Michael Igoe – Page 3 – Fevers of the Mind

New Poetry from Michael Igoe

Mother’s Material

All things dwindle fast, on left handed Sundays. But with new vistas they hit the heights directly on course quieted by leaves. More arduous the encounter more charged is the silence. She met with a king, and brand iron rulers. With almost no hints, without a suggestion. There’s no lip service in freedom of speech, you speak your piece. She made her plans to fill up long lines with stuff of illness. World weary every day, dealing out pantomimes.

Bad Apples

Getting stuck in the teeth before each performance. They will fight this war during the Age of Mud. It makes you wretch with eyes that shine. The machine won’t give any more amorous signs. As for rapture, and as for pain as far as coma and for moods. Finally a revival, by ice-like games, from daft opinions. Recorded by the brain are the dying concerns about consuming meat. We’re on our way to the meek forest. With an audience for your last book. The Rape of the Lock is the only one I need.

Exhumation Games

If the lotus came to be I can’t tell even if I try. It finds its place in fields of mud in boot imprints. We figure out, a watery grave someday withers. We’re called upon to burn our houses houses in surrender to the three degrees. Taking good stock of a rigged chance refresh the mouth with a taste of zinc. Lure the willing those most able, easy to convince to begin revving their twin engine. Coaxing them back into their lean years. These antics entitle them to know if they’ll drown.

Copper Harbor

As to any decisions there’s no real hope. In a merciless world revolving around us. Working on this one continuing to seethe will satisfy pretense. The beauty of the domes is in the beauty of words chosen to describe them. Words lead to severance leading on to governance. Here are the cold hills, serving as boundaries. On slow float lakes of wine and honey, the uninvited guest will reach the peak. Emerges seldom, remains present

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.

May Poetry Showcase from Michael Igoe

Pitchman’s Breeze

Once the pitchman felt full awakened he felt the dread of resurrection as a shepherd . Milky blue lunches at bottoms of bags in curlicues of snow. Scraps of leather, in tarnished vats seem to wind up soles of his shoes. But plaguing him most was he could have sold though yes he did sell, electric barbed wire by the dozen yards. Without an inkling, of whoever he was looking forward, scouring the sky blue eyes fading.. The face of a man as a rhesus monkey; so timid and curious he tugs on my sleeve. For my own protection to become walled off I find myself walking across the sodden field. More what I wanted, anything of promise. Cleansing of the gut, is a panicked appeal for change of habitat to one that’s weakest. Likewise I am stripped, to jump in the fountain. I’m feeling even wiser, when I haven’t spoken.

Rules For Psychiatric Incarceration

I like pressing a brown bottle, next to these swollen temples. There is wisdom's seat where forgiveness rests. In a place no one litters everyone’s like savages, perpetually arm in arm. Nitwits out of boxes, freed from love nests. When you’re younger, they’ll work you over. You’re worth your salt if you keep your head (II) When you’re older, it’s like a big deal an immediate rule to contract scurvy. Staying that way, there’s no reason for sex anymore. Where forests are dull compared to factories, the steel locked doors, chattering of the teeth. Teeth are the sole possession against a television’s hygiene. Depending on who hoodwinks. I will not wear outfits that they issued to me. I might convince them to hand over the prize the set of master keys. But in the meantime wish for forgiveness.

Something the Blue Teenager Sold You
previously published in Dream Noir Magazine

Something the blue teenager sold you
left you high and dry, priceless, alone
with memories of evil meals
and your handcrafted tattoo.
A thing that amounts to ceaseless rain,
by sleight of hand,
the blue teenager sold you something:
a cause for wonder, a good luck charm,
as you loitered in the hall,
pursued your own thunder,
behind whitewashed walls. All the while,
your mouth brays about a daily routine,
scores long settled, matters finished,
the best part of a tired disguise.
You’ve said very little, since you think
every area is the same as mine,
the lush park expanse, the neon pizza sign.
I gauge your walk, you march behind me,
it’s a pacer’s gait, learned many years ago.
Something the blue teenager sold you
in an ever lovin’ silent night
a music from breathing in sighs.
Your wick still burns,
your flame tells me,
you wrote those books
to feed the Machine.
Merciless, you’re entombed,
in a waking fate,
at length you weep.
He put a crease in your head,
sold you all you ever knew,
in the way of destiny,
a pair of sticks crossed
glowing on the exit door,
an aggravation; what’s more,
what the dial light says
illumined and green
shadowy light, last dialing
of an unknown number
you found on the wall.

Why I Stay the Same
previously published in Hair Trigger Magazine of Columbia College Chicago

An opening to the head prefigures a right hand. Following up with a jab looking at open wounds. Start with a fatal blow, to take things further. Dawns’ light in the cell the answer to intrigue, to all known business. I’ve spent ink in oceans trying to explicate this. Since success rests on a hand and wrist and not much more. I won’t weep longer, but I’m sure I’m late meeting at the station. I fear the stationmaster more than I fear my sense of stasis. It galls me to think alcohol explains why I stay the same. You put it in brown jugs, it lessens tidal flowage guarantees better days. it keeps the upper hand. I spent much more time older man than younger , hanging onto a low hand. That’s why I moved in swarms when I decided to move at all. I’m sure of my status it’s my code of nature like a breeze in grass.

2 new poems from Michael Igoe: Effigies, Places of Inanimate Glass

Effigies

I’m not wrong for reinventing even reenacting. Although a few words are somehow maimed bleeding in procession. Though I feign reverence I find that I seek revenge, for making use of a word. Sweeping gestures that never permit form in real time, norms in addition. The words ghosted, solemn and curved

Places of Inanimate Glass

The window panes always in shatters from kinder tears. In continued slips one laid in wait to witness echoes. Sovereign lotteries absolves the player of the parallel self Any number can win, if lonely and stripped

New poems from Michael Igoe

Re-published poems by Michael Igoe

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

New poems from Michael Igoe

Penny Candy

Desires come as a living will, but these words seem harsh. Caught up in the Big Beat, no one wants to say much about an absence of desire. Once I wore alcohol smiles, ready to embrace red meat. In golgotha's secret versions work from splintered fingers descend on through the ages as immaculate suits of armor. Stained by tobacco, feeding the hungers weaved in my neck. Smoke’s kept on the high side, in its wisps of cellophane blue. Waiting for Monday, when they trick me. Monday, we start again.

Curtain Call

Meghan tries to tell me exactly what happened. Like in cartoon shows? One with various jitters, the woes and afflictions, those in neutral ascension The fight for menthol, borrowing something from translux glories. Necessary to the plan for cities of the future. Tinkering seems important, when the stage grows quiet On next Ladies Day the end to suffering.

More Often Vermilion

She refused any leavetaking from a room where she lives. Comings and goings, seem just like staying. Here’s space enough for blindly climbing. With a good alibi, moving more agile. To find her victory, with a missing item night skies conceal. The sky rumbled with victory cries. In these cries disconsolate, that beseech contentments. *

New Poetry Showcase by Michael Igoe

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

Re-published poems by Michael Igoe

photo from Annie Spratt (unsplash)

published previously in detritusonline.blogspot.com

Jamaica Plain Massachusetts

Pull on the blue serge sashes;
bear witness to Jamaica Plain.
The darkest blue
much like motifs
in the magazines
you leaf through.
When you're done,
you must come in
Watch the sugar cubes
melt where flies settle.
Spying through vessels,
or an unlocked window;
trying them on for size.
You might want to recal
those Hell's Kitchen visits.
When genes sang in series,
from that psychotic candy.
Another time it was fed
to your downtown flock.
Take a look friend!
How we've grown!
Yes, we've grown,
and now's the time,
to make a descent
from our branches.

II.
I know how to tell time,
sometimes I tell the truth.
But this time-
I see flowers bloom
deep in the skeleton.

III.
Pull on the blue serge sashes;
bear witness to Jamaica Plain.
The darkest blue,
much like motifs
in the magazines
you leaf through.

Allure of the Novice

Rain spears in a spiral
with hammer and tongs
a condensed chemistry
lullabies filling the air
The coy workaday chuckles
from the slow motion queen.
She chose pared fruit
swollen by first light.

New Poetry Showcase by Michael Igoe

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