New Poetry Showcase by Michael Igoe

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Earth Redefined

I swore to value                                                                                                                                                       the life I gained                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         but life goes on                                                                                                                                                                                            in  cone shapes.                                                                                                                                                                                                I can’t resist them,                                                                                                                                  but I still see them.                                                                                                                                     When they shift                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      from a red roof                                                                                                                                                            to the blue one.                                                                                                                                                Something splinters,                                                                                                                                                         crunching underfoot.                                                                                                                                                                                               Someone asks if all beer is blue,                                                                                                   someone passes around a bottle.                                                                                                                              In an attempt to accomplish,                                                                                                                            what has already been done.       

It's Otherwise

I wasn’t so happy                                                                                                                                      born in a manger                                                                                                                                  a born hatemonger.                                                                                                                                                  It  can show up                                                                                                                                          in certain phases                                                                                                                                                when best man wins.                                                                                                                                                                         Lazy frowns from sisters                                                                                                                                         gather up on the ceiling,                                                                                                                                           they are able  to breathe                                                                                                                                              completely on their own,                                                                                                                                                                        Their limbs are freezing,  
                                                                                                                                                      preserved by turpentine.     
                                                                                                                                                                                                     Onto the next square,                                                                                                                                     advance even further                                                                                                                               dwelling there quietly.                                                                                                                               Where it’s clear                                                                                                                                           someone’s watching.                                                                                                                                                            To arch and bend                                                                                                                                                                        with every signal                                                                                                                                                                        you send my way.                                                                                                                                My firm grip relaxed                                                                                                                               in another hometown.                                                                                                                        But for all I know                                                                                                                                        it seems like lying.                                                                                                                                                Never mind pressure                                                                                                                                     contained by breezes.                                                                                                                                       Because I can't walk                                                                                                                                                                                                    without those hands                                                                                                                                                                         that move in a circle.                                                                                                                                                    I think I deserve                                                                                                                                                  to know exactly                                                                                                                                                         what you’re doing.                                                                                                                                               Then you can find me,                                                                                                                                                         even in darkest syrups.    

Sold as Whispers

I don’t find defeat                                                                                                                                       in what you joined.                                                                                                                                                      Often it’s reckless,                                                                                                                                                           to treat a disease                                                                                                                                                                                               with other diseases.                                                                                                                                                 You’ll fall to the earth,                                                                                                                                             back on the home front.                                                                                                                                    Trying to keep up the pace                                                                                                                                               watching yourself conquer.                                                                                                                         As a mule is sure footed                                                                                                                                      of value as long as it lives.                                                                                                                                               Strangely enough,                                                                                                                                                                     I have not yet died.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               Because of piercing lights,                                                                                                                                                                                                            from a crack in the vessels.                                                                                                                                                They’re mementos                                                                                                                                                            creating distances                                                                                                                                                                 so easily brooked.                                                                                                                                                      With one voice                                                                                                                                                                                in delivering                                                                                                                                                                                    shrouded signals.                                                                                                                                                                          My delicate offers,                                                                                                                                                                                I want you to trust.                                                                                                                                                     I should know better                                                                                                                                            because you pilfered                                                                                                                                            from Christian coffers.                                                                                                                                                No wrongs ever done,                                                                                                                                                                     not to walk a free man.                                                                                                                                         You are recognized                                                                                                                                              as the fastest current                                                                                                                                                                to run in the stream.    

No Man's Land

Besides the music                                                                                                                                                                    was a flushed face                                                                                                                                 from a waking life                                                                                                                                                            built up on fatigue.                                                                                                                                                        Having no need,                                                                                                                                                                              for a sixth sense                                                                                                                                                    feeling the touch                                                                                                                                                                from an ending                                                                                                                                                                                 of  wire in a coil.                                                                                                                                               Surveying a scene,                                                                                                                                        knee deep in grass.                                                                                                                                                              Faces palmed off,                                                                                                                                                               as just sufferance.                                                                                                                                                          It’s as much for roots                                                                                                                                       as it’s really for kicks 
                                                                                                                                in the way it’s taken. 

Not a Chance

Aware just in case,
of hexed inhalation.
No need for school,
for crowds of tramps
in sunless courtways.
Holding hands,
brows furrowed

Pearl Harbor Day

We will welcome
mournful intruders
who abide in woe.
Anticipating an aura
from the searchlight..
Hunger for sweetness
gripped in its clutches
imposes the penalties
that deafen both ears.
Locked in the stages
of our utter disasters
compelled to notice
thick caked mud
and flies in clusters
on all the four walls.
Over longwave radio,
tired, resigned voices
giving the impression
no penalty extracted.
As the skies filled
with dive bombers.

New poems by Michael Igoe “Lure of the Hunt, In the Same Breath, Exhibits”

Poetry Showcase: 4 new poems by Michael Igoe

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

3 new poems by Michael Igoe : “The Way of A Hero” “Tunnel Vision” & “Human Intervention”

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Michael Igoe

2 new poems by Michael Igoe :”Inborn” & “Funeral Lilies”
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

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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