I joined a writing group and made enemies. They were looking for an emotional support animal but I was a laughing hyena who found all their tender elegies hysterical. Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief
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
Snow Bird
I shall move to Pelican Key where I will only eat shrimp until I, too, turn pink like a flamingo.
Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief