Originally posted July 13th, 2014
I was a punk rocker. A real one. Original Midwestern Hardcore Punk Thrash
loud and fast and angry enough to convey the depths of agony
residing in our adolescent breasts, the unspeakable (only screamable) pain
of being trapped like a bear in a sharp leg clamp,
tortured by the knowledge that we were ensnared in a system
we wouldn’t choose except under the threat of torture, and maybe not even then.
Not having a choice: “I want to have high ideals, I want to love mankind,
trust my fellow man, be loving true and kind – but everyone tells me ‘No!’ Everyone tells me
‘No such thing!’” That’s what upset us so in those naïve days before
we figured out how it’s all arranged.
. . . → Read More: Poem: A Brief Autobiography
Originally posted July 12th, 2014
of what we can see
and what we can’t –
the supplicant on a rant,
the matter dark, unknowable,
a bitterness that’s stowable –
what we would have to examine
are children wrenched by famine,
a panoply of catastrophes,
like man-made war, and disease.
at an ancient antiquated book
imparting wisdom, dispensing lessons,
doling out her meager blessings
to those who care to think
that knowing God demands a link
to better angels, vibes much higher,
illuminated by your fire,
the one that burns within
where there’s no hell and there’s no sin.
When you glow the healing starts
proving science doth love the arts.
that humble plots are sacred ground,
that if you focus on the light
you’ll develop . . . → Read More: Poem: If One Could Add the Entirety
Originally posted July 11th, 2014
appears at first randomly
in mutations rare
results unfair
blessing him with ignorance
cursing he with intelligence.
If a plan there be
we fail to see
what force of kindness
manufactured blindess
to that which pulses like the breast
of pigeondoves and marmosets.
The one who looks not like you
the blackdykewopniggajew
heshehim your sisterbrother
emerging from a wombless mother
the difference ‘tween us and it
disappears when tightly knit.
Originally posted July 10th, 2014
what with their changing colors and all that
adorableness ready-made for advertising campaigns
but when hunting they are less charming
more like their brutish brethren that merely slither
unblinking and expressionless
the toughest poker pedant to take
an oath
Hippocratic or otherwise
you would not find the same cute chameleon quite so cute
in a marketing cute kind of way
not yet dead but vaguely aware that the insistent crushing pressure upon its abdomen
means among other less important things that this is the end
and please let it come soon and let the pain
this pain
this excruciating pain of jaws pinching into my middle
my guts and viscera starting to ooze
let it end
the three arms that aren’t trapped I flail about
summoning and being forsaken
in . . . → Read More: Poem: Changeable
Originally posted July 8th, 2014
of doves in distress emitting foul humors.
Now what would inspire this rank impropriety,
this cunning indictment besmirching society?
A rift is the answer, a chasm, a cleft,
a cleaving, a shearing, a conscience bereft
of feeling and thoughts of the popular kind,
the ones that come straight out of sapien’s mind.
despite the conspiracies you might have heard
spread yonder and far by agents of gloom
whose trickiest trick is to make you assume
that magic exists and compassion reigns.
All that we’re asking is please use your brains,
the ones that God gave you to figure stuff out,
to fill in the blanks and erase all the doubt.
then slowly repent and demonstrate shame
. . . → Read More: Poem: Tubular Tubers
Originally posted July 7th, 2014
You might wonder in a quiet moment set aside willfully to focus on will,
on what you will do and what you won’t and how it always is what you will it to be – yes,
during one of those appointments with your soul you might wonder
How can it be?
How can it be that I am simultaneously the most irrelevant and most important
creature in the entire galaxy, if not the universe and beyond?
How can it be that the assemblage of energy and chemicals and vibrations that I call Me
is of supreme importance when matters of personal convenience or comfort are at hand, yet
strangely invisible and uncounted when issues of piquantly more comprehensive concern are decided upon?
The universe is curved. Time has ended for some of the stars in our telescopes. We go on.
And . . . → Read More: Poem: How Can it Be?
Originally posted July 6th, 2014
from the less important creatures below us on the chain of food.
Thumbs are why we eat them
and not the other way around.
Maybe this explains our fascination, our absence of humiliation
our willingness to stare and unwillingness to care
for life outside our glowing screens.
Some in the figuringit-all-out business will soon announce
the total triumph of opposition,
of digits doing what dogs cannot.
Others will say something else.
Noise, distortion, clamor, cacophony, a persistent buzz and thrackle.
We are amazed delighted liberated by our clever thumbs,
all the poems that they create
flying over keyboards, whose appetite we sate
by pressing here and pushing there,
underlining our aliveness
for emphasis,
for an uplifting reminder
we have thumbs.
Originally posted July 5th, 2014
via a connecting platform,
you didn’t know that George – or Brad, or whatever movie star you named – likes to do this certain thing
with his saliva-coated thumb.
Always. Finally, after all the imagining and the longing
this gorgeous man finds you on your hands and knees
with ass tilted up
and your spreading just beginning.
Corking the starfish they call it.
One of your fantasy men also likes forcing women to suck it deeper,
until gagging or tears.
And the other one likes urinating on his conquests.
Don’t they know you only wanted to love the beauty, the dazzling glow?
Don’t they know you abhor the grime? Don’t they
understand you want the ineffable tremble maker?
Originally posted July 4th, 2014
She was the water
He swam through her ocean
She laughed when he caught her
Together they swirled yet somehow apart
Through eternity
You know that the two
Don’t naturally mix
Connection was broken
Space delaying the fix
Mystery deeper each try a false start
Finding harmony
Finding harmony
Finding harmony
Finding harmony
Blend it all together you got harmony
They needed a change
They needed a weaver
To sing in their range
A stitcher of souls when science meets art
Bring on synergy
Add in a third
Triangulation
Call it addition
Of God’s adulation
That welcomes the new and draws a new chart
Possibilities
Oil and water
They never lost hope
Trusting believing
They discovered their soap
To bind them as one to make a new start
Finding harmony
Finding harmony
. . . → Read More: Poem: Finding Harmony
Originally posted July 3rd, 2014
occurred to me, an occurrence
in and through the hollow reed
we choose to be.
How preposterously inconsequential
you are! Irreducibly irrelevant
speck of cosmic flotsam.
Now! (Like the B&B lady in Sheepland).
Somehow you feel better.
Knowing this. Having this
thought occur.
Thought Of The Week Religious Champions of Discrimination Orginally posted on July 27, 2014
America’s religious leaders, some of the most esteemed and respectable citizens in our republic, are helping us understand that our precious freedoms — the ones our brave soldiers fight and die for in faraway dust bowls most of us can’t find on a map — are once again under attack. This time the perpetrator isn’t a hairy Muslim in pajamas or an angry white guy with an automatic weapon and the phrase “2nd Amendment is…
Read More-->
Recent Thoughts
Redskins Forever! The Washington Redskins have the coolest nickname in all of sports. Their logo – a stone-faced Indian wearing 19th Century feathers – is also pretty awesome.
Here’s how you know the name “Redskins” isn’t a slur against a conquered and marginalized people but is actually a part of the NFL’s…
When Credibility Is More Important Than Justice In a story headlined “Pot’s popularity, state law create trying times for U.S. prosecutor,” a Los Angeles Times reporter named Joe Mozingo attempted a sympathetic profile of a United States attorney who works closely with DEA agents to imprison Americans for possessing or selling cannabis, even when those Americans are…
Poem: A Brief Autobiography The 2014 MichaelKonik.com SUMMER POETRY FESTIVAL, June30-July13. A New Poem Every Morning
I was a punk rocker. A real one. Original Midwestern Hardcore Punk Thrash
loud and fast and angry enough to convey the depths of agony
residing in our adolescent breasts, the unspeakable (only screamable) pain
of being trapped…
Poem: If One Could Add the Entirety If one could add the entirety
of what we can see
and what we can’t –
the supplicant on a rant,
the matter dark, unknowable,
a bitterness that’s stowable –
what we would have to examine
are children wrenched by famine,
a panoply of catastrophes,
like man-made war, and disease….
Poem: The Difference The difference ‘tween him and he
appears at first randomly
in mutations rare
results unfair
blessing him with ignorance
cursing he with intelligence.
If a plan there be
we fail to see
what force of kindness
manufactured blindess
to that which pulses like the breast
of pigeondoves and…
New Discoveries Brandon Wardell Orginally posted on July 29, 2014
Remarkable comedic talent in young people is easy to spot. It presents itself insistently and clearly. What the precocious possessor of the talent will do with it — develop it or let it wither — is hard to predict (as demonstrated by our previous comedy New Discoveries). In the case of DC-raised, Los Angeles-based comedian Brandon Wardell, [...]
