Forbid Me

Our intimacy 

was not holy

it was earthy

grounded and true

it was pure and without 

pretense more than auspicious 

on the mountain fields of flowers

grew fed by great rains and streams

our intimacy was not holy

but it was damn sure alive

and it was blessed to grow

and to thrive

something cut it off 

in the middle of the day

our intimacy was not holy

but it sure was headed that way

 Deep

That which is for you 

will come

that which is not

shall pass

I asked

and you came

you went away 

and I remain

and limit the dream

it shall be held back

to get rid of a man

in such a violent fashion 

to disarm him in the night

handicap his ability to protect 

and provide is an odd choice in sin

but sins can be forgiven 

it is said

and time can heal all wounds

made in a bed, with a friend, by the lake or a rooftop in mid July, watching distant fireworks in the night, and that's how it's done, memories of joy and connection are the barbs inside the flesh of a woman; a man may imprint, but a woman makes it stick

Deep into you 

Deep into me

 This old F150

Why do women sabatage each other's 
happiness?
and why do birds shit exclusively on windshields?
why is beer bitter and wine dry
when either one is made to make you
feel alive?

I remember the prayer, "Wine makes glad the heart of man." It keeps me sober.  

I look to God through the window of nature

Oddly enough, I ask a Greek man to hear my prayer

Oddly enough, my truck still misfires under full throttle, and I still haven't fixed it.

A woman made me misfire under full throttle and heavy load and I still haven't fixed it. 
It feels like failure but this machine ain't built for that. 

 

I'm not to blame for being an old truck

I'm not to blame for a little rust. 

 What Does it Mean? 

I've been writing poetry in the dark
no candles, no spark of incandescent 
just tracing the lines of words from 
rote memory 

pain is raw and visceral; I told a friend
an open wound all to real to go unnoticed 
some are repulsed by the guts bleeding out of my chest
some have compassion 

I was driving into work in the still morning dark
I saw before me the brightest, largest 
shooting star I have ever seen
fall right in front of me 
this is a light pollluted suburb, no backwoods UP; I'm no egoist to think it's just for me, but why and what does it mean? 

Made a wish in haste then crossed myself 
I ask a friend like you would ask a poet about a poem
a poet who wrote in the dark on a cool summer morning, in the parking lot, in a work truck.
What does it mean? 

Things That You Cannot See

 Nothing is warmer than a sunset

Indiana's eve blows a breeze that can balance

the universe

green grass haze in suburban streets

the cookie cutter houses in rows drawn neatly

a lone cul-de-sac and a high pitched dog bark

I've wanted the normalcy of colligiate 

banners soflty cracking over a concrete stoop

I've wanted beauty in the West where the sun sinks deeper than grecian temple columns into Mare Nostrum 

and I've seen a lot

and I'll venture to make steel sweat 

and I'll do it for hours on end

I'll be responsible for making your world 

run the hum of sixty hertz and the hot coils 

that turn one potential to another

line side friend

load side lover

all measurements of what we cannot see

and it's what we can't see that tastes the best

do you hear the soft fire overhead?

strung between what used to be trees symmetrical and wooden, now plumbed true

transmission of power from me to you

the sun sets different in the Midwest 

Indiana has no sights to thrill

but you can't see God and you can't see love

you can't see electricity and you can't see the future 

and you can't see it, but you sure can create the aroma for desire

nothing is warmer than a sunset

nothing

Slip like Lightning

All energy returns to ground

the universe demands balance

I tried to taste someone new

but couldn't pull the trigger

come to me you negative spirit 

I'll fill you with positive vibes

come to me from the north babe

and I'll show you the south

all energy returns to ground 

we all seek balance

it's just my bad nature

and your good looks make a hell of a fire

I'm holding stars for you

make me pull the trigger

hands to the hips

we can slip like lightning into the ground 

 Full Circle

 What tells the wind

move certain ways

and what tells can you

read from these lines on my face

the taste of your home town

in another's embrace is 

an experience to behold

I'm aging but far from old

I'm often pensive when not jocular

and these rhythms of mood 

hold a small world, too big to paint 

like a corn crib near harvest holds the 

orange, September, moon in place

full circle is more than a cliché 

I believe it comes around in more than one way

 Our Preferred Blend

"She is

bad

-I mean in real life."  he said

the honor of her beauty, something 

to defend

draw back your wallet pic, son

you won't be home anytime soon 

habitually a man doesn't draw back

and I never apologize for that 

risks I took - consequences be damned

I always feel 

and am never shook

my brother is in a wilderness 

a place I have been

home would be nice

and so are warm friends

but the brotherhood of oil is thicker than all of 

them

muscle and steel nothing soft in this black land

fuel and blood we build with our hands

our lives shortened and saturated by our preferred nicotine blend

Hope Ain't a Thing of the Past

Youthful imagination has me picking through the bones,
going through the motions
sometimes astonished,
sometimes perplexed by your beauty
a goddess ocean

and I'm back into the church
with the elder Zosimov,
such fine discernment of souls
watch me as i go,
joyful regeneration,
a candle flickering through the motions

With one look into the future
I can break Abraham Lincoln's
depression and see the blissful outcome'
of liberation coming to generations

I saw a monarch fly over my head when
I was getting new messages, from a new friend
hope ain't a thing of the past
it's recklessly here and now
and coming back

and time is my ultimate lover,
bringing things full circle
i often sit forward and wonder
at treasures to come and treasures asunder

this cool blue water
makes me feel as comfortable
as the heat of your conversation
and it's what I know,
is good and sent flowers
and I bow to your physiognomy
you trade it for worship of my dignity

you know it's gotta feel right
pay attention to each other
be good to each other
I've learned by candle light the
depth of the earth she loves me
through every season
life and death again bring it back to
restoration

hawks and monarchs are my friends and they speak
to me inaudibly signs that all is well and all will be
well

youthful imagination has me picking through the bones,
going through the motions
sometimes astonished,
sometimes perplexed by your beauty
a goddess ocean

a dream yet uncovered and 

sandals yet to be removed

under and over the blue

and oh god do i beleive

in the good things coming

hold your breath and count to ten

youthful imagination has me going again

Green Boxes

Have you ever seen a poet perform
who turns the lights on for you?
her words laid out as a copper conductor
hot to ground voltages on a an inductor

the world is languid
therefore the artist exists
arc to my soul a high voltage
on the summer nights
          could you hear the transformer
          humming in our suburban back yards?
          I too, write poetry, drunk, beneath the stars

she uses electricity like a goddess
humming transformers in their green boxes

An Act of Worship

Maybe another time
Another place
I would've kissed every side
Of your face

I step with the intrepid
Love never unrequited
I'm a god among the insipid
Flavor of stars among the timid

It's only demons that dragged me here
They're having me over for tea and conversation
Such atheism needs no introduction
Like white fingernail tips they know well the art of seduction

And play vinyl records to dance to
sing romance to
Push me into a corner
And recite Shakespeare and Homer

A dark room with no pictures
Will be the death of me
A small table for three
A chair, red walls, and a cup of tea

Let the torture commence with dignity
My friend let the hairs on your head
Stand in solemnity
We don't need whips and chains, conversation is enough to hold my head under the
          running water basin that started innocently enough because your secrets are
          buried deep but mine are an open wound for all to see so keep me back in this
          low lit corner with demons and torture and work me like you had worked last
          summer the stalks fell down due to the heat, an act of worship to the coming
          storms.

Schlafen

There is a place for it
and it is an empty side
walk on an empty side
street with no cars or

foot traffic rumbling by
but no hay bails either
just a couple of drops
of water falling from a

now grey sky

concrete and glass
seem so cold but why are
we so at home in them
and why are we not awake

yet?



-JM 2010

Paper Trails and Providence

Paper Trails and Providence

True art is not aggrandized
and it scares monsters away
monsters make mad metaphors in
mystery I pray as grass grows

years are cut from the dirt
and grow again or a bird
makes a home from the
scraps rise calm and

Agape rose from Greece
to Rome curved and columned
marble and stone became Europe
with velvet and gold

paper trails and providence
bring perfumes to the taste
peace is power of chaste over
haste with yellow roses

a wall can be a path
and monsters are turned to
grains and salt and
carried away with the wind

So true, paper trails and
providence bring things to
life again blue and white
breakers will bring you safely in

stuck sails and lighthouses
paper trails and providence


-Jacob Michael 2008