the death of radio is here

as satellites
and radio personalities
named slim fast
slobber all over
the commercial addled
airwaves that blip
over the car speakers
like coins
hitting the
bottom of a
coke machine before
making that commercial a reality.

and this dying scenario
of radio is hard to explain
to my kids because i don't
listen to radio and
the speared brittney ranking
over the proverbial airwaves
in some torrent of over produced
trash that is produced to make
you buy the compact for your wife.

it's picking the right
music for your music player
or burning the right mix
because you are running away
from the inevitable death of
something that used to actually
provide hours and hours
of needed enjoyment.

now,
it's the dormant land of
screaming voices,
audio billboards
and musicians that
cashed in their slight talent
for an overproduced cover shot
to mask that fact that
their music may actually
make rats commit suicide.

and one day i'm going
to take my kids through
some odd thrift shop that smells
real good and explain
to them what radio used to be
like when they point towards
that one display that has
an old RCA radio sitting all silent,
yet strong
like the corpse of a hero
in the casket during a wake.

Another Volume - #110

Had a nice solid weekend with the words and have another volume that is posted for your viewing pleasure .. it's Joefiles 110: Self-Proclaimed Jack of All Legs Excerpts from the ‘’One Heaven Tear on Hell’s Windshield” Anthology - a preview of this volume is below in the form of a poem ..

BURNING WORLD

many
early morning
sunrises
lately
look
as though
the morning
headlines
are dead right
as the bright
sun ball
comes peaking over
some cold clamor
of trees
to expose
the chaos
of burning
going on the
other side
of this great
big world
of ours.

DENIED = Progress!

Dear Joe Dimino
We like your poetry, but this submission misses the very special niche we try to maintain for The NVN. Should you, in future, have more timely/topical work related to the news of the day, do try us again.
Best,
James

Joefiles 109 Book is Posted

In honor of the fact that poets get paid nothing for thier craft, I bring you my newest 61 page volume of poems - the title is 'FOLLOWING THE BIG BANG THEORY ONTO THE STAGE' click here to view the PDF - or, click here to view all my poem books for free - below is a piece from this new volume .. enjoy ..

a haunted ride

on a drive through the
path less taken to southern missouri,
i saw the real settings
for every horror movie
i ever watched growing up
as a kid and even recently.

abandoned campgrounds,
boarded up motels,
rotting restaurants,
old trailers littered with
untold numbers of debris
and huge quantities of woods teaming
with wayward shadows and lost leaves.

and at the end of this drive through
lost hollywood,
i saw a big black dog

on the top of a well groomed hill
with an old gal holding him

by the leash as he was lying
a slow,
comfortable shit
on the green sod
as she looked down
with a pained,
horrified look
as though these woods may
be more than haunted.

rocker popper empty rant

used to be
that rock and rollers
would bend cultural assumptions
and fight for the common
folks that would be
their discs
or watch their shows.

they would stand up against
governments,
wars,
uselessness,
idiocy
and diseases that
rampage our planet.

en masse
these mangled brood
of musicians
would dance across
the color TV screens
with messages of hope
and willful rebellion
to get the TV dinner crowd
to think
and maybe get up
to do some of that
good old fighting.

but now,
our musicians have
decided to fight for
their own careers,
more endorsements,
spots on TV shows to
raise the stakes of their bank accounts.

most of the more famous sorts
speak like subnormals about trite
events that make up their
public life.

clueless to the cause
in the culture,
they spend their stacks of one's
without caring who
plucked it over into their
world.

not only are we subjected
to the typical american laziness
with these rocker/popper music sorts,
we are raped by their lack of
musicianship and the continuing
sinking of the proverbial music tanker.

so, turn off your radio kids
and let your imagination
float where the rockers have
retired and left for
a more
safe,
rich land of
vapidness.