Tag Archives: Poetry

Little Boy Blue

Little boy Blue,
social media guru,
play with your tiny horn
until your lips are blistered 
and your bony fingers are worn.

Preening boy Blue,
amazed by all you do,
is there nothing you won't say
in your constant quest for praise?
Your dry deeds are only clicks away
because posting them's what you do all day.

Righteous boy Blue,
sitting alone in your pew,
you are the sun and air - 
the gaudiest billboard in Times Square.
In a beat-up bathrobe you decide all - 
a wicked judge with a cellular maul.
You render rulings in a few bytes or less.
You condemn instantly but you do not bless.

Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief

Nightmare

Your grief and rage are layers
of peeling paint pasting together
the rotted boards of a ramshackle house
and when those layers are scraped away
the bat-filled building collapses into 
a massive sink hole which gives birth
to a ravenous mouth crammed with rows
of shark teeth that devours everything
I consider mine.

So the night is long.

Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief

Thoughts on the Dangers of Pretending to be a Poet (Part 5)

Delusions of grandeur. Pretend poets think they’re special. Which is ridiculous. Poetry never saved a life. It hasn’t cured cancer. I’m certain it never will considering how much liquor it drinks.

Have you read Lewis Carroll? Pure nonsense.

So this is a message to everyone who pretends to be a poet (and that is every poet living and/or dead): get a real job. You will be happier and so will your family. Poetry has never solved any problem. You know what has? Money and hotels.

If my lazy-ass son had a real job, instead of masturbating all day and calling it a poetry blog, he wouldn’t keep asking me for money. I wouldn’t keep telling him no, and I would love him.

Poetry is easy. I will show you. I literally wrote this off the top of my head three minutes ago.

The Ballad of Knowgood Carp 

I know damn well
when I cast my spell
I will be okay
on the Judgment Day
because I have more money
so I can buy God's honey
and if I want to bone ya'
what I'll do is phone ya'.

Do better than that, B.S. Eliot.  I defy you.

Knowgood Carp, Owner of all the Hotels on Block Island and Some in Connecticut

Cavities

Who throws pepper in the air
so upstanding citizens will sneeze?
Who slips sugar into milk 
so wholesome kids get cavities?
Who hides the cherry flavored 
condoms so chaste teens get STDs?

Once it was the evil fascists,
then the dirty commies
followed by the hairy hippies,
Russians, Iraqis and Chinese
who committed these depravities.

So who will we blame next
for giving us a mouthful of cavities? 

Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief

Breaking News

A cow covered with hundreds of mouth-like lesions   
each containing a tongue that lovingly licks my ear -    
tells me all the black lies I desperately want to hear;    
a massive udder with hundreds of mottled leathery teats    
and I suck the sour milk.

Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief

Charlottesville 2017

These stained statues must be preserved
through violence if need be
because if they're not great
neither are we.

Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief

Pungent Sound Open Mic Night

We are thrilled to announce our first ever open mic poetry reading gala. 9:00 p.m., this Wednesday at Drinkie McFalldown’s Wee Irish Pub (where your drinks and your dignity come cheap) – Block Island’s favorite place to get blindingly drunk.

Do you approach poetry with humility? Are you concerned you don’t comprehend (even partially) life’s deepest mysteries? Well, fuck off.

We’re looking for self-confident poets who are prepared to give simple answers to complex problems. Do you have a loud voice and a tireless tongue? Are you unafraid of hecklers? Willing to throw a sucker punch? Then this is the stage for you.

And don’t forget our sponsor: Ted’s Definitely Used Cars – Home of the Definitely Used Smell.

Treacherous Gulp, Esquire – Master of Ceremonies

Mission Accomplished

Nowadays, we ignore good poetry
and bad poetry is all we read.

Which is great news!
Because based on the time and energy 
we Facebook friends have devoted 
to pummeling this wretched rhyming piece,
insipid drivel must be the last
evil thing to walk the world.

Congratulations to us!
We have saved humanity
(as I knew we would)
with our sarcasm and snide tweets.

Such a preening and sanctimonious fixation
on bursting this quivering bubble of buffoonery tells me
snowcaps have reappeared on mountaintops
and polar bears sit on new icebergs merrily munching seals,
liars have recanted and corrected the record,
dictators have restored freedoms and retired,
torturers have questioned career choices and quit,
pedophile priests have been put in prison
and the Vatican has sold its gold for Bitcoin
to compensate the unfortunate children 
it allowed to be raped.

So having saved the world 
from every evil but one,
we can now dedicate
our capricious communal scorn
to crushing this thin, gasping thing.

Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief

This is the End – Again

Something perverted in me
loves these dire times
when hyperbole is impossible.

Where I can be delirious -
as if my darkest desires
are about to come true;
pretend all is black or white
and be rewarded 
for ignoring the gray.
Hyperventilate with rage;
spit darts in eyes and ears
and face no consequences.
Cry out for the holocaust;
crave the apocalypse;
pursue eschatology
with the crazed fervor
of an indignant desert prophet.
Be breathless -
full of passionate intensity,
because this is the new abnormal
that has been happening 
for thousands of years.

And tomorrow,
I will wake
and do it all again,
because some day
I'll be right.

Luvgood Carp, Editor-in- Chief

First published in Door is a Jar Literary Magazine