Tag Archives: Poetry

Kissing Cousins

Despite what Prius driving, pious posing
virtue vigilantes may tell you
heritage and hate are not kissing cousins.

They do not share a liver 
like those conjoined twins -
unfair housing and workplace discrimination.

The truth is heritage detests hate
just as wasps despise Jews.

Heritage and hate are shackles
on entirely different whipping posts.

They are lynching trees located 
in separate parts of the park.

Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief

Jelly in a Jar

Look at old Alabaster 
in all his power and glory
grasping his silver spoon 
in a palsied grip.

He knows the spoon holds power
and power is jelly in a jar.
If someone somehow gets a spoonful
it must have been taken from him

Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief

The Power of Prayer

Sheer frustration and desperation
drove me to my knees, naked before the Lord -
certain I heard snickering somewhere.

But I persisted and prayed
for you to turn up on time,
not make simple mistakes,
or embarrass me before clients.

And you, who glued bumper stickers 
to your Prius proclaiming 
miracles happen every day -
you have made me an atheist
through the power of prayer.

Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief

The Great White Heron in a Floppy Hat

My father, long retired and recently afraid
of becoming irrelevant, has become a pest.

A master gardener, himself, he has volunteered
to teach the Wampanoag children of Cape Cod
how to grow vegetables the way 80 year old white men do -
by stabbing cold metal hand shovels into the sandy soil
and throwing dry seeds in the gaping wounds.

The Wampanoag women of Cape Cod
prefer their traditional methods.
The warm heels of their feet create the needed homes
for the pregnant seeds.

Dad visits their community garden
unannounced, uninvited, and unaware
he may be perceived as a great white heron in a floppy hat
attempting to poach fish from their pond.

The tortured history here would recommend
a gentler approach, but he is forever
surprised by the frosty welcome.
He suspects they want his money more than his help.

His plans for Thanksgiving, my sister and I think,
are bound to make matters worse.

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

Easter Service on Stone Mountain

When the sun began to rise so, too, did the deacon
scaling that sacred rock to the Nimbus Arena
where the Holy Trinity resides in petrified consternation.

He plopped himself down at the left hand of Lee,
gave a grim nod to Stonewall on his stony steed,
and from the lap of Jefferson Davis
proclaimed the good news:

Heritage is the Way                    of preserving power;
the Truth                                        tamed by tradition;
and the Life                                    lived in the past.

Heritage is the burning cross illuminating
the Master's house in the cotton-filled clouds.

So blessed be heritage’s most zealous defenders
for they shall inherit the blistered remains of the earth.

Blessed, too, be any deed done in the name of heritage,
no matter how heinous, for heritage sanctions everything
except change.

Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief

Paradise

I'll build a place that's mild and green
with stop signs on every street
and free and friendly citizens 
who'll never be allowed to tweet.

Cameras will float on blades;
security will be courteous but tight
so no one will grab my balls
on cheese and meatball subs night 
when I'll dance in a worried thong
and no one will mention cellulite.

Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief

A Sort of Homecoming

Uncle was bad at everything
Cape Cod cares about.

He excelled in one way only:
he loved my fault-finding aunt without reason.

He was blessed in one way only:
his indulgent family loved him without reason.

Today we buried him next to my waiting aunt
in the only home he has wanted for seven years.

Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief