He gave the last full measure of devotion without receiving recognition or promotion. Living on the muted end of a video call a dray horse working quietly in his stall until found back turned to a virtual door, glued to his chair, feet fixed to the floor, staring searchingly into the electric blue as if it could tell him what is true. A conch squeezed tightly in his shell bothering no one until he started to smell. His cramped cubicle was in the last row. It was a long way away so I would not go. Instead I sent work to him by email which he would respond to without fail but then there were unusual delays. To be fair, he'd been dead for two days staring into the vast electric blue as his work lined up in a virtual queue. Now the accountants have correctly said he shouldn't be paid for the days he was dead. So I hope his family won't give me flak when I call to get that money back. Accountants - they're not virtual or new. That's what I see inside the electric blue. Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief
Tag Archives: Poem
Voltaire’s Dog
Now is not a thoughtful age. Now is the time of uninformed rage so let Reason sleep next to Voltaire's grave - a bony dog before a dead fire. And if it ever wakes . . . But I doubt that's our fate - that poor thing will never wake.
Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief
Chicken Pol Pot
We were in Cambodia YumYum when Karen asked if they serve General Tso. Laughingly I said no, but they do have Chicken Pol Pot, which is to die for. It starts out sweet but then the heat hits like a bullet to the head. And though I doubt this is true, Karen swears I told her to get the Khmer Rouge dumplings too. My Cheshire grin should have been a clue but when the waiter walked over Karen gave her order and onto the sidewalk I flew. It was just a silly genocide joke, but some people spurn humor like others malign salt. Then they pretend to be offended and act as if it's my fault. Hey, I'm the one who left before I could finish my beer. Seems to me - I'm the victim here. Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief
Reading to My Son’s Class on Dead Poets Day
Mind you, most parents would pick a stupid Seuss story and read it quick, but those were things read long ago when TVs had rabbit ears and winters snow. Now kids understand the value of time and their tastes for entertainment are far more refined. Kids love poetry; they love to tell jokes, and since this is about them, I've decided to do both. So in honor of the day, I say we must find a poet to put in a grave. The kids look up, startled a bit, but I assure them it's easy because poets aren't fit so the odds of one winning a fight are slim and I wink at the teacher as there's a bit of the poet in him. I then recite The Walrus and the Buffalo because kids love aged men who are full of woe, which brings me next to Sylvia Plath because that crazy bitch always makes me laugh. Then I get an idea that's so sublime. But would it be indulgent to read one of mine? I could because I've written quite a few and it would only be indulgent if I read them two. Once I have finished speaking my lines I realize fifty minutes wasn't enough time. But the teacher jumps saying I must be on my way and I leave to the acclaim only silence can convey. Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief
Each Spring Beckons Me Out the Door
A fuzzy pink sweater adorns the cherry tree and all the ladies half my age are smiling at me. Or so it seems - maybe they're just smiling near me. It's hard to see with such watery eyes, as if I'm looking through melting ice. Each spring beckons me out the door, but I'm moving slower than the year before and can't keep up as the ladies walk past. When did these women get so fast? Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief
Dr. Emoji
My wife was making coffee
when the beast flopped on her head
so she screamed and she shook
and I jumped out of bed
to find a leather-clad succubus
spread-eagle on the floor
so I quickly grabbed my broom
and swept it out the door.
Then I gave my wife a tactful kiss,
before recalling that's a mistake
because every time I touch her lips
my stomach starts to ache.
In the bathroom brushing my teeth
foam gushed down my chin.
It made a frothy bubble beard,
and my head started to spin.
So I hurried to the computer,
went to WhatsWrongWithMeMD,
typed all my ails in a tiny box
and clicked on the medic emoji
who quickly appeared to look at my face,
and without pausing for thought
said I have herpes, rickets, or rabies
and atrophy in a private spot.
So here I am at urgent who cares
answering why, what, and where
when Dr. Emoji has already seen me
and says I have no time to spare.
Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief
A Best Man Before the Toast
Love did not win today. It's only one for three. So what should I say as everyone stares at me? And him. Can we both be best? Should not I (or he - more likely) be a wedding guest? What an oxymoronic surprise! A lovely wedding jest - best becomes a pity prize awarded at an inquest. So what do you do when the woman you crave doesn't crave you? She will love no boy yet she is loved by two. Put us Don Quixote's employ - two donkeys on an impossible quest. Dress us in tuxedos of corduroy and tell everyone we are best. Kindness is the best way to condescend. You are the best but you're just a friend. A best friend - just like him. So what do I say as you stare at me? A slack-jawed caveman in a glass display. Love acts with wicked glee - in pursuit of its own perverse fun. To one, Love gives three. To two, Love gives none. Love doesn't give a crap about love, who's best, or what I need. So when will I stop shaking salt into the sea? Lovegood Carp, Editor-in-Chief
Union Street
Let's go down to Union Street where all the impoverished people meet around barrels brimming with green despair. They'll fidget nervously while we stare as each in turn will dip a cup lift to trembling lips and drink it up. On Union Street the barrels overflow so we'll see many rounds before we go and when they've drunk themselves blind we'll leave through a door they'll never find.
Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief
Darwin’s Prophet Published in Edge of Humanity Magazine
We sincerely thank Edge of Humanity Magazine for publishing our poem Darwin’s Prophet. Edge of Humanity is a wonderful magazine that publishes all kinds of writers and artists.
A link to the poem is here. https://edgeofhumanity.com/2022/01/09/darwins-prophet/
Or, if you like, you can read the poem below.
Darwin’s Prophet
Is this a fist I see which approaches my face with steroid-assisted velocity? Or is this a fist of the mind, an immaculate conception, gestating in a beer-soaked brain. If real, that news report now rings true: we are indeed evolving into crabs because the fist is truly crustacean-like huge as a Caribbean conch shell with blue enameled calluses; spikey ridges serving as knuckles. Having now considered the fist close-up perhaps it was wrong of me to so freely and so loudly share my concerns about your too obvious and too intimate relations with your mother. After all, you are simply ensuring your odd traits will be inherited. So, good for you, Darwin's Prophet! Managing to crawl all by yourself through the septic foam fringing the shoreline and learning to adapt in a new environment. Your flat head and crooked legs proclaim that you are the pathfinder in evolution's wilderness. And well done, too, Darwin's Pharmacist! Opting for an unnatural selection of supplements to enhance bulk and brawn over brains. Your scrunched brow crusted with barnacles and those black pebbles passing as eyes affirm that in the future only mutants will be fit to survive. Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief
A Daughter Leaves for College
For eons or mere minutes on the clock among marble mansions on a cliffside walk or sewage-filled streets in a shantytown, if you shimmer in silk or wear a paper crown - 110 degrees or snow sideways blowing - should you be lost or know where you're going, whether friends are plenty or few, I will walk with you.
Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief