Thoughts of the Week

modern american 0

Zombies Are Blameless, and So Are We

If you voluntarily buy burritos from Chipotle or pay for TV programs owned by Discovery, companies whose CEOs earn 1,000 times more than the average employee they oversee, then you probably don’t have any problem with wealth and income inequality. You’re certainly not going to have a problem with all the other corporations, like, for...

dodgers daytime 0

Poem: Dodger Stadium Suite

1. The challenge for an old white man poet at the ball game is a triplicate predicament: He must not swoon over the greenness of the grass. He must not view every little lovely detail as a metaphor waiting to be transcribed for posterity. He must not recite rambling stories with no discernible point except...

Preservation-Blake-Little-7 0

Poem: Water and Honey

Water flows downstream. Water seeks the nadir. Honey does, too. But whereas water finds crevasses and depressions, Filling all the little lacunae, Seduced by gravity and soaked in its own enthusiasm, Honey journeys won’t be assimilated. They conclude only when you can’t get any lower, When you stumble into a ceaselessly bleak pit of despair,...

school time 0

Poem: First Day of School

  Bedroom window open to the night breezes, and the morning call to prayers, when the children arrive wearing newly purchased clothes memorialized by high-volume mothers with fancy phones. On the first day of school hidden hopes soar to their improbable zenith, touching the underside of the fine line between delusion and ambition. Anything is...

life sculptor 1

Poem: Life Sculptor

We don’t author our biographies. We sculpt them, chipping and chiseling, peeling back the onionskin strata accretions of time, calcified history. The layers of remaindered remnants. What’s been piled on previous to our arrival taunts just beyond our reach, like the inscrutable object of desire who can’t and will not ever requite our boundless love....

private library 1

Poem: Private Library

  O, authors of infinite books, scribes of forever, I hear your cries emanating from the shelves in the wood-paneled velvet-draped library where ladies and gentlemen store their unread First Editions. You, Benjamin Franklin and George Eliot and Harriet Beecher Stowe, you have become collectible, stacked side-by-side slave-ship style. Unlikely neighbors. Involuntary intimates. The words...

taking the leap 1

Poem: Taker

  An accomplished taker was I. I took Money from fools Virginity from innocents Chances at random First pitches from unfamiliar lefties Comfort from knowing Pleasure where it could be found The mineral waters in France, the vapors in Costa Rica, the solitude cure in Colorado The largest slice of ice cream pie Seconds and...

2 reluctant beans 1

Poem: Two Beans

  Two reluctant beans Stalwart in their pod Refused to jump into the jar below Where thousands like them lay in wait The aging man The aging boy The coddled son who never fully recovered from the inconsolable shock of discovering He cannot have everything he wants The former conquistador The recently retired lothario The...

5.0.2 0

Poem: Guilty

  I’m off parole I’m on the dole I’m on patrol for deep-fried dough The initial superficial deal was hastily rejected but a subtle plea bargain was readily accepted Conciliatory counsel bounced me to a flea market where a meal was haggled over so some would get less and one a bit more I ended...

rich-man-alone-champagne 1

Poem: The Right Kind of Person

The 2015 MichaelKonik.com Summer Poetry Festival, Augist 10-23 If you’re the kind of chappie who believes in predestination, a Calvinist narrative to be unspooled one frame at a time, this poem is not for you. If you are the kind of lassie who believes in free will, a steadfastly laissez-faire Locked fantasy to be imagined...