New poems from Michael Igoe

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Part of the Hill is Parched

As far as any decision goes,                                                                                                                             needs are easily abandoned.                                                                                                                                                               It’s hard work seething,                                                                                                                                                                     and lack of pretense                                                                                                                                                 brings little satisfaction.                                                                                                                      Beauties of the valley                                                                                                                                     capped by their dome                                                                                                                                  cries out for severance                                                                                                                                  from every governance.                                                                                                                                      In the cold hills of Adam                                                                                                                                 it’s thought to be the end.                                                                                                                No more showboats                                                                                                                                              carrying rank wine                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  adrift on high seas.                                                                                                                              It’s someone else,                                                                                                                                      causing agitation.                                                                                                                                      makes life appear                                                                                                                                 as lifelike as NOW.                                                                                                                                  They’ll emerge on all fronts                                                                                                                                spend lonely time searching.                                                                                                                      They wait among the rushes                                                                                                             on an oilcloth playing cards.                                                                                                             The high card,                                                                                                                                         Ace of Spades,                                                                                                                                                        their alignment                                                                                                                                                   in representing                                                                                                                                         death’s dominion.                                                                                                                                 After the levels of the sun                                                                                                                                       has reached  a day’s peak                                                                                                                                        they have finished singing.                                                                                                                                          Then taking long draughts                                                                                                                                             from their rusty scuppers

   Manifest Destiny

As opulence enters,                                                                                                                                       the eyes open wide.                                                                                                                                         It makes me happiest,                                                                                                                                   when opulence leaves.                                                                                                                                 I keep  talking  about                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    
the sparrows flocked                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    close to the Pavilion.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           They set a course,                                                                                                                                              fiercely objecting                                                                                                                                     to the little things.                                                                                                                                       In resort to slander                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   following the rules                                                                                                                              that they can't deny.                                                                                                                               They're observed,                                                                                                                                           
only feeling fiery                                                                                                                                           with flexed wings.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          
Agreeing on one thing,                                                                                                                                           they like it much better                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             flying over tank towns.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        
Here,  the windows bolted                                                                                                                       right before every evening.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 They kayo all the words                                                                                                                                            considered as breathing.      

 Figureheads 

Managing to remain on top,                                                                                                                          to follow the bouncing ball.                                                                                                                            keep my mouth shut,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        when shaking hands,                                                                                                                                               with leaders of men.                                                                                                                                                  It gets me nowhere,                                                                                                                              with a mottled face                                                                                                                                          that lacks the words                                                                                                                                            to end an encounter.                                                                                                                          Plans in the making,                                                                                                                                   lined up one by one.                                                                                                                                           In the days that follow,                                                                                                                                     a big strong line reaps                                                                                                                                   the fruits of our labors.               

 Embrasure 

There’s entrance                                                                                                                                          to this chamber,                                                                                                                               one that’s more                                                                                                                                               tiny than dusty.                                                                                                                                        The routine inhabitants,                                                                                                                              some who are insistent.                                                                                                                            Their guarantee is scripted.                                                                                                                 through a break in the skin.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   They form like a crystal                                                                                                                          but of your own making.                                                                                                                   It’s in a swirling dedication,                                                                                                                             to a faraway press of desire.                                                                                                                       But there is never room                                                                                                                                       for things uninterrupted.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

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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