Radomir Vojtech Luza
Radomir Vojtech Luza was born in Vienna, Austria in 1963 to prominent Czech parents.  The Pushcart Prize nominated (2012) Poet Laureate of North Hollywood, CA and author of 37 books (33 collections of Poetry) is the winner of the 2021 San Gabriel Valley Poetry Festival Book Contest for LOSING ME: POEMS FROM BED 23C.

The Catholic of over 50 years finished fourth in the 2022 SGVPF Book Contest with TIN TULIP but tied for first in the broadside contest.  The Jesuit High School and Tulane University (New Orleans, LA) graduate was a second-place finisher in the 2020 SGVPF Chapbook Contest  and also garnered The Irwin Award (Book Publicists of Southern California) for Most Creative Collection of Poetry for 2016's EROS OF ANGELS.

The SAG/AFTRA/AEA veteran actor, stand-up comedian, improvisational performer, published fiction and creative non-fiction writer and host has had 75 poems published in over 40 literary journals, anthologies and websites such as: Journal of Modern Poetry, Boog City, Nerve Cowboy, Spare Change, Lummox, Bicycle Review, Los Angeles Daily News, KYSO Flash, Sahara, Askew, The Eintouist, Poetry Motel, Boston Globe, New Laurel Review, Papyrus (Cover), Poetry Superhighway, Poeticdiversity.org, Spectrum, Bucks County Courier Times, Bent Pin Quarterly, Sage Trail, Phantom Seed, Pegasus, Skysage, Poet (Cover), Writers of the Desert Sage, roguescholars.com, lucidmoonpoetry.com, Altadena Poetry Review, Altadena Literary Review, Cultural Weekly, Bicycle Review, An Eye For An Eye Makes The Whole World Blind Anthology and Men In The Company Of Women Anthology, among others.

The thrice-decorated (By the Los Angeles City Council) and third-place finisher in The New Orleans Catholic Youth Organization Man of the Year Contest (1983) has featured his poetry over 120 times across the country in places such as New York City, Philadelphia, New Jersey, Florida, St. Louis, MO, New Orleans, LA and Los Angeles.

The theatre, film and book critic has organized, hosted and curated over 15 literary reading series in places such as New York City, Jersey City, NJ, Hoboken, NJ, Ft. Walton Beach, FL and Los Angeles.

The creator of nine spoken word CD's set to music (Eight recorded by the late Barry Schwam) and all produced by Radman Productions, and the Publisher and Editor of the literary journal VOICES IN THE LIBRARY, published by Red Doubloon Publishing, the literary arm of Radman Productions, Luza's production company, has spent the last two+ years as a long-term care resident at Grand Valley Healthcare Center Nursing Home in Van Nuys, CA where the freelance writer and college disc jockey penned and published the last six of his 33 collections of poetry, applied for a Guggenheim Fellowship. three Pulitzer Prizes and entrance into the University of Southern California's Ph.D program in Creative Writing and Literature and New York University's MFA program in Creative Writing and hosted four popular poetry features in displaying great perseverance, passion and possibility while at the old age home.


America

And Marlon Brando, James Dean and Montgomery Clift
Opened the floodgates and Lenny Bruce drowned in them

Where Chevrolets, Buicks and Ford Pick-ups find God
And God finds us weeping under interstate overpasses between swigs.

In an America too cold to care and too indifferent to change.
Looking for tranquility or just quiet in abandoned bathroom stalls and unused needles.

Where New York City blows its nose on disaffection and disillusionment.
Like an avalanche on a paralyzed climber.

Where ecstasy has replaced cocaine as the mature drug.

Where America dons a disguise too ugly for Halloween and too pure for Christmas.
Where a truck driver like Elvis Presley changed the world by not listening to it.

Where Jesus speaks every Sunday morning.
And is mute the rest of the week.

Where Joshua, Vladimir, Rashamba and Mary jog around Central Park every Sunday morning together.

Where Ray Charles, Billie Holiday, Sammy Davis Jr., Ella Fitzgerald, Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong and Marvin Gaye lived, struggled, and died.

Where boys dare not be girls.
And girls dare not be more than 125.

Where peer pressure is always a step ahead of His pressure.

Where intellectuals, artists, and scientists are nothing more than freaks at somebody else's dinner table.

Where liberals and conservatives find only black and white when they should be looking for gray.
Where gay men and women who love each other are called dykes, faggots, queers and cunts.

Where beards meet beards,
Lipstick meets lipstick,
Hands cup breasts
And fingers grip chests 24/7
And sex still has a price.

Where the idea of me and you has been replaced by me.

Where fame lasts fifteen minutes
And blow jobs fifteen seconds

Where funding has replaced art
And Dick and Jane can't find a house under half a mill.

Where yes means no and
Courtney Love is another name for pain.

Where Buddha and Allah, and Jesus drink from the same water fountain in Crown Heights.
Where love means sex and sex means nothing.

Where girls reading People and Us and In Touch
realize that their souls belong in the garbage and
their tits in the wind.

Where polar opposites are often polar opposites.
Where the Sunset Strip has become a cartoon.

Where a white guy won't ever see BB King in concert
And a black guy, Bruce Springsteen.

Where you and me and every person in their
house should take the TV set and ram a dictionary
through it.

Then look up imagination

Where cell phones should be outlawed everywhere.

Where slam poets should be taught that there is
more to the art of poetry than the same three words
and that annoying sing songy delivery.

Where forests, and trees, and meadows, and plains
should be preserved for my son and his daughter.

And the Rocky Mountains and Grand Canyon
should be, well, left alone.

Where alcohol should be outlawed everywhere.

Where Hollywood should get fined fifty million dollars
for every degrading, badly acted, unrehearsed,
coldly written film it releases.

Where therapists need ten years of study before they
can practice.

Where prostitution should be legal for anyone eighteen or above.

Where politics should be regarded as an art form.
Not a corrupt joke.

Where poets like me can live off their work
Not somebody else.

Where the voting rights act was signed over
sixty years ago
And there is still a black America and a white America.

Where John, Medgar, Malcolm, Robert and Martin
were assassinated not coronated
For speaking out against oppression, hatred, and violence.

Where a revolution gave us birth and a millionaire
in Afghanistan tried to send us to death.



D

This Bronx, my Bronx
Grand Concourse of needle and wine
Veins blowing trumpet and dust

On the d train, the mother sings, the brother rings
And the morning grins
Up the west side like a slithering virus

America

And Marlon Brando, James Dean and Montgomery Clift
Opened the floodgates and Lenny Bruce drowned in them

Where Chevrolets, Buicks and Ford Pick-ups find God
And God finds us weeping under interstate overpasses between swigs.

In an America too cold to care and too indifferent to change.
Looking for tranquility or just quiet in abandoned bathroom stalls and unused needles.

Where New York City blows its nose on disaffection and disillusionment.
Like an avalanche on a paralyzed climber.

Where ecstasy has replaced cocaine as the mature drug.

Where America dons a disguise too ugly for Halloween and too pure for Christmas.
Where a truck driver like Elvis Presley changed the world by not listening to it.

Where Jesus speaks every Sunday morning.
And is mute the rest of the week.

Where Joshua, Vladimir, Rashamba and Mary jog around Central Park every Sunday morning together.

Where Ray Charles, Billie Holiday, Sammy Davis Jr., Ella Fitzgerald, Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong and Marvin Gaye lived, struggled, and died.

Where boys dare not be girls.
And girls dare not be more than 125.

Where peer pressure is always a step ahead of His pressure.

Where intellectuals, artists, and scientists are nothing more than freaks at somebody else's dinner table.

Where liberals and conservatives find only black and white when they should be looking for gray.
Where gay men and women who love each other are called dykes, faggots, queers and cunts.

Where beards meet beards,
Lipstick meets lipstick,
Hands cup breasts
And fingers grip chests 24/7
And sex still has a price.

Where the idea of me and you has been replaced by me.

Where fame lasts fifteen minutes
And blow jobs fifteen seconds

Where funding has replaced art
And Dick and Jane can't find a house under half a mill.

Where yes means no and
Courtney Love is another name for pain.

Where Buddha and Allah, and Jesus drink from the same water fountain in Crown Heights.
Where love means sex and sex means nothing.

Where girls reading People and Us and In Touch
realize that their souls belong in the garbage and
their tits in the wind.

Where polar opposites are often polar opposites.
Where the Sunset Strip has become a cartoon.

Where a white guy won't ever see BB King in concert
And a black guy, Bruce Springsteen.

Where you and me and every person in their
house should take the TV set and ram a dictionary
through it.

Then look up imagination

Where cell phones should be outlawed everywhere.

Where slam poets should be taught that there is
more to the art of poetry than the same three words
and that annoying sing songy delivery.

Where forests, and trees, and meadows, and plains
should be preserved for my son and his daughter.

And the Rocky Mountains and Grand Canyon
should be, well, left alone.

Where alcohol should be outlawed everywhere.

Where Hollywood should get fined fifty million dollars
for every degrading, badly acted, unrehearsed,
coldly written film it releases.

Where therapists need ten years of study before they
can practice.

Where prostitution should be legal for anyone eighteen or above.

Where politics should be regarded as an art form.
Not a corrupt joke.

Where poets like me can live off their work
Not somebody else.

Where the voting rights act was signed over
sixty years ago
And there is still a black America and a white America.

Where John, Medgar, Malcolm, Robert and Martin
were assassinated not coronated
For speaking out against oppression, hatred, and violence.

Where a revolution gave us birth and a millionaire
in Afghanistan tried to send us to death.



D

This Bronx, my Bronx
Grand Concourse of needle and wine
Veins blowing trumpet and dust

On the d train, the mother sings, the brother rings
And the morning grins
Up the west side like a slithering virus
America

And Marlon Brando, James Dean and Montgomery Clift
Opened the floodgates and Lenny Bruce drowned in them

Where Chevrolets, Buicks and Ford Pick-ups find God
And God finds us weeping under interstate overpasses between swigs.

In an America too cold to care and too indifferent to change.
Looking for tranquility or just quiet in abandoned bathroom stalls and unused needles.

Where New York City blows its nose on disaffection and disillusionment.
Like an avalanche on a paralyzed climber.

Where ecstasy has replaced cocaine as the mature drug.

Where America dons a disguise too ugly for Halloween and too pure for Christmas.
Where a truck driver like Elvis Presley changed the world by not listening to it.

Where Jesus speaks every Sunday morning.
And is mute the rest of the week.

Where Joshua, Vladimir, Rashamba and Mary jog around Central Park every Sunday morning together.

Where Ray Charles, Billie Holiday, Sammy Davis Jr., Ella Fitzgerald, Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong and Marvin Gaye lived, struggled, and died.

Where boys dare not be girls.
And girls dare not be more than 125.

Where peer pressure is always a step ahead of His pressure.

Where intellectuals, artists, and scientists are nothing more than freaks at somebody else's dinner table.

Where liberals and conservatives find only black and white when they should be looking for gray.
Where gay men and women who love each other are called dykes, faggots, queers and cunts.

Where beards meet beards,
Lipstick meets lipstick,
Hands cup breasts
And fingers grip chests 24/7
And sex still has a price.

Where the idea of me and you has been replaced by me.

Where fame lasts fifteen minutes
And blow jobs fifteen seconds

Where funding has replaced art
And Dick and Jane can't find a house under half a mill.

Where yes means no and
Courtney Love is another name for pain.

Where Buddha and Allah, and Jesus drink from the same water fountain in Crown Heights.
Where love means sex and sex means nothing.

Where girls reading People and Us and In Touch
realize that their souls belong in the garbage and
their tits in the wind.

Where polar opposites are often polar opposites.
Where the Sunset Strip has become a cartoon.

Where a white guy won't ever see BB King in concert
And a black guy, Bruce Springsteen.

Where you and me and every person in their
house should take the TV set and ram a dictionary
through it.

Then look up imagination

Where cell phones should be outlawed everywhere.

Where slam poets should be taught that there is
more to the art of poetry than the same three words
and that annoying sing songy delivery.

Where forests, and trees, and meadows, and plains
should be preserved for my son and his daughter.

And the Rocky Mountains and Grand Canyon
should be, well, left alone.

Where alcohol should be outlawed everywhere.

Where Hollywood should get fined fifty million dollars
for every degrading, badly acted, unrehearsed,
coldly written film it releases.

Where therapists need ten years of study before they
can practice.

Where prostitution should be legal for anyone eighteen or above.

Where politics should be regarded as an art form.
Not a corrupt joke.

Where poets like me can live off their work
Not somebody else.

Where the voting rights act was signed over
sixty years ago
And there is still a black America and a white America.

Where John, Medgar, Malcolm, Robert and Martin
were assassinated not coronated
For speaking out against oppression, hatred, and violence.

Where a revolution gave us birth and a millionaire
in Afghanistan tried to send us to death.



D

This Bronx, my Bronx
Grand Concourse of needle and wine
Veins blowing trumpet and dust

On the d train, the mother sings, the brother rings
And the morning grins
Up the west side like a slithering virus
America

And Marlon Brando, James Dean and Montgomery Clift
Opened the floodgates and Lenny Bruce drowned in them

Where Chevrolets, Buicks and Ford Pick-ups find God
And God finds us weeping under interstate overpasses between swigs.

In an America too cold to care and too indifferent to change.
Looking for tranquility or just quiet in abandoned bathroom stalls and unused needles.

Where New York City blows its nose on disaffection and disillusionment.
Like an avalanche on a paralyzed climber.

Where ecstasy has replaced cocaine as the mature drug.

Where America dons a disguise too ugly for Halloween and too pure for Christmas.
Where a truck driver like Elvis Presley changed the world by not listening to it.

Where Jesus speaks every Sunday morning.
And is mute the rest of the week.

Where Joshua, Vladimir, Rashamba and Mary jog around Central Park every Sunday morning together.

Where Ray Charles, Billie Holiday, Sammy Davis Jr., Ella Fitzgerald, Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong and Marvin Gaye lived, struggled, and died.

Where boys dare not be girls.
And girls dare not be more than 125.

Where peer pressure is always a step ahead of His pressure.

Where intellectuals, artists, and scientists are nothing more than freaks at somebody else's dinner table.

Where liberals and conservatives find only black and white when they should be looking for gray.
Where gay men and women who love each other are called dykes, faggots, queers and cunts.

Where beards meet beards,
Lipstick meets lipstick,
Hands cup breasts
And fingers grip chests 24/7
And sex still has a price.

Where the idea of me and you has been replaced by me.

Where fame lasts fifteen minutes
And blow jobs fifteen seconds

Where funding has replaced art
And Dick and Jane can't find a house under half a mill.

Where yes means no and
Courtney Love is another name for pain.

Where Buddha and Allah, and Jesus drink from the same water fountain in Crown Heights.
Where love means sex and sex means nothing.

Where girls reading People and Us and In Touch
realize that their souls belong in the garbage and
their tits in the wind.

Where polar opposites are often polar opposites.
Where the Sunset Strip has become a cartoon.

Where a white guy won't ever see BB King in concert
And a black guy, Bruce Springsteen.

Where you and me and every person in their
house should take the TV set and ram a dictionary
through it.

Then look up imagination

Where cell phones should be outlawed everywhere.

Where slam poets should be taught that there is
more to the art of poetry than the same three words
and that annoying sing songy delivery.

Where forests, and trees, and meadows, and plains
should be preserved for my son and his daughter.

And the Rocky Mountains and Grand Canyon
should be, well, left alone.

Where alcohol should be outlawed everywhere.

Where Hollywood should get fined fifty million dollars
for every degrading, badly acted, unrehearsed,
coldly written film it releases.

Where therapists need ten years of study before they
can practice.

Where prostitution should be legal for anyone eighteen or above.

Where politics should be regarded as an art form.
Not a corrupt joke.

Where poets like me can live off their work
Not somebody else.

Where the voting rights act was signed over
sixty years ago
And there is still a black America and a white America.

Where John, Medgar, Malcolm, Robert and Martin
were assassinated not coronated
For speaking out against oppression, hatred, and violence.

Where a revolution gave us birth and a millionaire
in Afghanistan tried to send us to death.



D

This Bronx, my Bronx
Grand Concourse of needle and wine
Veins blowing trumpet and dust

On the d train, the mother sings, the brother rings
And the morning grins
Up the west side like a slithering virus
America

And Marlon Brando, James Dean and Montgomery Clift
Opened the floodgates and Lenny Bruce drowned in them

Where Chevrolets, Buicks and Ford Pick-ups find God
And God finds us weeping under interstate overpasses between swigs.

In an America too cold to care and too indifferent to change.
Looking for tranquility or just quiet in abandoned bathroom stalls and unused needles.

Where New York City blows its nose on disaffection and disillusionment.
Like an avalanche on a paralyzed climber.

Where ecstasy has replaced cocaine as the mature drug.

Where America dons a disguise too ugly for Halloween and too pure for Christmas.
Where a truck driver like Elvis Presley changed the world by not listening to it.

Where Jesus speaks every Sunday morning.
And is mute the rest of the week.

Where Joshua, Vladimir, Rashamba and Mary jog around Central Park every Sunday morning together.

Where Ray Charles, Billie Holiday, Sammy Davis Jr., Ella Fitzgerald, Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong and Marvin Gaye lived, struggled, and died.

Where boys dare not be girls.
And girls dare not be more than 125.

Where peer pressure is always a step ahead of His pressure.

Where intellectuals, artists, and scientists are nothing more than freaks at somebody else's dinner table.

Where liberals and conservatives find only black and white when they should be looking for gray.
Where gay men and women who love each other are called dykes, faggots, queers and cunts.

Where beards meet beards,
Lipstick meets lipstick,
Hands cup breasts
And fingers grip chests 24/7
And sex still has a price.

Where the idea of me and you has been replaced by me.

Where fame lasts fifteen minutes
And blow jobs fifteen seconds

Where funding has replaced art
And Dick and Jane can't find a house under half a mill.

Where yes means no and
Courtney Love is another name for pain.

Where Buddha and Allah, and Jesus drink from the same water fountain in Crown Heights.
Where love means sex and sex means nothing.

Where girls reading People and Us and In Touch
realize that their souls belong in the garbage and
their tits in the wind.

Where polar opposites are often polar opposites.
Where the Sunset Strip has become a cartoon.

Where a white guy won't ever see BB King in concert
And a black guy, Bruce Springsteen.

Where you and me and every person in their
house should take the TV set and ram a dictionary
through it.

Then look up imagination

Where cell phones should be outlawed everywhere.

Where slam poets should be taught that there is
more to the art of poetry than the same three words
and that annoying sing songy delivery.

Where forests, and trees, and meadows, and plains
should be preserved for my son and his daughter.

And the Rocky Mountains and Grand Canyon
should be, well, left alone.

Where alcohol should be outlawed everywhere.

Where Hollywood should get fined fifty million dollars
for every degrading, badly acted, unrehearsed,
coldly written film it releases.

Where therapists need ten years of study before they
can practice.

Where prostitution should be legal for anyone eighteen or above.

Where politics should be regarded as an art form.
Not a corrupt joke.

Where poets like me can live off their work
Not somebody else.

Where the voting rights act was signed over
sixty years ago
And there is still a black America and a white America.

Where John, Medgar, Malcolm, Robert and Martin
were assassinated not coronated
For speaking out against oppression, hatred, and violence.

Where a revolution gave us birth and a millionaire
in Afghanistan tried to send us to death.



D

This Bronx, my Bronx
Grand Concourse of needle and wine
Veins blowing trumpet and dust

On the d train, the mother sings, the brother rings
And the morning grins
Up the west side like a slithering virus
America

And Marlon Brando, James Dean and Montgomery Clift
Opened the floodgates and Lenny Bruce drowned in them

Where Chevrolets, Buicks and Ford Pick-ups find God
And God finds us weeping under interstate overpasses between swigs.

In an America too cold to care and too indifferent to change.
Looking for tranquility or just quiet in abandoned bathroom stalls and unused needles.

Where New York City blows its nose on disaffection and disillusionment.
Like an avalanche on a paralyzed climber.

Where ecstasy has replaced cocaine as the mature drug.

Where America dons a disguise too ugly for Halloween and too pure for Christmas.
Where a truck driver like Elvis Presley changed the world by not listening to it.

Where Jesus speaks every Sunday morning.
And is mute the rest of the week.

Where Joshua, Vladimir, Rashamba and Mary jog around Central Park every Sunday morning together.

Where Ray Charles, Billie Holiday, Sammy Davis Jr., Ella Fitzgerald, Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong and Marvin Gaye lived, struggled, and died.

Where boys dare not be girls.
And girls dare not be more than 125.

Where peer pressure is always a step ahead of His pressure.

Where intellectuals, artists, and scientists are nothing more than freaks at somebody else's dinner table.

Where liberals and conservatives find only black and white when they should be looking for gray.
Where gay men and women who love each other are called dykes, faggots, queers and cunts.

Where beards meet beards,
Lipstick meets lipstick,
Hands cup breasts
And fingers grip chests 24/7
And sex still has a price.

Where the idea of me and you has been replaced by me.

Where fame lasts fifteen minutes
And blow jobs fifteen seconds

Where funding has replaced art
And Dick and Jane can't find a house under half a mill.

Where yes means no and
Courtney Love is another name for pain.

Where Buddha and Allah, and Jesus drink from the same water fountain in Crown Heights.
Where love means sex and sex means nothing.

Where girls reading People and Us and In Touch
realize that their souls belong in the garbage and
their tits in the wind.

Where polar opposites are often polar opposites.
Where the Sunset Strip has become a cartoon.

Where a white guy won't ever see BB King in concert
And a black guy, Bruce Springsteen.

Where you and me and every person in their
house should take the TV set and ram a dictionary
through it.

Then look up imagination

Where cell phones should be outlawed everywhere.

Where slam poets should be taught that there is
more to the art of poetry than the same three words
and that annoying sing songy delivery.

Where forests, and trees, and meadows, and plains
should be preserved for my son and his daughter.

And the Rocky Mountains and Grand Canyon
should be, well, left alone.

Where alcohol should be outlawed everywhere.

Where Hollywood should get fined fifty million dollars
for every degrading, badly acted, unrehearsed,
coldly written film it releases.

Where therapists need ten years of study before they
can practice.

Where prostitution should be legal for anyone eighteen or above.

Where politics should be regarded as an art form.
Not a corrupt joke.

Where poets like me can live off their work
Not somebody else.

Where the voting rights act was signed over
sixty years ago
And there is still a black America and a white America.

Where John, Medgar, Malcolm, Robert and Martin
were assassinated not coronated
For speaking out against oppression, hatred, and violence.

Where a revolution gave us birth and a millionaire
in Afghanistan tried to send us to death.



D

This Bronx, my Bronx
Grand Concourse of needle and wine
Veins blowing trumpet and dust

On the d train, the mother sings, the brother rings
And the morning grins
Up the west side like a slithering virus
America

And Marlon Brando, James Dean and Montgomery Clift
Opened the floodgates and Lenny Bruce drowned in them

Where Chevrolets, Buicks and Ford Pick-ups find God
And God finds us weeping under interstate overpasses between swigs.

In an America too cold to care and too indifferent to change.
Looking for tranquility or just quiet in abandoned bathroom stalls and unused needles.

Where New York City blows its nose on disaffection and disillusionment.
Like an avalanche on a paralyzed climber.

Where ecstasy has replaced cocaine as the mature drug.

Where America dons a disguise too ugly for Halloween and too pure for Christmas.
Where a truck driver like Elvis Presley changed the world by not listening to it.

Where Jesus speaks every Sunday morning.
And is mute the rest of the week.

Where Joshua, Vladimir, Rashamba and Mary jog around Central Park every Sunday morning together.

Where Ray Charles, Billie Holiday, Sammy Davis Jr., Ella Fitzgerald, Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong and Marvin Gaye lived, struggled, and died.

Where boys dare not be girls.
And girls dare not be more than 125.

Where peer pressure is always a step ahead of His pressure.

Where intellectuals, artists, and scientists are nothing more than freaks at somebody else's dinner table.

Where liberals and conservatives find only black and white when they should be looking for gray.
Where gay men and women who love each other are called dykes, faggots, queers and cunts.

Where beards meet beards,
Lipstick meets lipstick,
Hands cup breasts
And fingers grip chests 24/7
And sex still has a price.

Where the idea of me and you has been replaced by me.

Where fame lasts fifteen minutes
And blow jobs fifteen seconds

Where funding has replaced art
And Dick and Jane can't find a house under half a mill.

Where yes means no and
Courtney Love is another name for pain.

Where Buddha and Allah, and Jesus drink from the same water fountain in Crown Heights.
Where love means sex and sex means nothing.

Where girls reading People and Us and In Touch
realize that their souls belong in the garbage and
their tits in the wind.

Where polar opposites are often polar opposites.
Where the Sunset Strip has become a cartoon.

Where a white guy won't ever see BB King in concert
And a black guy, Bruce Springsteen.

Where you and me and every person in their
house should take the TV set and ram a dictionary
through it.

Then look up imagination

Where cell phones should be outlawed everywhere.

Where slam poets should be taught that there is
more to the art of poetry than the same three words
and that annoying sing songy delivery.

Where forest




 2023 Radomir Vojtech Luza
Radomir Vojtech Luza was a Featured Poet at the January 2023 Second Sunday Poetry Series