Category: Poem Of The Day

Arizona Poem of the Day from AZPoetry.com

Satellite tv sports poem by nick fox blog artwork | azpoetry. Com

Satellite TV Sports by Nick Fox

February 27, 2025

“Satellite TV Sports” by Nick Fox

you’re listening to the voice of Nick
Fox the Total Sports poet in five four
three fabulous new diet I lost 500 lb
act now and you can for the one on the
Green Bay too and this is what I’m
talking about put that salad down you do
not need protein shakes or tofu diets we
have pork rinds and onion dip to take
care of your nutritional needs so just
rear back in that Parco lounger feed off
the sonic waves beaming back from your
jumbotron home theaters personal satellite
in orbit 50 miles above the Earth and give
your thumb a workout because it’s Fourth
and one on the green
May 2 down by 5 and
3 seconds on the clock
all right boys I want classic
sweep around the outside
the pulling guard slamming the linebacker
like 300 lb of Frozen processed beef as
the tail back steps over the line for
six and The Crowd Goes

Wild

and now a word from our sponsor
drink this beer and beautiful women will
have sex with you

okay we’re back just
in time for full court match and a no look
dish to a man for unconscious threes I
want somebody in the zone high up the
fray before changing the chain net with a
backward crunching Jam his blue penny
hardaways all over the defender eyepiece
before dropping back to Earth and
shouting back that on you sun

a chill 66

it’s the greatest show on frozen water
roaring across thin ice on hot blades
give me a 90 mph Slap Shot Rapier glove
save and now a word from our sponsors

if you subscribe to Sports Illustrated
today we will send you this free
football phone wow is that a phone
really that looks just like a football
is that really
Hey, Scooter get load of this deal!

okay we’re back just a time
for football the old-fashioned way with
Henderson bicycle kicks and no hands
allow give me the neverending roar of a
singing Brazilian crowd
chanting Ole Ole Ole Ole
not make the blazing feet for a

GOAL!!!

Oh that’s got to hurt, Bob

I’m the greatest of all

to they’re up in ring of
the fifth race Island Park out the box
is old sport in the lead Follow by
Taylor man DP catcher with Baltimore Joe
bringing out the rear and here they come
in the first turn

CH 57 it’s the
American Passtime on a perfect summer’s
day and a farm boy fresher the miners
strides to the plate it’s a 3-2 count in
a one-run game in the bottom of the 9th
and the base is Juiced and the whole
crowd is chanting say it with me
now

CHARGE!

and now a word from our sponsor

these Nike shoes proudly endorsed by
Michael Jordan Andre Agassi and Tiger
Woods are specially engineered by
starving overworked underpaid third world
children to make you into your walking
billboard for a multinational corporation

okay we’re back he swings on single and
drives to the Gap whole stadium raises to
its feet the C man fry the whole stadium
screaming slide Willy slide up settle in
our home plate under a column
safe
safe
and that is when you realize that this
is the American Dream in action my
friends it is 550 channels of ass
kicking fan rooting six shooting fun
this is the American Dream in action
even if the world outside can’t see but
who the hell needs a life when you got
satellite TV

Watch “Satellite TV Sports” by Nick Fox on YouTube

About the poet Nick Fox

In Satellite TV Sports, Nick Fox delivers a satirical, rapid-fire commentary on the overwhelming spectacle of televised sports and the relentless consumer culture that fuels it. Nick Fox was the founder of the Flagstaff Poetry Slam. The poem mimics the high-energy voice of a sports announcer, bombarding the reader with play-by-play action from various sports—football, basketball, hockey, soccer, horse racing, and baseball—all interwoven with exaggerated commercial breaks that promise instant gratification through consumption.

Fox’s use of repetitive advertising language and hyperbolic imagery mocks the way sports broadcasting transforms athleticism into a commercialized, almost religious experience. The poem critiques corporate influence, as seen in the cynical nod to Nike shoes being produced by underpaid laborers, and the hollow promises of beer commercials that link consumption to sexual success. Beneath the humor of this poem originally written in 2003, the poem asks a deeper question: Has the American Dream become nothing more than an endless loop of entertainment, advertising, and passive consumption?

The final lines drive the point home: “Who the hell needs a life when you got satellite TV?”—a sharp indictment of a society that prioritizes escapism over reality. The poem doesn’t just describe the sports experience; it exposes the machinery behind it, revealing how entertainment and advertising have merged into an unstoppable force that dictates culture and identity.

Fox’s signature style blends sharp wit, social commentary, and an uncanny ability to capture the absurdity of modern life. To read more about Nick Fox’s poetic career and unique voice, click here to visit his bio page.

Free admission poem by cylie naylor | azpoetry. Com

Free Admission by Cylie Naylor

February 26, 2025

“Free Admission” by Cylie Naylor

the welcome sign to the gallery of my
heart reads free admission open every
day of the year and everything here has
some history and there’s plenty to see
on account of how I can fall in love so
quickly you know the average heartbeat
of a woman is about eight beats a minute
faster than a man’s which might explain
why it’s so hard to keep up with me so I
hope you’re up to the chase and I hope
you like what I’ve done with the place
take your time make yourself at home
enjoy the space you’re greeted with wine
and a waiver upon entry I’ve done
everything possible to ensure that it’s
not empty and that you won’t be bored
there are love letters scrawled on the
baseboards and the molding and the
hinges of every door it’s a bit chaotic
but you’re intrigued to see more and
please ignore the caution tape as some
rooms are still under construction but
there’s still plenty of me left for your
consumption there are some films about
Obsession and letters from past loves
held in resin the first hand that I held
in the first lips that I kissed this
room interactive at your own risk
because some before have been Reckless
cut their hands on my rough edges left
bloody finger paintings all over my
walls so I have something left to
remember them by
and this room a voicemail playing him
saying goodbye for the last time and
that room shattered glass covers the
floor for every bottle I never meant
more than
every piece of every heart that I broke
on my own accord and this room a single
framed portrait that neatly reads I’m
sorry for every time I messily couldn’t
and this place has a room decorated by
every love I’ve ever met I adorned them
with every memory and story they’ve
given me and on your way out I’ll hand
each of you an apology for anything
frightful that you might have seen But
honestly the one thing this place could
use is a little better security because
you are here every day
first in line to stake your claim as if
you couldn’t see that the biggest room
they gave me is already titled with your
name you are my largest most tragic
display for everyone to see The
Menagerie of the mess you’ve made of me
and when passersby say that you could
just spend days in this Gallery I think
about how there are 60000
miles of blood vessels within you
enough to go around the world twice
which is about how long that I would
travel to hear my heartbeat against
yours for one more night plenty of time
spent wandering trying to find you at
the right place or the right time and I
am the desperate Starstruck Basquiat to
your Warhol and I’ll walk endless Halls
haunted by crooked portraits of our
could have bins and every time I let
myself look around for too long you
become my muse all over again
I begged them not to let you in but you
never listen or you’re forced your way
through them but you’ll still find me
here and my ear is in a box on your
doorstep eager to listen for eternity if
you’ll just come home to me and I’ve
been busy scrubbing this place of your
memory but anyway
I’ll make some calls about that security
thank you for coming please take this
survey rating how much you all felt
loved by me.

Transcribed from the video “Free Admission” by Ghost Poetry Show and Cylie Naylor.

Watch Cylie Naylor perform “Free Admission” at Ghost Poetry Show on YouTube

About the poet Cylie Naylor

In Free Admission, Cylie Naylor masterfully constructs an extended metaphor of the heart as a museum—an open gallery where love, heartbreak, and memories are on full display. The poem invites the reader into an intimate, emotional space, detailing the artifacts of past relationships, the remnants of love lost, and the scars left behind by reckless visitors. The speaker’s vulnerability is woven into every exhibit, from love letters etched into door frames to shattered glass symbolizing broken promises. The museum is chaotic, unfinished, yet mesmerizing—reflecting the speaker’s emotional history and the lingering presence of a past love who still looms as the gallery’s most tragic display.

Naylor’s use of striking imagery and juxtaposition creates a powerful emotional impact. The speaker is both curator and captive, struggling to move on while still hoping for a return. The final lines—where the speaker acknowledges their futile attempts to erase the past while joking about improving security—underscore the poem’s aching vulnerability and quiet resignation.

With its blend of personal reflection, raw emotion, and artistic metaphor, Free Admission speaks to the universal experience of love, loss, and the struggle to reclaim one’s heart.

To learn more about Cylie Naylor and her poetic journey, visit her bio page here.

Bob dylan's love and theft poem by dom flemons | azpoetry. Com

Bob Dylan’s Love and Theft by Dom Flemons

February 20, 2025

“Bob Dylan’s ‘Love and Theft’ by Dom Flemons

well you’ve heard a lot of stories
I’m going to tell you one

love and theft

it was the 10th of September 2001
and I went to bed knowing
that I would wake up the next day and
consume the album which I had waited
four years to buy
love and theft
the newest Bob Dylan album which I had pretty
high expectations for because I really
enjoyed the Grammy Award winning album
which had preceded it but as you all
might have guessed my delusion of sleep
was ruptured by something I’m going to
get into because the world has already
looked it over satired it analyzed it
digested it and it came out as a commercial

all I can think of when I see these scenes is love and theft
I love life
I love people
I love children
I love America
even with all of its faults

it’s like a friend that you’ve known all of your life who has a drug problem
because you know something’s wrong
but you don’t know how to say something that’s going to make a difference

and theft
when I dropped the 20 bucks
and when I knew I was overdrawn at that bank
and I knew that charge was going to cost me
more than that CD ever did yes

and theft when I watched that body count going
theft of the lives that were taken but damn
I love listening to Bob Dylan
but you see with this album the songs are all right
but the man’s voice showed the 60 years that I until then never regarded
because he used to phrase the words so well on the old AM
but now the words just go together and they go into a continuous phase
and they don’t seem to make that much sense anyway
but damn who knew someone was going to take a plane
and they would but I’m not going to get into that
because all I can think of is love and theft

now I hear people say I hate America
I hate George Bush
I hate capitalism
and I hate
but you know what
I hate hate
but what does that make when you hate is all you do
is embrace the theft of love
the theft of Freedom
the theft of letting people learn from their own mistakes
the theft of condemning people for not feeling the same way about something that you do
just let them fuck up

I’m sorry but
unless your life is in their hands and
you’re on the scene just let them fuck up
because after more of a year of
hearing about who did this who did that
who Jihad is righteous which crusade are
we in this time goddamn I don’t know
what’s going to go on and random bombing
in Palestine 30 people were killed and
175 were injured maybe it’s with
Al-Qaeda maybe it’s was some terrorist
group that could be linked with Bin
Laden who was with Saddam Hussein maybe
I think that we were thinking about that
in the news

I don’t care cuz when I look around
and I see all these scenes and I see
this one thing that happened September
11th what happened it stopped the whole
world in its tracks all I can think of is
is how much did
love and theft truly cost?

Transcribed from the video “unknown title” by Poetry Slam Archive and Dom Flemons.

Watch Dom Flemons perform “Bob Dylan’s Love and Theft” on YouTube

About the poet Dom Flemons

Before Timothée Chalamet brought Grammy-winner Bob Dylan back into the cultural zeitgeist with the film “A Complete Unknown”, and before songwriter Dom Flemons received his own Grammy, he performed “Unknown Title” or “Bob Dylan’s Love and Theft” at the 2003 National Poetry Slam in Chicago Illinois while representing the Flagstaff Poetry Slam.

“Love and Theft” is a reflective, bittersweet meditation on the collision of personal anticipation and collective tragedy. In the poem, Flemons recounts the night before September 11th, 2001, a night filled with mundane plans, like eagerly awaiting a Bob Dylan album he had long desired, only to be abruptly confronted by the overwhelming reality of loss and change. The refrain “love and theft” captures the dual nature of human experience: the love we hold for life, people, and moments, juxtaposed with the theft of innocence, freedom, and memory wrought by unspeakable events. With a blend of humor and raw honesty, the poem critiques the commercialization of tragedy and challenges us to confront the true cost of loss.

Learn more about The American Songster, Dom Flemons, HERE.

A human heart poem by austin davis | azpoetry. Com

A Human Heart by Austin Davis

February 18, 2025

“A Human Heart” by Austin Davis

I’m missing you,
so obviously, this cloud
looks like a heart.

Not the corporate, greeting
card, capitalist kind of heart,
all cartoonish and fake,

or the smooth shape
two swans’ necks make
when they’re about
to get it on
to some lofi jazz shit,

but a real heart.

This is the kind of heart
I’ve drawn at the bottom
of every love poem
I’ve ever written you.

This is a human heart,
gross and squishy –
as raw and intimate

as standing naked in the daylight
in front of your soulmate
for the first time.

This is the kind of heart
that makes sure
your hand pulls out a dollar

every time a homeless woman
tells a shopping cart
about her childhood.

This is the only sad, beautiful
little thing no poet could ever
find a way to capture
with a pen or a cigarette,

the soft, juicy peach
floating through our night’s
quiet chest, far too in love

with the way its sun
will always love the color purple
at 5 in the afternoon

to take another beat
or shed another tear.

About the poet Austin Davis

“A Human Heart” by Austin Davis is a raw, evocative meditation on the authenticity of emotion and the vulnerability of love. In the poem, Davis contrasts the clichéd, superficial representations of the heart with a depiction of a “real” human heart—messy, imperfect, and deeply intimate. He uses vivid imagery and unconventional metaphors—from clouds shaped like hearts to the tactile, almost grotesque nature of genuine emotion—to underscore that true love and humanity cannot be neatly packaged or commodified. Instead, they are embodied in every deeply personal and flawed moment, whether it’s the act of drawing a heart in a love poem or the bittersweet experience of witnessing another’s struggles. The poem challenges us to appreciate the beauty in raw, unfiltered emotion, inviting us to embrace our authentic selves, imperfections and all.

Discover more about Austin Davis, his unique poetic vision, and his contributions to Arizona’s vibrant literary scene by visiting his full bio HERE.

“History of the Cosmos” by Lauren Deja

February 14, 2025

When you turned your head, my heart tapped my head.
It said.
RUN.
I don’t know where this one is from.
He’s gonna render you dumb.
Your lungs will become numb.
Paralyzed in his eyes.
His words are like diamonds,
Sending rays of light.
Enlightened.
Silence.
Indicted my heart to the island of your enticement.
RUN.
Then my feet unable to leave said,
He’s perfect.
The man of my dreams.
To which my head said,
Give me a minute.
Disbelief.
You.
My love motif.
And I shot through the atmosphere like a angel propelled by light.
Leaving wings behind I soared and the universe began to demonstrate.
Stars took shapes, taking breaths, in an attempt to explicate.
You.
The how of loving you is a mystery.
The depth of loving you is seen only in the eyes of furthest reaching nebular sea.
The possibility is life defying.
You.
Are mystifying.
I’m left with my heart hanging on stars.
Time travelling through the universe, looking for reservoirs.
Mementos of the memories we never made.
Petrified.
Afraid.
I’ll love you from here.
Because I may lose you out there.
From here, our love is pristine.
Caught up in the unforeseen quarantine of the in between.
In between.
You.
And me.
Then my heart tapped my head
And said,
Approach with caution.
To which my head responded.
Love like a Jedi.
Love from the other side of the veil.
Love from the cosmos will not fail.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Under your spell.
Impaled.
Hopeless expanse.
Derailed.
Then you turned your head.
And the universe began to concentrate.
Compiling every memory into the space between you and me.
Compacting every molecule in existence between you and me.
And now, I know how
love and black holes grow.

About the poet Lauren Deja

Lauren Deja is a dynamic artist and holistic healer, blending her talents as a poet, musician, actor, and certified breathwork practitioner. Her work spans the realms of performance and wellness, guiding others toward self-discovery and inner peace. To learn more about her journey, explore her full bio HERE.

Tombstones make macabre lawn ornaments poetry by bill campana | azpoetry. Com

“tombstones make macabre lawn ornaments, coffins are the worst kind of patio furniture” by Bill Campana

February 12, 2025

“tombstones make macabre lawn ornaments, coffins are the worst kind of patio furniture”

i saw my parents’ grave marker
twice…at saint ann’s on oak street.

once at my mother’s funeral,
and again at my father’s.

memory assures me
that they once lived.

their names etched in stone
remind me that they are gone.

i can’t imagine being there
when i’m not miserable.

About the poet Bill Campana

Bill Campana’s poem “tombstones make macabre lawn ornaments, coffins are the worst kind of patio furniture” is a raw and contemplative meditation on loss and the weight of memory. In just a few stark lines, Campana recounts the haunting experience of encountering his parents’ grave markers. The poem underscores how memory keeps alive the reality of their existence, even as their names etched in stone serve as a constant reminder of their absence. Ultimately, the poet reveals a poignant truth: his capacity to feel whole and content is intricately tied to the depths of his grief.

Discover more about Bill Campana’s journey as a poet and performer on his full bio page HERE.

Explore more Arizona poetry

“Love, Bacall” by Lauren Perry

February 3, 2025

Love Bacall by Lauren Perry

It had to be you that threw me the matches Bogie,

Each musky growl of my voice,
You couldn’t resist answering my question with a flick of your wrist and a smirk in your eye,
Confidence with a 5 o’clock shadow,
You were the smoke of my cigarette,
How we swirled around each other in celluloid films,
Bringing together big screen royalty Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart!
Our movies would go on to make our love famous long after we were bones in boxes or stars on a sidewalk,
They always called me the smart guy’s gal and I was the perfect exclamation point at the beginning of each of your sentences,
It didn’t matter that I was 19 and you were 45,
I liked your sense of experience and even though I would be your forth wife,
You always said I was the true love of your life, Bogie
Have we not talked lately because I feel like when I run my lines?
You’re pushing me to be better,
Don’t let the wrinkles fool myself because getting old is just another script we have to write ourselves into,
I’ve had to come so far without you by my side,
Two little children to raise and a chin up the Hollywood Mountain,
I could see it shinning from New York City where the theater curtain replaced the silver screen,
Our stay at the hotel Key Largo feels like ages ago,
The last time we’d read a script together and laugh at how seriously we both took our rolls,
Before cancer would take your voice and you had to breathe through tubes,
Your voice once the velvet purr of a bass string now rough coughs,
Defeater by cigarettes at two packs a day,
For 12 years you where my perfect leading man and I would always be your leading lady,
No one could ever replace you for long,
I’ve got the divorce papers to prove it,

Sometimes I sit down to watch un-edited scenes of our conversations together,
Didn’t matter if you were gunning down gangsters or I was steaming the screen up,
Pressed against you with all the force of camera reel clicking behind steel,
The silk of my blouse rising and falling in the tide of “lets never let this moment go”,
But I had to let you go Bogie,
You were dying on the inside!
Getting ready for The Big Sleep in a bigger way, baby
That was the close up that all the world was never ready for you name to headline,

Humphrey Bogart Dies at 57 January 14, 1957!

Did you predict that year on purpose?

Joking your teeth and hair would fall out before your contract with Warner Brothers expired,
Laughing at your immobility when your body weighed all of 80 pounds,
You died with movie stars by your side,
Taken from us far too soon and far too irreplaceable,
So reached in your pocket for the gold whistle you gave me all those years ago,

When we did our first movie together and fell in love, because
“If you want anything, just whistle.”

About the poet Lauren Perry

“Love Bacall” by Lauren Perry is a playful yet poignant exploration of love, aging, and the enduring allure of Hollywood icons. In the poem, Perry draws parallels between her own unconventional romance and the legendary on-screen chemistry of Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart. With vivid imagery and witty wordplay, she reflects on the bittersweet passage of time—acknowledging both the joy and melancholy that come with growing older and the inevitability of change. Her verse deftly blends humor with raw emotion, capturing a love that is as much about memory and identity as it is about passion and defiance.

Discover more about Lauren Perry’s journey as a poet, writer, and performer on her full bio page at AZpoetry.com.

Explore Arizona Poetry by themes

Stand your concession poem by shawnte orion | azpoetry. Com

‘Stand Your Concession’ by Shawnte Orion

January 27, 2025

Stand Your Concession

Please remember to switch
all handguns to silent

before shooting
impolite moviegoers

for texting
during the film

About the poet Shawnte Orion

Shawnte Orion’s poem offers a sharp, satirical glimpse into modern social irritations with his signature wit and dark humor. Known for blending pop culture and personal observations, Orion’s poetry often takes unexpected turns that leave readers both laughing and reflecting.

To learn more about Shawnte Orion’s unique style and his contributions to Arizona’s literary scene, visit his bio page on AZpoetry.com.

Explore popular poetry themes

“Chircahuas Sold A Barrel at the Gates” by Logan Phillips

December 17, 2024

Chircahuas Sold A Barrel at the Gates

Presidio of Tucson, May 1856

Late sun; sweat
pulled from the pores
by the giant sweat-eating sky.
Slowly drying up
there, spirits and steel.

Under suicide glide of sun, fifty nearly dead
drunk on periphery of presidio. Whiskey
in wounded wood, barrel from back
where whiskey is born, brought on
wagon train to the edge, to the adobe
fortress under changing flags.
Dark liquor & dark lips.

Leather is a type of skin.
Barrel tastes like gunmetal,
like the fingers near the lips.

Sun-hot, glass made with lead,
oil dancing on the outskirts of water

Whiskey, well-sat in sun, burning
the gut, held in its skeleton racks;
the barrel bound in its metal straps.

Camped there along the Santa Cruz,
the Chiricahuas are sold a barrel, sold

a slow powder keg,
a weapon to dull the stories.

Alcohol—a way of negotiating,
sign language of fist and grimace.

Alcohol held in the gut
as the horizon grows dim.

About the poet Logan Phillips

Logan Phillips’ poem “Chiricahuas Sold A Barrel at the Gates” vividly portrays a haunting historical moment on the harsh, sun-scorched frontier. Through rich, sensory imagery, Phillips captures the intersection of cultures, where whiskey becomes both a weapon and a bitter form of negotiation. The poem reflects on themes of colonialism, exploitation, and the human cost of survival under unrelenting desert skies.

To explore more about Logan Phillips, his bilingual work, and his contributions to poetry and performance art, visit his bio page on AZpoetry.com.

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December in the morning alberto rios artwork | azpoetry. Com

December Morning In The Desert by Alberto Rios

December 8, 2024

The morning is clouded and the birds are hunched,
More cold than hungry, more numb than loud,

This crisp, Arizona shore, where desert meets
The coming edge of the winter world.

It is a cold news in stark announcement,
The myriad stars making bright the black,

As if the sky itself had been snowed upon.
But the stars—all those stars,

Where does the sure noise of their hard work go?
These plugs sparking the motor of an otherwise quiet sky,

Their flickering work everywhere in a white vastness:
We should hear the stars as a great roar

Gathered from the moving of their billion parts, this great
Hot rod skid of the Milky Way across the asphalt night,

The assembled, moving glints and far-floating embers
Risen from the hearth-fires of so many other worlds.

Where does the noise of it all go
If not into the ears, then hearts of the birds all around us,

Their hearts beating so fast and their equally fast
Wings and high songs,

And the bees, too, with their lumbering hum,
And the wasps and moths, the bats, the dragonflies—

None of them sure if any of this is going to work,
This universe—we humans oblivious,

Drinking coffee, not quite awake, calm and moving
Into the slippers of our Monday mornings,

Shivering because, we think,
It’s a little cold out there.

About the poet Alberto Rios

In this evocative poem, Alberto Ríos captures the serene intersection of humanity and nature on a cold Arizona morning. The imagery of a crisp desert landscape juxtaposed with the celestial movements of stars and the industrious hum of birds and insects serves as a meditation on the quiet persistence of life. Ríos subtly reflects on the human tendency to overlook the vast, intricate workings of the universe as we carry on with mundane routines.

To learn more about Alberto Ríos, Arizona’s first Poet Laureate and a master of blending everyday moments with universal reflections, visit his bio page here and delve into the life and work of this celebrated poet.