Archive for the Ben Rasnic Category

Letting Go by Ben Rasnic

Posted in Ben Rasnic with tags on October 23, 2017 by Scot

I believe that somewhere
a Spanish sports commentator
is still shouting “GOAL!”
for a shot made in 2007

and that somewhere
in a crowded sports bar
“tastes great!” and “less filling!”
continues to echo in the din.

I believe that somewhere
a place still exists
where it is still cool to say,
“Keep on truckin”

and that somewhere
Rob Lowe is actively
morphing new personalities
who still have cable.

I believe that somewhere
in an underground dwelling
in the Phillipines a Japanese soldier
remains ever vigilant

and that somewhere
my first love is happy
and healthy and occasionally
grasps a kind memory of me

because sometimes
it’s hard
to let go.


The Hijacking of America 2016 by Ben Rasnic

Posted in Ben Rasnic with tags on September 22, 2017 by Scot


Avaricious right wing evangelicals
and megalomaniacal pseudo-politicians,
brothers & sisters
from the same shared womb,
the same blue blood lines,
the same empty eyes
casting cattle stares
into carnival mirrors
rippling grandiose apparitions
depicting the chosen one.

Performing mass hypnosis
at circus tent revivals & paid participant rallies
they spin assorted tricks up the sleeve
pick pocketing collection plates
with sleight of hand
artistry conjuring up a carefully contrived
name & face of the enemy,
having baited weak minded congregations
into a mob mentality
with the smell of fear
and dangle of shiny promises
to fix everything
and everyone
who is broken,
all the while smiling
through wolves’ teeth,
lip syncing the prelude to America
descending into darkness.

Foreign Policy by Ben Rasnic

Posted in Ben Rasnic with tags on May 9, 2017 by Scot


A lunatic
is spraying nuclear missiles
over the South China Sea.

Meanwhile, the leader
of the free world
spends weekends spraying
Titleist golf balls

over manicured grounds
of his private
Country Club,

crying about fake news,
cheating on his scorecard.

Three poems by Ben Rasnic

Posted in Ben Rasnic with tags on December 25, 2016 by Scot

Indian Summer

Late October
by the riverbank,
campfire flames dance
with blue and yellow headdresses
amid the smoky essence

of speared fish
resurrecting the spirit silhouette
of a great Cherokee Warrior Chief
from my ancient ancestry.

He joins us in our vision quest,
cracking jokes about
Andrew Jackson’s impotence,
whispering sun secrets
and drinking firewater.



Saturday Night Services

I methodically suck her toes
as she deliberately clips her fingernails
one by one,
“I can’t believe that you’re doing this”
she giggles
somewhat nervously quivers
just before shuddering,
then muttering soft strange sounds
and although she is not
what I would consider
a very religious person,
petitions the deity
not once, not twice,
but three times.

November 9, 2016
I just want to hop
a Norfolk Southern
& lose myself in the blur
of rail ties
and measured strobes
of sunlight filtering
lodgepole pines;
to time travel
through the ghost image
click and shutter sanctuary
of memory archives
& transport myself
beyond the realm
of the day’s sorry events;
from the mind numbing duplicity
from the blind hatred
of mob mentality
from the affirmation
of blissful ignorance
life’s tired absurdity.

Elegy for a Summer Evening, 1972 by Ben Rasnic

Posted in Ben Rasnic with tags on August 8, 2014 by Scot

It was his custom to soak in the summer evening air
reclining on the front porch sipping Old Crow & Coca-cola.
Being the only son still living at home…
and feeling sorry for him as I always did,
I felt obligated to pull up a chair and join him,
privately slipping a thin sliver
of windowpane acid beneath my tongue .

Though strangers, the two of us bonded
through the slow passage of time
with the steady flow of rot gut whiskey
steadily eclipsing a steel perception
like a black cloud
and the windowpane opening and closing
in my mind like the wink of a blind horse
just in time to notice his features meld
into the iconic image that graced the label
of his prized amber glass vessel
now shattered
across the concrete porch floor
like a carnival mirror.

I lovingly gathered up the pieces
and placed them on the mantel
above the fireplace.

The Latest Edition by Ben Rasnic

Posted in Ben Rasnic with tags on July 8, 2013 by Scot

before dawn,
is already old news
before it even hits
the fresh black print
of our driveway;

comes in handy
to swat the puppy
whenever he pees
on the new carpet.

Old Photographs Stare Like Death by Ben Rasnic

Posted in Ben Rasnic with tags , on March 24, 2012 by Scot

Old photographs stare like death
from the pages of a high school
yearbook that read as an obituary
for Youth.

It is midnight and I am glancing
through the gallery recalling the faces
of old friends and past lovers
and I touch them

as if I was touching Death.
I close the book as if
I were the sealing the lid
on a coffin.