Tagged: michael konik poetry

Poem: A Good Education

At the Middle School two driveways down the street, Hollywood safari vans tote tipsy tourists and King of Pop-culture purists to contemplate like jurists the Michael Jackson Auditorium, whose much-lauded eponym was sleek and slim, and boyishly indiscreet. At this school, Russian parents take parking spots and umbrage, when their children start to bleat about the...

Poem: What’s in There?

You could say our addiction to convenience and comfort has been successfully repackaged as the highest end for our brilliant technological means. Or, you could say that we’re in the grip of a nationwide plague. Of…A.D.D. Or, you could say we’re simply a country of poorly developed adult minds with the collective attention span of...

Encouraging Suicide Note

I’m hoping something good will come of my early exit. So it won’t have been a big waste. I’m optimistic, but I’m also realistic. Jesus Christ died for all our sins yet we find increasingly perverse ways to thank him and his Father. He just wanted us to love each other. That’s the challenging part...

Poem: A Brief Autobiography

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...

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.   We would also deign...

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 marmosets. The one who looks...

Poem: Changeable

Chameleons are cute 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...

Poem: Minor Miracles

Looking at the sun and hearing the yellowrumped warblers I realized conclusively today that all of this Everything is a miracle All this Life Please begin enumerating counting to 300 billion and perhaps When you reach the end of your Time here On yes this miracle of the galaxy You will know the truth like...

Poem: Tubular Tubers

Tubular tubers must propagate rumors 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...

Poem: How Can it Be?

How can it be 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?...