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Posts Tagged ‘Brian McMichael’

Poems for August 2012

Posted by mcdoc on August 20, 2012

Brian McMichael
(1961 – )

Ode to the Peach

You are called by your color
yet by summer
you become sun-tinted
taking on to yourself
the prerogative of the redhead
and on the inside too –
the deeper you go the redder you get
intensifying to the color of blood

My soft, fuzzy love
you fill my hand
with your yielding
rounded density
you invite me with
your voluptuous curves
your feminine little cleft

Your succulent sweetness
evokes in me the desire to
delve into you
to eat you
to eat you until your juice
runs down my chin
I will not want to stop
once I start

Even when I sink my teeth
into your luscious flesh
you make only the sound
of a heart between two beats
tasting nearly like nothing
delicate, fragrant, with a hint of sharpness

In the late summer
You become most indiscreet
your overripenesses
fall to the ground
becoming oozy, squishy masses
like dung –
stinking and attracting flies
then I can’t stand you

Even into the autumn
You are inescapable
your slices unexpectedly
peek at me
from my bowl of milk
you cruelly snuggle
into my ice cream
and usurp every dessert –
shamelessly splayed
atop the tarts, the cobblers
the pies for all to see

Oh, Fruit of the Deep South
alone, in the dark winter
I break down
tormented by
your one solid defect
that when I had finally
arrived at your core
I found your hard, little brain
where your heart should have been

“Ode to the Peach” by Brian McMichael. © Brian McMichael, 2005.

Denise Levertov
(1923 – 1997)

Celebration

Brilliant, this day—a young virtuoso of a day.
Morning shadows cut by sharpest scissors,
deft hands. And every prodigy of green—
whether it’s ferns or lichen or needles
or impatient points of bud on spindly bushes—
greener than ever before.
And the way the conifers
hold new cones to the light for blessing,
a festive rite, and sing the oceanic chant the wind
transcribes for them!
A day that shines in the cold
like a first-prize brass band swinging along the street
of a coal-dusty village, wholly at odds
with the claims of reasonable gloom.

“Celebration” by Denise Levertov, from This Great Unknowing. © New Directions Publishing, 1999.

Posted in Monthly Poetry Installment | Tagged: , , , , | Leave a Comment »

Poems for January 2010

Posted by mcdoc on January 1, 2010

Brian McMichael (1961 – )

Dark Star

The unimaginable mass in his abdomen
Pushes mercilessly through his back
Passes instantly through the hospital bed
And sinks into the center of the earth
Pinning him in position
– a specimen in a collection
a great recumbent termite queen
a distended and humbled, Jabba the Hut

Ballooning
Pregnant like a blister
Without shame or irony
He tells me, “I try to drink a 12-pack a day.”
Do I hide my shock?
An awkward attempt at connection,
Or is it that I’m trying to surprise him
right back in the kisser
By predicting that he no longer gets a buzz
that some people drink like that
just to keep from getting the shakes,
“Yep, and so I won’t hallucinate like I did last Wednesday.”

In Labor –
ed breathing
We deliver him by
Caesarian invasion
crossing the Rubicon into his homeland
by “tapping his belly”

He is polite and grateful
Chatting easily about his
Interesting and lost career

Cause and Effect
Ascites fluid – Clear and golden
Streaming into sterile vacuum bottles
Produces a startlingly nice head,
Usually

We fastidiously capture his
Disturbingly milky elixir
Easy blame slips away

7 liters later
He breathes easier
While at the same moment
The other person in the room,
His dark star child
Begins to grow again
Inside his belly

Wallace Stevens (1879-1955)

The Snow Man

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Posted in medical humanities, Monthly Poetry Installment | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment »

 
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