poetry

Fun Pop Poetry #16

newsroom-for-poem

“The Staple of News” by Craig Kurtz

A pox upon your news reports,
the idle blather, vain retorts
of nincompoops who get paid to
spread scuttlebutt that’s all untrue;
you listen to the media,
that faux intelligentsia,
who promulgate a pack of lies
of facts rendered counterclockwise;
the publishers and the pundits,
from secret-handshake syndicates,
will move the public frame of mind
just like a clock that’s theirs to wind;
these are the people you won’t meet,
they’re in some private boardroom suite,
but you will feel their pressures on
your judgments, thou automaton;
ye dancing engines, set by type,
believing almanacs of hype,
the public is a great timepiece
that chimes to plunderbund’s caprice.

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(Send your fun/striking/disturbing poem to funpoppoetry@gmail.com) 

Fun Pop Poetry #15

bob-dylan

“Two Topical Poems” from Bruce Dale Wise

The Sinister Clown Craze
by Earl Dolan Page

Creating horror has its consequences, one can see.
Watch out what you promote—a creepy clown conspiracy.
“Hey guys it’s time to cool the clown hysteria,” he tweets;
but even Steven King must deal with these horrid treats.
His fictive nightmares now are coming to reality;
and creepy clowns, as weird as him, are running down our streets.
The creepy clown craze that is escalating coincides
with Hollywood’s remake of Steven King’s It’s Pennywise.
He says that “most of ’em are good” and “cheer the kiddies up.”
But now he too must drink from his own grim, nightmarish cup.

caruso-as-clown
O, Like a Rolling Stone
by “Weird” Ace Blues

How many songs must a man sing before he’s called a man?
No bell was ringing in the ears of Robert Zimmerman.
The times they are a-changin’, and Bob Dylan has received
the Nobel Prize in Letters, said the joker to the thief.
How does it feel…to have opened the folk-blues-rock door
upon the World stage, electric guitar troubadour,
a champion of the World, in which hard rains continue on,
as they have ever done so since the very crack of dawn?
How better then to be unfettered at a microphone,
freewheeling up and down life’s slopes, o, like a rolling stone?

***

(Send your topical fun poems to funpoppoetry@gmail.com.)

Fun Pop Poetry #14

freud

(WARNING: Adult Content)

“Psychology Blues” by Scott Cannon

Exhausted, wasted, strung-out, bent
From all the useless energy spent
I’m a physical wreck and my mind is a mess
The problem with me is I can’t handle stress.

So I went to the clinic like some kind of clown
Hoping they’d give me some ups or some downs
Filled out the form, signed my name to the list
Of neurotics who wanted a therapist.

I told them that lately I’d been feeling depressed
And I knew that depression is anger repressed
I said my dog died and my girl just left town
And I really needed some ups or some downs

They handed me over to a guy with a beard
And I knew right away it was gonna get weird
His diplomas said he was educated
And he wanted to know if I masturbated.

I said it seemed like my life was a mess
He asked if I thought I’d like wearing a dress.
I asked him what he thought could be wrong
He told me I wanted to fuck my mom.

I said I felt better; got up from my seat
And that’s when I noticed he was beating his meat
While I told him about my girl and my dog
Behind his desk he was flogging his log.

I took off then, and haven’t been back
The doctor they gave me was really a quack
I only wanted some ups or some downs
But I couldn’t see wasting my time with those clowns.

The help that the clinic offers for free
Is passed out by fools more fucked up than me
From now on whenever I can’t take the heat
I’ll go out and look for my drugs on the street.

****

(Send your outrageous or simply fun or musical poem to funpoppoetry@gmail.com.)

Fun Pop Poetry #12

cupcake-w-candle
“A Miniature American Dream” by Wred Fright
 
 No thank you for the tapas.

I’d like a full plate of food.

No thank you for the cupcake.

I’d like a whole cake.

No thank you for the slider.

I’d like a regular burger.

 No thank you for the pedigreed lapdog.

I’d like a big mutt.

No thank you for the 100-calorie package of snacks.

I’d like a big cookie.

 No thank you for the 59-ounce carton of orange juice.

I’d like a half-gallon as usual.

 No thank you for the offer to pay only 77 cents on the dollar for Social Security.

I’d like my full benefits.

 No thank you for the cybersex.

I’d like an old-fashioned fuck.

 No thank you for eavesdropping to keep me safe.

I’d like my privacy.

 No thank you for stores open on Thanksgiving.

I’d like a day off.

 No thank you for the diet beer.

I’d like a stout.

 No thank you for the leased car.

I’d like to buy one.

 No thank you for Daylight Savings Time.

I’d like you not to mess with the clock.

 No thank you for “liberal” presidents.

I’d like Richard Nixon to come back from the dead to see that he’s left of the Democrats now.

 No thank you for the miniature American dream.

Mine is still fullsized.

 *******
Send us your fun/striking/provocative/shocking poem to funpoppoetry@gmail.com.
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Be sure to read our Report on the Pop Poetry movement!

Fun Pop Poetry #2

theda bara

This is NOT a photo of Blixa BelGrande!

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–WARNING: Adult Content–

“Death in the Medicine Cabinet” by Blixa BelGrande

(Inside Kenny’s medicine cabinet, Prozac and Viagra stand side by side. Prozac smiling, Viagra standing stiff and erect.)

Prozac:

Ah, Viagra! Be of good cheer today!
The sun is shining
And Kenny might get laid.
He’s been working on his timing.

Viagra:

My dear Prozac, I hope to God he does get laid–
At last I can be of good use!
Of this matter I’ve often prayed,
Sometimes he can be so obtuse!
He wants a stiff one on demand,
Yet takes me hours before,
Prescription directions be damned!
And then at me he gets sore.

Prozac:

Shhhhhh. Kenny approaches.

(Kenny enters room, opens medicine cabinet and shakes out two Viagra, speaks in thick Cockney accent.)

Kenny:

A bloody hour ’til she comes,
So I’ll take a Viagra now, maybe two,
This thing’ll be throbbin’ like a drum–
I’ll screw ‘er til she turns blue.

(Kenny shuts cabinet door and swallows Viagra.)

Viagra:

And bloody well HE will turn blue!
He’s gone and taken two of me in order to screw!
Fool! Imbecile! Idiot! Wanker! Knave!
Sure he’ll be hard and stiff– in the grave!

(Kenny enters room.)

Prozac:

Shhhhhh. He’s back.

Kenny opens cabinet and shakes out another Viagra.)

Kenny:

Bloody hell, what’s one more?
I’ll show ‘er who’s boss
She don’t know what’s in store.
I’ll drown ‘er in me love sauce.

(Laughs and shuts cabinet door, swallows Viagra.)

Prozac:

Oh, look at the bright side–
His timing’s improved.
Who cares that he won’t be alive
To get screwed?

Viagra:

Oh shut up Prozac, don’t you see?
We won’t be refilled,
Not you or me!
Surely on that score
You cannot be thrilled.

***

Fun Pop Poetry #1

emily d

This is NOT a photo of Ellsworth B. Smith.

(UNTIL we receive work that meets our full requirements– not to mention verse from a new Sylvia Plath, Dylan Thomas, or Emily Dickinson– we’ll be posting here poetry that meets the requirements of being readable and fun.)

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“Pop Idol Blues” by Ellsworth B. Smith

We try to follow all the news
One question though gives us the blues
We know this should not cause us frets,
But who the heck is Chloe Moretz?

Pop culture is our life and dream
Our goal not just to make the scene
An answer please would be the best,
Who the heck is Chloe Moretz?

Sleepless nights, going insane
Vodka shots won’t ease our pain
Help us with our endless quest!
Who the heck is Chloe Moretz?

***

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