I like how you describe that poem more than the poem itself. You see things I don't, and the things you see have deep meanings - deeper perhaps than the poet intended. You see birds symbolizing change. The young leave the old and neither knows the impact of the parting. Shockingly this lack of comprehension is of no consequence because there is love in the leaving. Even after reading the poem several times, I see crows. I am not sure you are right, but I know you are not wrong. You amaze me. I would like to see that poem as you see it. But whenever I see you and me in a mirror, I am reminded: you have poor eyesight and a temperament that is too tender. They are your most egregious shortcomings, and I have benefitted from both. Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief and Adjunct Professor for Student Loans First published in The Oddville Press
We would like to sincerely thank Edge of Humanity Magazine for publishing our poem, Bishop’s Hole. A link to the poem is here. https://edgeofhumanity.com/2021/06/27/bishops-hole/
Or if you like, you can read it below.
Oh, the games we played in Bishop’s Hole, but the foul winds have begun to blow so once again it's time to go. Even though it's hard, I must leave this behind. That's what the rector said, and he does have a good head. Granted, this happens all the time. It's why we installed a pipeline, which can send me anywhere because Bishop's Holes are everywhere. But still it's hard and I'm leaving quite a mess, but reputations must be protected, so there's nothing here to confess. When I think about the good we inflict this only gives my conscience a tiny prick. We lie in the shadow of the Cross, so there isn't anything we can't lick.
* * *
O.K. That’s enough with the juvenile jabs. I've had my fun, and it's cruel to taunt. Let's get serious for a moment. We told you that we would fix things, and you had faith. Then you learned that we continued to rape your children and cover it up. You even found our pedophile pipeline.
That was awkward for us. So we promised to stop for real. And you believed us, but we lied. Again. No rational person should have believed us. But you did. You continued to give us your children, and we continued to prey. You trusted us - the black vultures you should have feared. And we never did a single thing to earn your trust. After all that, shouldn't you be the ones condemned? * * *
Have you noticed how we love gold veneer? It's everywhere, and it's immaculate as long as you don't stand too near. We've made the luster last all these years, because we polish the gold with your children's tears. Those tears run like torrents between the pews. It's like Noah's Flood. And there's nothing else we will do. Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief and Adjunct Professor for Student Loans
Good God - I almost forgot the Honor Men! Those pillars of conformity with their orange blazers and Jeffersonian rectitude, afflicting us with their boozy breath and stale pretensions in the rotunda. And look how rotund they've grown to be! They're oranges teetering on toothpicks; oranges soaking in whiskey squirting bourbon when squeezed; oranges that should have been left to rot on the trees. Humor the Honor Men! For they upheld the Hypocritic Oath as long as their withered arms could. Humor them because their members have shriveled and their influence has petered out - leaving them petulant and confused because their time has come and gone. But what will happen to the country clubs? Who will boldly sail the shallow waters of our bays? Who will smoke cigars and waylay waitresses? Who will presume to know what everyone wants? Just as I think these thoughts, a vast image of the Tower of Babel troubles my sight. And hundreds of disparate parties espousing thousands of opposing beliefs swell on the lawn like some tumorous growth; each wearing orange and each vowing to uphold the Hypocritic Oath. Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief and Adjunct Professor for Student Loans First published in Scarlet Leaf Review
We would like to sincerely thank Edge of Humanity Magazine for publishing our poem Sergeant Salvation. A link to the poem is here. https://edgeofhumanity.com/2021/06/01/sergeant-salvation
Or if you like, you can read the poem below.
Clearly, I suppose, the poor have difficulties but they push a dumpster full of desperation and disease - wasting their meager strength and time because they'll never get anywhere pushing a dumpster they're inside. If there are solutions they are difficult and distasteful - made more so because they're expensive; costing more than I've got. So condemn me not, Sergeant Salvation, when I put no pennies in your pot even as you vigorously beat that bell. The poor will get no money from me, but they do have my empathy: the amount of which is massive even if the display is somewhat passive. Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief and Adjunct Professor of Student Loans.
Scientists on Earth believe oxygen on Mars is behaving strangely. But how would they know? They have never visited that remote red rock. And who made them judges of what is normal and what is strange? When they know nothing of normal and they, themselves, are so strange. Have they considered instead that maybe oxygen behaves normally on Mars and behaves strangely on Earth? Or maybe oxygen can behave no other way because Mars is nasty and treats oxygen like a noxious gas. The HR department believes I'm behaving strangely. But how would they know? They have never endured the daily indignities I am subjected to. Have they considered instead that maybe I'm behaving normally - given the circumstances? Maybe they wouldn't judge if you had been nasty to them; treated them like a noxious gas; left them to live life like cockroaches in the dark wondering what will happen when the light turns on. So for the record, if there ever is one, this is not my fault. If you had only returned my calls, texts, emails, or come to the door when I pounded on it, your basement window wouldn't be broken. I wouldn't be bleeding in your airless closet. Luvgood Carp, Chief Editor and Adjunct Professor for Student Loans First published in Boston Literary Magazine
You are all the poems I cannot write. You are all the words I dare not speak - not because they would deceive but because they would disappoint. So these words (knowing my perverse reliance on flippancy and sarcasm as shield and sword to repel every honest sentiment) prefer to be stillborn. It is ironic really because with everything else my words run rampant. There is no end to all the thoughtless things I say. But with you - words disdain my tongue and silence shields me from repelling you. Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief and Adjunct Professor for Student Loans First Published in Ariel Chart
The poor are everywhere so they're easy to overlook. As when I stand on a beach staring at the pregnant sea, I forget the barren sand. 2. In a perfect world the poor would be taken care of so I'm building stockades where they can be put. With so many everywhere it's hard keeping them under my foot.
Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief and Adjunct Professor for Student Loans First published in Scarlet Leaf Review
I lack imagination, which is a problem when you pretend to be a poet. But no matter how hard I try I cannot imagine myself doing it. Yet, some scientists say there are limitless parallel universes and perhaps in one of them one of me tackled the beast - if only to spite those multiples of me sitting in stalled trains on parallel tracks. How I would love to ask that reckless me: how did I do it? What happened next? Did it make a difference? Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief and Adjunct Professor for Student Loans First Published in The Broadkill Review
Yes, of course, we, too, care about a neglected rose struggling to survive among the scattered bricks of a crumbling house, but we've already done all we can. Remember a child has a tiny voice and no money - hardly the sturdy platform on which to make demands. Yet here she stands with her small voice, empty pockets, and accusing eyes, while we continue to tell her to trust the spider who swears he wouldn't hurt a fly. Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief and Adjunct Professor for Student Loans First published in The Broadkill Review
Love takes nothing I don't freely give - so let the poets sleep guilt free. Though they tell shameless lies and unwelcome truths, they can't grow roses on the moon. A poem won't cure cancer or stop a middle-aged man from being a bore. Poetry can't make me see what I would rather ignore. And I choose to ignore a lot: how that look on your face is smug; or how you're the salt of the Earth and I'm the slug. Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief and Adjunct Professor for Student Loans First published in Scarlet Leaf Review