A Man Named Punky Robert Karaszi Poetry

local_library A Man Named Punky

by Robert Karaszi

Published in Issue No. 234 ~ November, 2016

If the soul is a passport, stamped to substantiate where a body’s been,

then I present to you; a man named Punky.

I met him in Red Onion State Prison.


One afternoon, they dragged him into solitary,

after exposing his dick to a female prison guard.

His cell was across from mine, and I saw him beat his head;

against the 24×10 slotted window.


But that window, was more than a window.

It was Punky’s personal note pad.

Often, he’d mix mustard and feces inside a cup with a little water,

till it met the consistency of ink.


Then he’d stick a finger in, and begin writing the most beautiful verses on that window.

If there was a mistake, he’d use his elbow as an eraser.


How could beauty emanate from such insanity?


All through the polyphonic noon he’d write and erase,

until a small masterpiece graced the tempered glass.

This is what’s missing from poetry today.

The unfiltered grit which circles humanity.


Poetry is best when it plops,

like a morning coffee shit you can no longer hold.

When it fizzes like hydrogen peroxide on a child’s scraped knee.


Literature has grown plump from the fluff,

and pap of political correctness.


Lose the safety net.


Learn to walk the wire

with nothing below,

but the singular dark.

account_box More About

Robert Karaszi worked as a lyricist/songwriter for an independent record label, and also freelanced as a writer for upcoming artists. His poetry has appeared in Hawaii Pacific Review, Grey Sparrow Journal, The Aurorean, Conclave: A Journal of Character, New Plains Review, and elsewhere. Most recently he was nominated for a Pushcart Prize.