Tagged: poem by michael konik

Poem: Thank You to the Birds

Perched on a wire, a feathered ornament prettifying the blight of power lines graphing the sky with staves and you’re the notes. La-la-la…and a little higher Laah! Yah, hah, how you make me la-la-la, How you make me laugh With something like childlike, childish, altogether foolish Joy joy. Oh, joy. That kind. Thank you, I’ll...

Poem: Flowering Trees

Standing sentry beside the unblemished avenues of the upper-class fortresses which line Beverly Hills and Bel-Air and all the other places where winners live and those who Have not Discovered the magic formula May not reside, The lilacs and myrtles and jacarandi Burst forth Insistently. Proudly. Defiantly. Like hundreds of gravity-defying breasts, announcing to the...

Poem: Our Penchant for Bombing

If you had a million billion dollars with which you could Do anything you please Would you build a schoolhouse or a hospital or Bring Arabs to their knees?   If the purse strings of the Treasury were under Your control Would you vaccinate a child or Blow up a larger hole?   With riches...

Poem: The Need

Is it merely proximity that the body craves? That gravitational pull. Closer is warmer. Where is the womb we seek? Where is the haven of possibilities that we spend all our days chasing, as though we exited at the wrong time, like travelers without a map? Those science films of blind moles bumbling in their...

Poem: Doggerel

May your days be hairy, and bright. And may all your puppy dogs be white. I’m dreaming of a white puppy Just like the ones I used to pet Where the Labs are wagging And the hounds are dragging Their ears, blithely to the vet. I’m dreaming of a white puppy With every furry friend...

Poem: The Latest

Off in mad pursuit of the hottest, the latest, the mostest — and we say that not ironically at all because As anyone who knows anything about culture — or Culture, capitalized ironically, like a Tom Wolfe neologism — knows that Getting more If not all Is the point of all this scurrying. Much like...

Poem: High

When the night is good So good that the inexorable march toward decrepitude pauses freezes stops Time hitting an invisible wall of rightness — Well, then, we must sing and dance and laugh and love Certain that if life can be this fine It surely must go on forever, never stopping, always flying, refusing to...

Poem: Tumbling Toward Ecstasy

Those dreams in which one falls, Uncontrollably hurtling Toward what seems like certain death, or at the very least Grievous injury, Like a freeway insect making an abstract blotch upon a windshield, Are supposed to mean something. You like to dance to the music of your body Unaware and drowning in bliss, Certain somehow that...

Poem: The Battle

While outwardly appearing as serene and placid as a Minnesota lake at dawn, before the first fisherman has revved his outboard motor, inwardly the armies rage, warring viciously, like Macedonians conquering Persia — like imperialist sophisticates showing dark-skinned peoples what’s best. The body functions, yes, by all appearances it does, beautifully, and with an efficiency...