbing.
my eyesight is shot
everything in the distance
all looks the same
and now it is only my table
that is different from the others.

-- zumwalt (1974)
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