3 poems by Michael Igoe: “Bright Eyes” “Fun Lovers” “Bible Story”

Antique 1860-80 Ecclesiastical Bible Study Chart, Adam, Eve, Satan, Grim  Reaper by OldBeaverAntiques on Etsy https://ww… | Biblical art, Adam and eve,  Spiritual art

Bright Eyes

The first one in open water                                                                                                                                    patrols the lonesome beach.                                                                                                                                                                 Grateful for stillness                                                                                                                                                to serve as the filter                                                                                                                                                           held in nimble hands.                                                                                                                                                             The inescapable skies                                                                                                                                                              above muddy reaches                                                                                                                                                                                 found rooted in sands.                                                                                                                                                                       Four winds can’t obey                                                                                                                                                       the ton of deadweight                                                                                                                                                                  that calls itself human.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              To have and to hold                                                                                                                                                                     without distractions.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               Taking off my jacket                                                                                                                                                      I find my house keys.                                                                                                                                                                                       The new kid sold                                                                                                                                                                his lures and tackle.                                                                                                                                                                    Box tops will buy them                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    if you sink on one knee.     

Fun Lovers                

I grasped finally                                                                                                                                                          when I last ate                                                                                                                                   valentine candy.                                                                                                                                                   In its heart shape,                                                                                                                                        with tender script.                                                                                                                                                                The blue one                                                                                                                                             dyes wombs                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         of new friends.                                                                                                                                                                          The same ones,                                                                                                                                          I at first adored.                                                                                                                                                                                    Then it turned out,                                                                                                                                                              they’re friends like                                                                                                                                                         stooges or footmen.                                                                                                                                                                                           Reaping the same,                                                                                                                                                as we always have                                                                                                                                                                    we watch together                                                                                                                                                                incipient breathing.                                                                                                                                                           We waited to see ourselves                                                                                                                                            over by the coffee machine.                                                                                                                                                                             Dropping poker chips                                                                                                                                 after losing everything.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              We can’t quite place                                                                                                                                   all the young dudes.                                                                                                                                 They wear No. 2 clothes,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        at the evening pony rides.     

 Bible Story              

We popped a bubble,                                                                                                                                      it made us wide eyed.                                                                                                                                                        Soon we’re dead set                                                                                                                                against every slander                                                                                                                                                   Adam and Eve,                                                                                                                                      willingly precede,                                                                                                                                                          in separate gardens.                                                                                                                                              They remain blessed                                                                                                                                        by a stoplight’s peril.                                                                                                                                                   They smile the smile,                                                                                                                                            belonging to winners.                                                                                                                                                              Our hero of the moment,                                                                                                                                                   is restrained in his efforts                                                                                                                       he mimics only cool ones;                                                                                                                                                                                            he thinks he’ll hit the target.       

Bio:  Michael Igoe, neurodiverse city boy, Chicago now Boston, recovery staff at Boston University Center For Psych Rehab. Many works appear in journals online and print. Recent: Spare Change News(Cambridge MA), thebluenib.com, minerallit.com. Avalanches In Poetry Anthology@amazon.com. National Library Of Poetry Editor's Choice For 1997. Twitter: MichaelIgoe5. poetryinmotion416254859.wordpress.com. Urban Realism, Surrealism. I like the Night.                                                                         

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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