A Public Spectacle

She claimed he’d tried to rape her.
He called her a liar.
She said he was a clumsy drunk.
He exploded like a mad man.
She said she could never forget.
He said it never happened.
She said he ruined her life.
He said she ruined his.
She made trauma her life’s work.
He recited his credentials.
Every white man who nodded to her,
but will vote for him, has a secret
he prays will never surface.
No winners in this fight.

© Nancy Scott

Kavanaugh and Ford to testify in Senate hearing: Key players to watch

Nancy Scott, author of nine collections of poetry and a novella, often writes about social justice, but none has caught American's imagination recently like this one, the entitlement of privilege.

Payphone on the Catwalk

He’s a prison guard, give me credit

for that; I mean, there are women

who think fucking a serial killer

is a turn-on. And never mind where

I met him, this guy’s clean.

I can’t imagine what it’s like

to be locked up every day

without a weapon, in a place

where men won’t hesitate

to stick a homemade shiv

in your back, but no one ever has.

I’m fair, he says, whatever that

means, but it has kept him safe.

He gave me the number

to the payphone on the catwalk,

so it’s not like he’s surprised

when I call; well, maybe a little

when I describe what

we’ll do and how we’ll do it,

details I leave to your imagination.

I can hear shouting in the back-

ground, clanging steel. A lockdown?

Cells tossed? He’s gone.

Oh God, what if he’s lost his edge.

He might not get off for days;

but even dog-tired, he’ll be ready

for what he’s been promised.

© Nancy Scott

Pasquotank prison remains on lockdown

Nancy Scott, poet and short story writer, is author of ten books and also managing editor of U.S.1 Worksheets in New Jersey, USA. She was in a relationshiip with a state prison guard for many years. Her latest book is Marriage by Fire.

On the Murder of Seventeen in Florida

In falling darkness,

thousands gather grief-stricken,

some secretly grateful their children

will sleep in their own beds tonight.

What of the anguish of the mother

whose daughter, that morning, kissed her

goodbye, now lying dead in the place

where she fell, a matter for the police.

A statistic.

How bravely some died, placing themselves

between bullet and child, the unspeakable,

unbearable end of so many lives.

The brush of wind on this chilly night,

flickering candles and prayers,

seventeen who exist only in memory.

© Nancy Scott

Florida school shooting victims identified by authorities, remembered by friends, family

Nancy Scott, poet and short story writer, is author of ten books and also managing editor of U.S.1 Worksheets in New Jersey, USA. Her most recent book is Marriage by Fire. www.nancyscott.net

Miami Beach Christmas When We Got Snow

Christmas is 83° and light shows

turning stucco bungalows rainbow colors,

winking Santa hugging a fake chimney.

Christmas is dwarf palmettos draped

with twinkling lights, bougainvillea

and red hibiscus stuck with plastic holly.

Christmas is terrazzo patios

with aluminum trees, grass littered

with inflatable elves, pipe-smoking

snowmen and cherry-nosed reindeer.

Cardboard cutouts of snow-laden firs

with Mickey Mouse in a Santa outfit.

Christmas is singing

Jingle Bells in flip-flops and bikinis,

until some guy with a refrigerated

truck dumped piles of the white stuff

in the Winn-Dixie parking lot. It cost

$3 a head to jump around in it.

Cousin Pam got all excited because

she’d never seen snow before,

but it melted pretty fast, so we snuck

into the Deauville and went swimming.

© Nancy Scott

Poet's note: Nancy Scott remembers one earlier Christmas when snow was trucked from Orlando to Miami Beach. Having grown up in Chicago, she knew hardpack snow from November until late March.

Florida flurries: Sunshine State gets a sprinkling of snow

Nancy Scott is author of nine books of poetry. Many of her poems deal with social justice issues.
She resides in New Jersey, USA.

The Awesome Wind, Northern California, 2017

Our world’s on fire. The wind blusters across

the countryside, taunting us to fear its awesome

power, sparks the ember, turns everything to char.

Fire lives inside the tree, hollows out the core.

A squirrel clings to a branch. We watch as fire

inhales, then spits out fur and bone. No relief

until the wind calms and fire sates its hunger.

The sky is not a sky we’ve ever known. Ash rains

down spectral and acrid. We can hardly breathe.

© Nancy Scott

Some evacuation orders lifted in Northern California fires; death toll at 40

Nancy Scott is author of nine books of poetry. Many of her poems deal with social justice issues.
She resides in New Jersey, USA.

The Turkey Vultures

…like a group of balding monks gathered in prayer

Peter Dunne

Nothing pious about the vulture

at the roadside where I stopped my car

to watch its wrinkled red head pluck

at bloody guts. It eyed me and hissed,

then dragged its meal behind a bush.

Wasted effort—I’m not fond of gopher.

Observe a vulture’s six-foot wingspread

riding the thermals, but consider

fifteen shaggy mounds roosting high

every night in the maples.

I have eight children, Maggie said.

Those birds better keep their distance.

© Nancy Scott

Turkey Vultures, the Underrated Locals

Nancy is author of nine books of poetry. Many of her poems deal with social justice issues.
She resides in New Jersey, USA, www.nancyscott.net

Sunday 'Shorts'

Letter to My Cousins

Dear Munchkins, just to keep you posted.

I wore #Target, #Walmart, and #Payless today.

I went on a shopping spree at Acme, got there

in our ten-year-old Chevy with “Keep Ohio Lovely”

and smiling emoji stickers on the rear bumper.

Spent $21.15 on Cheerios, skim milk and two-for-one

packs of chicken parts and ground beef.

In the check-out line ahead of me, a platinum blonde

bragged to her iPhone how she’d been cast

as a African princess. Aw shucks the scene got cut.

Hey, we spent two glorious weeks in August

traveling from Canton to Little Rock

in our new reconditioned RV. Love, Loretta Sue

© Nancy Scott

Louise Linton: What to know about Steve Mnuchin's wife

Nancy is author of nine books of poetry. Many of her poems deal with social justice issues.
She resides in New Jersey, USA, www.nancyscott.net


So Donald Said to Harvey…

“Well, you have may limited rotating concentric powers—so sad—

but, please get this, Mr. Rabbit, I am King through election,

and that gives me the sole power to forgive a man

who wasn’t guilty in the first place because we need to get

rid of those people who aren’t white and with us…

to enhance my standing with others who love me, and make them happy!”

© Kay Weeks

Hurricane Harvey Makes Landfall Near Corpus Christi, Tex.

Trump Pardons Joe Arpaio, Who Became Face of Crackdown on Illegal Immigration

Kay Weeks is a retired historic preservation professional who lives in Oella, Ellicott City, Maryland— she paints and writes and shares.


even more fun if

even more fun if, in the future, these abused youngsters
send old Tory money grubbers down t' pit with only a candle for light and a plastic hat to keep em from harm should the scraping o' the shit shovel bring th' whole cavern crashing
upon em . . .

© Philip Johnson

Tory peer says Brexit is good because young people will be able to work longer hours

Philip's work includes hard copy published by: Poetry Now, Anchor Poets, North West Disabled Writers Group, Das Alchemy, The Ugly Tree; Poetry Scotland, Mid Cheshire Writers Group, Cheshire Carers Centre Newsletter, National Assc for Colitis & Crohn's Disease newsletters, local, regional and a national newspaper.


Electronic Formats: Write Away, Caught In The Net, The Red Pencil, and The Writer's Hood, Transparent Words; Caught In The Net

Mourning Double Bill

A Tale of Two Heathers

In this world we do not speak of Heather’s tears.
She was not crushed on Fourth and Water
by a Challenger in burning Fields
of white crosses emboldened
by a president who cannot assess the potency of words
on a populace of persons but not a People.

We the people have no statuary.
All parks are emancipated from bad art
and all eyes are on the global snapshot:

e pluribus unum.

Fields do not drive, but grow.
In our world, Heather lives.

© Mark Kerstetter

Victim in Virginia melee wept for social justice, her boss says

Mark Kerstetter lives and works in Florida. He is a Pushcart nominee and winner of the Jerry Jazz Musician New Short Fiction Award. His chapbook, "One Step: Prayers and Curses" is forthcoming from Atomic Theory Micro Press. https://marktkerstetter.wordpress.com

On a Recent Visit to Montreal

In early August, we stayed at a hotel near the Olympic Stadium,
oblivious to what was going on there. In this cosmopolitan city
we thought nothing of sharing a café with a group of Haitian men.

We walked over to the Stadium, ghost of its former authority, when
in 1976 impossibly fit athletes were cheered on by admiring crowds.
Deserted, or so we thought, until we heard Latin music piped in

from somewhere, and, a little farther on, we discovered
colorful tents erected outside the main entrance to the Stadium,
strings of lights canopied over the scene—women with strollers,

older children chasing about, men milling in clusters, a ground swell
of fear which prompted them to flee with practically nothing
from a country no longer wanting them, the color of their skin or

country of origin. While we spent the next few days enjoying the beauty
and civility of Montreal, more Haitians arrived. It came into even
sharper focus how America preferred to protect white Supremacists—

what the world will remember us by.

© Nancy Scott

Why are thousands of Haitians streaming into Canada from the U.S.?

Nancy Scott is author of nine books of poetry. Many of her poems deal with social justice issues.
She resides in New Jersey, USA, www.nancyscott.net