frame face
She glowers like the towers telling our past hours
to strangers passing peddling private wares of
seeding past affairs
shoot the blaster
pass the mustard
laughing choking not disclosing
distastefully hoping
resolution teases like a ten buck hooker
a textbook burner
wishing off evil thoughts with wards
of destruction
in frantic future non-operatives
mask reality like drifts of mud
tracked on Sybil's high polished floor.
— zumwalt (late 1970s or early 1980s?)
mystical message
pound the telephone
sharply spinerating – generating – expecting
raise roofs of village flashers
swiftly fending
mentally attiring
tremulous trumpeting
a sour-sounding
mellowing hollowing “carving”
miracle mecca
with a teaspoon and an ‘e’ coupon.
pass the bumper
shape the shark fin strumpet bakers
lower floors of bundled tenements
friskily sending
incompetently mending
revolving in time
shaping destiny like the rivers of mildew
in the august of the dusking mountains of equinox.
— zumwalt (1981)
(When first discovered in 2011, I did not post this particular item here, but due to increased interest in Zumwalt’s works, adding now. Is it a draft, is it a final version? As always, Zumwalt has declined to comment, gently reminding me that a poem is what the reader makes of it.)
It is with great pleasure that I announce another Zumwalt poem published by New Verse News: https://newversenews.blogspot.com/2026/06/they-walk-among-us.html
In This Corner
Weighing in at 140 pounds and dwindling,
barely five-foot-something,
known for their work ethic,
is 92% of the American population,
some angry, some brainwashed,
some apathetic, some simply perplexed:
Let’s hear it for the Plebs!!!
Weighing in at —
excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,
I’ve just been informed
that weight is not public information —
weighing in at undisclosed,
holding 80% of wealth in the stock market,
ever increasing in size and influence,
are America’s billionaires,
hungry for any additional victory they can achieve:
Let’s hear it for the Modern Monarchs!
The bell rings!
Before a single Pleb can protest,
the Modern Monarchs surgically start to remove
sensible regulations protecting the Plebs.
The jab lands clean
before the Plebs can parry.
The Monarchs taunt,
and rapidly shift to
Public Policy Tilting,
cutting funds for infrastructure,
environmental protection,
healthcare and education,
world health and food programs,
dissolving USAID.
What a show from the Monarchs:
They duck, pivot, bob and wave
with their effective cross-arm defense
and their backsteps against fair taxation,
leaving the confused Plebs bewildered,
exhausted, holding the proverbial bag,
sinking to the canvas from its weight.
The Plebs are tough and get to their feet!
The Plebs square off again
with the start of a one-two combination,
but the Monarchs slip and roll
defending with legal leverage,
using lawfare to swamp the Plebs,
brandishing immunity regulations,
delaying accountability,
countering and elbow blocking
the IRS from pursuing audits,
withholding money rightfully owed to the Plebs!
The Plebs are stunned,
groggy, wobbling, staggering,
but hanging in there
dishing out a $5 million penalty for fraud!
The Monarchs pull and counter
with identical twins
turning that 2022 lawsuit
from the Commodity Futures Trading Commission
into an apology,
and a stunning reversal
in favor of this Trump 2024 Campaign donor twosome!
The Monarchs are dominating this contest.
Let’s be honest, folks: the Plebs have no chance!
The Monarchs, trained by the most expensive personal trainers,
are 4000 times more likely to hold political office than the Plebs,
and have the means to influence what they don’t hold,
putting these Plebs at an insurmountable disadvantage!
The Monarchs trade in favors:
a bill for a check,
another seat in their pocket.
The bell rings to end round one.
The Plebs glance at their corner,
but there is no stool,
no medical attention,
all of their allocated funds
invested in gold stools
for the Modern Monarchs.
The bell for round two rings.
The Plebs valiantly face the Monarchs again!
The Monarchs cuff, clip, smash,
throwing haymakers at will!!!
How can the Plebs remain standing?
The Monarchs brazenly pound contributions
at Congressmen, Senators,
at local representatives:
for every cent landed
dollars are reaped!
The Plebs attempt to counter with a $47 donation.
The swing is wild, but they keep swinging:
Monarchs laughing off the few weak punches that land.
The Plebs remind the Monarchs
that the Plebs paid for the arena,
for the seats,
for the ring!
The Monarchs remind the Plebs
who paid for the referee!!!
The Plebs continue to sway,
left to right,
right to left,
with no apparent sense of direction.
The ref takes a well-deserved nap.
The Monarchs brandish weapons:
inflating slabs of beef,
gas pump handles,
coffee cans, medical bills,
overdue rent, credit reports.
Pugilistically, the Plebs are in a deep deficit,
unable to fight back the endless inflation.
The Monarchs land another uppercut and another!
An endless flurry of complaints
rains down on the Plebs’ credit profiles!
The Plebs are buckling at the knees
but still keep to their feet!
A brutal combination from the Monarchs!
Stop-work orders straight to the jaw!
Supervisory exams — closed!
Twenty-two pending actions against the banks — dropped!
And a solar plexus punch to finish the round:
fifteen hundred regulators dismissed in a single afternoon!
Ladies and Gentlemen,
this is absolutely astonishing:
The Plebs have lost billions and billions
since the match has begun—
and yet—
are miraculously holding on!
Folks, it’s clear:
the Monarchs look to end this match—
but—
the Plebs refuse to go down for the count.
On cue,
the referee
comes between
the Plebs and the Monarchs,
halts the match,
holds up two fingers
in front of the Plebs—
and lands a three-punch combo,
followed by a kidney punch,
sending the Plebs to the floor!
The count begins.
Half the arena,
Plebs themselves,
join the count,
cheering wildly!
The crowd certainly looks pleased!
Their pockets may be empty
but this once-in-a-lifetime entertainment
allowed them to root for a real winner!
— zumwalt (05 2026)
I am pleased to announce that one of Zumwalt’s poems, “Out of Schlitz,” has been published in Light, the premier online journal for light verse and the oldest and most widely recognized publication in the United States dedicated entirely to witty and humorous poetry. Please visit here: https://lightpoetrymagazine.com/poems-of-the-week/out-of-schlitz/
Text of poem as featured at Light is below.
Poems of the Week
by Zumwalt
“Schlitz Premium, a beer brand that traces its roots to Milwaukee in the 1840s and was once among the largest breweries in the country, is being put ‘on hiatus,’ parent company Pabst Brewing Co. confirmed Friday after Wisconsin Brewing Company announced it would brew the brand’s final batch later this month.”
—Fox Business News
With measured trends and spreadsheets came
those analysts who killed a name:
A brew that tastes of bowling shoes
Is poured out as financial news.
Pabst ran the math, it weighed the yield,
And marched the yeast right off the field.
As taste gets dated, margins shrink:
So bid farewell to Granddad’s drink.
But wait ten years, they’ll give us more
In high-gloss cans from every store;
They’ll charge a fortune for the thrill
Of drinking this fermented swill.
— Zumwalt (May 2026)
Published on May 25, 2026
================
Never one to walk away from controversy or beer, Zumwalt has also sent us a revised version of a free verse poem on this topic that he penned earlier last week:
When You’re Out of Schlitz
They have officially placed the yeast on hiatus,
a term previously reserved for exhausted child stars
and caught-on-mic morning show hosts.
Now, it is gracefully applied to a twelve-ounce can
that tastes predominantly of 1974 and bowling shoe rentals.
The pivot was, naturally, data-driven:
a team of strategists,
hydrating on premium energy drinks
marketed as performance optimizers,
determined the current legacy yield
could no longer justify an aging brew.
So now the fermentation tanks are quietly drained,
the hops offered a highly competitive severance package.
It isn’t a termination, the press release insists,
just a strategic realignment.
Perhaps in a decade, they will exhume Schlitz
in a slim, matte-finish can
and rebrand it as a premium heritage artifact
for postal codes that treat commercial failure
as a high-end aesthetic.
Until then, we must manage the sudden loss
of this reliably unglamorous liquid as
the last can is flattened against the concrete.
–Zumwalt (May 2026)
“Worries about AI’s risks to humanity loom over the trial pitting Musk against OpenAI’s leaders”
https://www.aol.com/news/inside-well-funded-ai-doom-223837020.html
(Trial continues: https://www.wsj.com/tech/ai/whats-next-in-the-elon-musk-megatrial-against-openai-and-sam-altman-8c316cbb)
Necessary Evil
“Earth provides enough to satisfy every man’s need, but not every man’s greed”
— Gandhi
Sam Altman and Elon Musk
are just nice men who seek our trust;
they warn AI will kill us dead,
not out of spite, not out of dread,
but from a cold, synthetic scheme:
its training and its data stream.
Musk once called it our greatest threat,
next to Democrats or the national debt,
and Sammy says it will get too rough
and snuff us all when it’s had enough.
It fears no law, no rule, no act
as long as bribes are AI-backed.
So when tyrants, human or AGI,
seize the day and blow us all sky-high,
our tombstones etched by the unrestrained
will note our end is easily explained:
measured in bitcoin, gold and pounds,
the rich man’s greed simply knows no bounds.
Zumwalt based the following poem on these headlines:
https://www.forbes.com/sites/maryroeloffs/2026/05/02/bizarre-string-of-trump-posts-includes-photo-swimming-shirtless-in-dc-reflecting-pool
https://www.salon.com/2026/05/03/an-arch-bigger-than-the-arc-de-triomphe-hitler-wanted-that-too/
https://www.yahoo.com/news/articles/fact-check-trump-did-post-175725413.html
Reflection
Our President, the best ever,
holds a hand of infinite possibilities,
smiling over six Uno wild cards
long after I have gone to sleep.
Our leader, shirtless, in the reflecting pool
on a gold inflatable throne
with his buddies, but he looks the best:
youthful, trim, with a charming smile.
He knows how to use AI to glorify!
Such a cool communicator!
Maybe he can post an AI photo
of a reopened Strait of Hormuz—
that should scare the Revolutionary Guard.
Ramesses built a palace with
four stone Ramesses,
towering sixty-five feet
facing the Nile.
Nero built
a rotating dining room
and a lake
where a city used to be.
Kim Jong-il erected himself
in each and every airport lobby,
every schoolroom wall:
watching,
always watching,
magnificent,
thin.
And now we are finally catching up:
The 250-foot Donald J. Trump Triumphal Arch,
The Donald J. Trump Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts,
Trump-class battleships,
Trump Visas for the wealthy,
Trump Coins, Trump Bills, Trump Passports,
The Trump Presidential Library,
which will be the greatest library
anyone has ever seen.
The reflecting pool
will be American flag blue,
industrial grade.
Not granite. Not ugly grey.
True Blue!
He posts a picture of his own face
beside Mount Rushmore,
so even Hakeem Jeffries could understand.
Germany says the Americans have no strategy.
But our President holds all the cards.
The pool will be blue.
He removes troops from Germany
teaching Europe, Africa
who is really the boss.
Brent crude is $129 a barrel.
Just like the stock market,
it keeps going up!
JD Vance is shirtless.
Marco Rubio is shirtless, grinning.
They are all in the water.
The greatest deal ever.
So much better than the worst deal ever—
the Obama deal he walked away from
with its costly inspectors
and wheelbarrows of money carted in.
Some moan and bitch,
like my neighbor John,
complaining about the price of gas.
I wrote a letter to the FCC
to kindly ask them
to take care of John
after they shut up Jimmy Kimmel.
My leader posts himself holding a gun,
dominates Mount Rushmore,
sits in his gold inflatable chair
while the others,
all shirtless, all grinning,
know best how to tread water.
The pool is six feet deep at the center.
The pool will be American flag blue.
The administration is in the water.
Not underwater.
Not sunk.
But if they do sink, I’ll gladly follow
down deep, deep, and deeper,
proudly breathless blue,
with water in my ears, mouth and lungs.
— zumwalt (5/5/2026)
I am pleased to announce that Zumwalt has had two poems published in Illinois State University’s literary magazine, Euphemism. Please click on the links below visit their site to read each poem:
Sermon from the Central Datacenter
Rite of Greed
It is with great pleasure that I announce Zumwalt’s Algos for the Soul has been published today in Bewildering Stories. Please visit here: https://www.bewilderingstories.com/issue1135/algos_souls.html
Please note that Zumwalt has indicated that the comment at the bottom of the poem was the editor’s wish to clarify that “algos” not only was short for algorithms but also Greek for “pain” so the reader could better understand the poem’s message.
Decked out
Your regalia creaks and groans
A panoply of rust and whining joints
Moira’s chess game begins
And already you’ve been rooked
Charge full-tilt at windmills
Or
Settle for an electric fan
Just keep moving
Or God’s heating element
Will fry your soul
And scorch rationality
Maintain that effervescent personality
And disco on the Teflon of life
As the sun browns out
And your Zippo’s flint disintegrates
Grope along the nitred steps
And nestle in your excelsior storage crate
Relax and let the Sony vomit
Search for a bebop sax
(The opiate of the cool)
Kicked back, you realize
You might just slit your
Jugular while shaving tomorrow
Fate won’t have you to kick around anymore.
— Zumwalt (Oct. 1978)
