Tagged: poetry by michael konik

Poem: Beautiful World

Sitting on a bench beside a Scottish canal, watching the locks rising and the Lochs glowing he crossed his legs and placed his hands upon worn corduroy wales that had seen much of the civilized world. “It’s a beautiful world,” he said, smiling, an eternal boy peering from behind octogenarian eye-creases.  “It’s a beautiful world....

Poem: Invisible

The powerless feel invisible. A ghostly cipher jigs and shimmies, sending up flares, announcing the Annunciation.   The powerful seek invisibility. A malevolent cloud overhangs and shrouds, secreted in cracks, hidden from the light.   We evaporate and expectorate and obviate. No one sees everything.

Poem: Facts

  These are not theories, conjecture, reckless reckoning, supposition, hyperbolic hypotheses crooked as a triangle untangled by Isosceles. These are facts. Yet many of us prefer to pretend instead that the precise contrary is not a fairy tale but a fairly stale debate over which the irrational fantastical religious folks can masturbate. So I shall spell...

Poem: Our Sober Friend

What’s the point of being sober, he wondered if you still behave like a narcissistic drunk? Wouldn’t it be better for everyone, including him, if nothing really changes or changed? He could stay rooted in the toxic swamp that fed him amply, bloating his self-loathing to inoperable proportions. He should drink, he should be a...

Poem: Big Surprise

Didn’t he warn you? Didn’t she scorn you? Hadn’t they found you? Wouldn’t they astound you? You who couldn’t differentiate between abiding love and aberrant hate?   Time will obviate the degradation of your sensate mind and accelerate the assignation of honorifics, burrowing within the fissures of tissue held together by gravity.   Were you...

Poem: All the Others

The 2015 MK Spring Poetry Festival, April 20-30   Mother protector, father provider. Brother who helped the elderly. Sister who held children when they cried. Potential saints, condemned sinners. The heretic and the ignorant. The past-tense blasphemous visitors gone before He arrived to save them.   What of them? All the others. The ones who lived...

Poem: Lonely Girl

Splayed on her sofa like a hastily disposed corpse haphazardly stashed out of the way of more important harbingers of Life, she watches the screens, the big one on the wall and the little one in her demure hand, waiting for the next plot point, the next map point, the point of all her affluent solitude,...

Forecasting the Near Future

We agree. It’s a shame that all the blibbety-blabble about nothing couldn’t be contained in a tweet. Or an overlong Facebook post, at least. Sorry. We should have just said, “Update: I’m great. Thanks for asking. Lots of cool things in the works. Stay tuned. More to come. Luv u guys.” Today, our first experiment...

Poem: Pimped Out Poetry Slam Five-Sided Story

EXCERPTED FROM “How The Revolution Started: Essays & Impertinent Thoughts “(Eggy Press). This is not an insult. This is merely a minor reminder mainly meant to catapult adult minds toward new thinking instead of the usual repeated drinking of the poisoned Kool-Aid propagated by the war-machine cult. At least that’s the expected result!   This is...

A Five-Sided Story

This is a reminder, not an insult: There’s no dictionary you could consult, no thesaurus or magic lexicon that describes the Pentagon as a paragon of peace. More like Hollywood and Silicon Valley’s most important ally in convincing the populous that what’s best for us is constant war and mayhem, the lubricating grease on the...