Category: Ivan Peledov

An Indefinite Wasteland

A couple of saints got stranded between
March and April. The bookstores of yesteryear 
with cautiously yawning windows
slowly get lost in the cold.
A nameless dyslexic sun
never counts her sins, never
laughs, never makes a mistake.

Above Ground

It takes an afternoon for a sunray
to embrace a garter snake. Semibirds
restlessly grow water on vacation
in the eye-resistant towers.
All the planets are curious, no doubt,
but afraid to watch.

Yeah But

It’s a pleasure to sell Lemurian tree stumps 
on the Pacific shores (free delivery in a week,
but you have to pay cash up front).
Footprints between the clouds
never reveal, never conceal.


Bio: Ivan Peledov lives in Colorado. His poems have been recently published in SORTES, Mad Swirl, Arc Magazine, and Angel Rust. He is the author of the book Habits of Totems (Impspired, 2021). He can be found online on Twitter @habitsoftotems or on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/ivan.peledov.

Everything Alive

It didn't end well, so we left the corpse 
tiptoeing in the parking lot and set out looking for home.
There were too many exits to check 
and too much framed void over the highway.
Magpies seemed to think we were just moving roadkill,
or something made for their kinky amusement,
but didn’t dare to approach the car.
We are not fucking living in a horror story,
you kept saying over and over again.
Sure we are, I thought. Dusty beings
from pre-Christian legends hid in the scrub,
or maybe on the fringes of our tattered souls.
If we had caught one, we would have been rich.
But how? The earth didn’t even feel their steps.

As Usual

As usual, garden statues 
spend holidays on the Moon.
With the help of a distant star
and a loony tree
autistic animals collect alien sins,
while insects learn to play 
jazz in the snow.

Whisper

Chapped hands, cracked eyeglasses,
banana peels and empty bottles on the clouds, 
forgotten paperbacks of the Nobel laureates
in the public restrooms, boredom 
as the source of beatitude, winter
houseflies mad like the goddesses 
of whisper.


Bio: Ivan Peledov lives in Colorado. His poems have been recently published in SORTES, Mad Swirl, Arc Magazine, and Angel Rust. He is the author of the book Habits of Totems (Impspired, 2021). He can be found online on Twitter @habitsoftotems or on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/ivan.peledov.

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Ivan Peledov

Aside from the Flowers

Babylon-sized spirits of silent birds, winds, and clouds
cover every stone and blade of grass you can see.
They banish all meaning from the valleys and canyons,
they look for hidden eternities of dead tree branches,
for dancing trunks in the wooden afterlife on the hills,
and discarded life forms stuck in the brittle twigs.
How often do you expect to walk this dusty path,
hearing the posthumous music of renegade souls
and greetings of the neighbors under the ever gentle sun?

Before and After

We talk about snowflakes and death 
in the cold, bottomless rooms of itinerant prairie dogs.
Some doors and windows are really butterflies in disguise.
You can’t open them without killing the little things.
They help to keep the emptiness and the dust intact.
Wasted centuries and bogus UFOs distort their wings,
but look at the birds of the sun and their feeders -
brimming with wine.  


Bio: Ivan Peledov lives in Colorado. His poems have been recently published in SORTES, Mad Swirl, Arc Magazine, and Angel Rust. He is the author of the book Habits of Totems (Impspired, 2021). He can be found online on Twitter @habitsoftotems or on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/ivan.peledov.

Poetry by Ivan Peledov: Places They Don’t Mind