Tag Archives: poetry

Make America Serious Again

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Make America Serious Again

make America serious again, Joe
it’s time
it’s time

all those rabble forming
Capitol storming
sons and daughters
of Fox News
and The National Enquirer
with their MAGA hats
and their saturated fats
and their uniforms from Costco

kick them to the curb, Joe
kick them to the curb

those blond surrogates
with their perfect teeth
and their android eyes
those slick grifters
those cocaine sniffers
those arse lickers
with their Bannon leers
and their licorice souls

kick them to the curb, Joe
kick them to the curb

It’s time , Joe
the world needs
a man on a white horse
at least for a while,
it’s high noon, Joe
the orange buffoon, Joe

kick him to the curb
kick him to the curb

it’s time, Joe
it’s time.

Taking part in the Open Link Weekend over at earthweal, check them out …one of the most interesting poetry websites and Brendan’s editorials and challenges are always fascinating.

Slim’s Third Dream (tanka)

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Slim’s Third Dream

Slim retires again
to do battle with the night
his mother appears

they share complicated jokes
in his sleep, he laughs out loud.

Over at earthweal, the challenge is:

For this challenge, explore the art and acts of entanglement in a poem. How does one life entangle another? How do the dead remain entangled with the living? Become the thing you see. Reflect on how that seeing changes the world (at least, your view of it). Then (or separately) ask yourself what existence would mean without that entanglement: how much less light and air and beauty. Flip the switch both ways to see how it works. Entangle yourself in the world. Let your witness be our testament.

A lot of questions, I think I may have addressed one!

The Poet’s Circle on Zoom

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The Poet’s Circle on Zoom

Way back when, in the time before Covid,
the Poet’s Circle would meet once a month
at The Post-Coital Beetle
for an evening of mixing metaphors.
Last week after much discussion
we had our first session on Zoom
and I don’t mind telling you
it was a white horse of a different kettle
a whole other crap shoot.
There were problems of course,
some of our members
had difficulties with the technology
and that was just the tip of the molehill,
as one of the poets observed
you can lead a leopard to water
but you can’t make him change his tricks;
but when The Academic Poet suggested
that metaphor has no place in modern poetry
that was when the spittle really hit the screen
it all went to hell in a hand basket
and that’s an idiom not a metaphor.
I tried to cool things down with a joke
but as they say
don’t bring a pun to a bun fight
and there’s no point
trying to count the pigeons
when the barn door is open
and the cat has bolted from the bag.

Taking part in Open Link Weekend over at earthweal

Down by Jericho Beach (Edit)

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Social distancing (3)

 

Down by Jericho Beach 

the trees look guilty
the ocean is ill at ease
no one’s fault, but still…..

the courts are empty
no tennis ball pock pock pock
Canada geese honk

eagles isolate
my face itches like crazy
demands to be scratched

and those ducks, they don’t know squat
about social distancing.

 

Photo “Social Distancing”

 

The  challenge from Grace over at dverse is to write a poem using personification and/or imagery:

Personification

A figure of speech in which the poet describes an abstraction, a thing, or a nonhuman form as if it were a person.

When I read the prompt I thought of this poem from back in April 2020, I made a small edit.

The Toddler King Part 5

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The Toddler King Part 5

5 a.m.
the toddler king
checks his twitter feed
access denied

it’s quiet now
but all last night
all he could hear
was the squeak and rustle
of rats leaving the ship

he stares out into the murky depths
Mitch McConnell swims by
an oxygen tank strapped to his back,
his lugubrious visage
fills the porthole
he removes his oxygen mask
a bubble escapes from his mouth
and floats upwards
his wattles sway like kelp
in the shifting currents
he has the detached look
of a man examining a museum exhibit
another bubble escapes upwards
he turns and kicks for the surface
his sagging buttocks
pale but somehow luminous

Am I dead?
The toddler king wonders
I can’t be dead
I’m absolutely not dead
If I say I’m not dead
I’m not dead.
Hey, what’s Ted Cruz doing out there
I thought this was a Cruz ship!
See, I made a joke
I can’t be dead!

Taking part in Open Link Weekend over at earthweal

Hacienda Merida (Edit)

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Hacienda Merida

It’s 5 AM and still dark as the lake
When the rooster starts his clownish complaint.

He is quickly joined by the village dogs,
The gecko on the wall behind the bed
Birds and more birds

And finally Fiona the donkey
Whose hoarse and outraged heehaw
Signals she is not ready for another day

Tethered to a pole in fickle shade.

This in response to Sherry’ s prompt over at earthweal : “For this week’s challenge, speak for animals, or let the animals speak.“

The Altar of Zoom (Is there Virtue in Virtual Mass)

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The Altar of Zoom

God is now on Zoom
but his microphone is muted
some would say
and I don’t dispute it
that his microphone has been muted
for quite some time now
okay, don’t have a holy cow
that was a joke
but honestly it’s been a while
since he spoke
those proxy sermons
from earnest priests
hardly count
they can’t hold a holy candle to
they don’t have the heft, the clout
of his greatest hit
the Sermon on the Mount
yep, that’s the big one
voted top sermon of all time
by the folks at Rolling Stone
a hard one to follow
one that stands alone.

Taking part in Open Link Night over at dverse

Foraging with Farage (The Boris Trilogy Part 3)

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Foraging with Farage

In his new television series
Foraging with Farage
coming soon to The Bollocks Network
Nigel laments
the influx of foreign fungi
to the hallowed fields and forests
of the Kingdom By The Sea
and the subsequent decline
of the Great English Mushroom.

In the final episode,
under the influence of psilocybin
Nigel takes a walk in the forest
and encounters a naked Boris Johnson
sitting on a giant toad stool
in a sunlit glade.
Boris, Nigel exclaims,
full of chagrin
and psilocybin,
I thought you were a natural blonde!
Has it all been a lie?
This is dream sequence, you fool,
Boris replies
The writers have run out of ideas.
He then tumbles off the toad stool
and bounds on all fours into the forest.
I tell you folks
if you miss one television series this year
make sure it’s this one!

This is, mercifully, the last poem in the Boris Trilogy. I am also responding to Brendan’s prompt over at earthweal , in which he invites us among other things to Appoint a Lord of Misrule, to conjure up a Feast of Fools. I believe this last four years will be remembered as the era in which the court jesters replaced the king, Donald Trump and Boris Johnson are prime examples. Nigel Farage, on the other hand..well, the less said the better.

Boris Johnson at the G7 (The Boris Trilogy Part 2)

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A trip down memory lane…

Boris Johnson at the G7 

Can’t believe I’m here.
Oh! The joy of dissembling!
Japes, pranks and capers!

What is Macron looking at?
I think Donald might like me.

There’s Melania!
Those cheekbones, the north face of
the bloody Eiger,

scale her promontories, what!
No time for rumpy pumpy,

lots to do! Trudeau
is smirking, colonial
prat! I think Merkel

wants to spank me, go nanny!
Concentrate! Now where was I?

Watching CNN even though I’m tired of Watching CNN

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Watching CNN

Chris Cuomo,
a man who is so addicted to outrage
that I believe he will actually
miss Donald Trump when he’s gone,
is talking to Adam Schiff,
Chairman of the House Intelligence Committee
and a man who defines the outer limits of ‘decent’.
Adam says in relation to Covid
and the rescue package
that the last thing we need
is another band aid,
another fig leaf
and I’m thinking band aids are for wounds
so that kind of fits
but fig leaves are for ..
well let’s not beat around the bush
they are for covering genitals
and I’m thinking
“steady there, Adam, pump the brakes”
but then I think again and realize he’s right
the fig leaf metaphor is appropriate
because the handling of this crisis
has just been one monumental cock up
after another
from day one
from day one!.

Naming Things

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Naming Things

The Neander Valley
outside of Dusseldorf
is named after
Joachim Neander
a German poet
who liked to wander
lonely as a German poet
through this now eponymous valley
unaware that beneath his feet
lay the numb skull and bones
of a species whose name
would become synonymous
with brute stupidity:
Neanderthal,
named after the valley
which was named after
Joachim Neander.
That’s what we get to do,
name things
and judge their worth
we even got to name ourselves:
Homo Sapiens
Wise Man
and if that’s not hubris….

This poem first appeared in The Galway Review.

Taking part in Open Link weekend over at earthweal

The Ghost of Hangovers Past

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I’m taking part in Sarah Connor’s Excellent Adventure also known as the Advent Calendar and my poem , Christmas Cheer, appears today on Day 13 depending on where you live in the world, it’s still Day 12 here. So please check it out, and not just Day 13 which I share with Anmol who delivers a poem of such quality that it makes my poem look like…….well…a hangover, but also all the other days for some excellent poems.

A Butcher Contemplates Christmas

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A Butcher Contemplates Christmas

7: 30 a.m.
at the corner of Main and King Edward
a butcher in a white coat stands
looking out from behind the empty meat trays
in the window of the Windsor Packing Company.
Back in the fridge,
somnolent sausages,
blood red sirloin,
and thick pink pork chops
(each with a trim icing of fat)
wait patiently for their return to the public eye.

a sign urges
Order your Christmas turkey now!
a December wind blows.

Taking part in Brendan’s advent challenge over at earthweal

Also be sure to check out Sarah Connor”s advent calendar, a poem a day..well worth a visit!

Profuse (not all prompts are equal))

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Profuse

I was going to pass on ‘profuse’
too easy to rhyme
too open to abuse
no room for the obtuse
that was my excuse
then I felt the pressure
the tightening of the noose
my face turning puce
I thought “what’s the use,
yield to the Muse
yield to the Muse”.

This is one from back in the day of the Daily Prompt, the prompt was “profuse”.

Issue 19 Vapid Magazine (The Royal Edition)

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Issue 19 Vapid Magazine (The Royal Edition)

Royal Watch

In this issue, our resident royal watcher, Georgina Shallowglass talks about the moment when she realized that corgis are real dogs.
She also reports on the launch of Vapid’s new clothing line, DowdyThreads.
Yes, now you too can relax like the Royals in our comfortable tweed skirts, twin sets and for those cooler evenings, wooly cardigans.
All our tweed skirts have been pre-stressed by English ladies of a settled disposition. All garments have been treated with our trademark fabric conditioner, DampFug, which creates an odor which can otherwise only be attained by spending time in a draughty castle.
Georgina reports that, all things considered, the launch went well, although the corgis just would not keep their masks on and in retrospect she should have walked them before the event.

The Crown

Jonathan Shallowpit has been re-instated (it’s hard to find people to work for the wages we pay) and is taking over as movie and television critic while Georgina is on royal duties. He has written a poem about the Netflix series, The Crown. Here’s the first verse:

I’m watching The Crown on Netflix
man, those royals are emotionally stunted
all the men are pompous pricks
the women can only relate to horses.

Steady there, Jonathan!

He also poses the question: Is Wolf Blitzer a robot?
Jonathan has observed that Wolf’s expression hasn’t changed in four years.

Travel

We are worried about our travel correspondent, Perry Patetic. We hadn’t heard from him in six months but just recently we got this cryptic dispatch:

I’ve been to Elo
I’ve been to Elko
What a difference
a K makes.

In Perry’s absence, Jordan Shallowditch has taken over travel duties and provides a number of useful tips for those who miss airplane food on where to find salted pretzels and chocolate puddings.

All this and more in Issue 19 of Vapid Magazine where shallow runs deep!

Ducks Chillin’ (Thanks)

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Ducks Chillin’

Thanks for Jeff Tweedy
Thanks for Annette Bening
Thanks for Michael Stipe
Thanks for John Lennon.

Thanks for Lucinda Williams
Thanks for Jurgen Klopp
Thanks for Paul Durcan
Thanks for Roger McGough

Thank for Sally Rooney
Thanks for Saul Bellow
Thanks for T.S. Eliot
Thanks for Elvis Costello

Thanks for Billy Collins
Thanks for Bob Dylan
Thanks for green lakes
glacial silt, ducks chillin’.

Brendan over at earthweal asks us to give thanks!

Also taking part in OpenLink over at dverse

Vapid Magazine Submission Guidelines

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Vapid Magazine Submission Guidelines

Format:

All submissions should be single-spaced. Please use Arial font, Arial is one of our favorite Shakespearean characters.

If your submission is of a religious nature, you may use a Baptismal font.

Please do not use semi-colons, they confuse us.

Poetry:

Please submit a maximum of 6 poems at a time.

Simon Shallowpond, our poetry editor, celebrity watcher and gossip columnist has catholic tastes, but will accept non- religious poetry. He is partial to free verse. “Free verse”, he says, “let it roam, far from all rhyme and reason!”
All verse published here at Vapid Magazine is of course “free” in that we never pay for it.

Fiction:

Our main requirement is that all fiction should be totally made up. Please keep it short, our attention span is limited. Endings should be happy.

Non- Fiction:

Here at Vapid, we believe that this category no longer exists.

Visual Art:

Yes, we accept visual art. Our Art Editor, Georgina Shallowglass likes to say “if I can see it, it’s visual”.

When to Submit

Unfortunately, we are not accepting submissions at the moment, our staff is working remotely because of the pandemic which means that they are not doing anything that remotely resembles working.

In these trying times, we would like to encourage all our readers to stay safe and keep it Vapid.

Hiram (Poem for Earthweal)

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Hiram

Hiram likes to drink water
direct from the spigot
on the front wall of his house;
he hasn’t had to connect a hose
to that darn spigot
since he converted the lawn to artificial.
Good times.
In the evening,
he sits on his porch
staring out at the Christmas tree green of the lawn
drinking lite beer
and polishing his assault rifle,
this gives him comfort.

Not that he’s afraid,
he ain’t afraid of nuthin’,
he ain’t afraid of AOC
he ain’t afraid of Antifa
he ain’t afraid of that girl from Sweden
the one that never smiles
he’s vigilant, that’s all;
vigilance is of the essence.
He likes the sound of that,
maybe get a T shirt made
put that on the front,
‘G.I. – God Incarnate’ on the back.

No, he ain’t afraid of nuthin’,
but sometimes
in the early hours of the morning
he lies awake
his gut gurgling like a drain
as it processes
the Outback appetizer
of deep fried onion rings
that the waitress
piled high on his plate
like a jumble sale
of used Olympic symbols;
he lies awake
stalked by a fear
he will not name
the fear of being left behind,
left in the dust,
by the twenty first century.

This week I’m hosting the weekly challenge over at Earthweal (Title “Fiction? Don’t be a Stranger”). So head on over there and prepare to be challenged.

Also taking part in Open Link over at dverse


Edgar

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Edgar

Meaghan loved her job,
the compensation was meager
but that didn’t bother her
what bothered her
was her relationship with Edgar;
she felt beleaguered.
“What the hell is wrong with you”,
Edgar raged, on a regular basis,
and all she could think of was:
Isn’t “raged”
an anagram of Edgar?

This was a response to a Daily Prompt (back in the day), the prompt was “meager”.