Sunday, September 27, 2015

Michael Keshigian- Three Poems


Death will not catch him,
he concluded, the evidence
provided by his body represented
a surreptitious camouflage
of accumulated years
upon which he declared
a perennial battle in youthful years.
The wrinkles missing from his skin
cannot testify to impending worries
he casually buried beneath
the mound of gray hair
masked brown upon his head
induced from a desire to remain relevant,
the trim waistline and inflated biceps
a battle waged
from extended life-long activity,
to help encourage
the wants of the boy
enthralled with the infinite possibilities in life.
His manner of living has changed little.
On warm summer nights
he still attempts to decipher
messages crickets scratch and fireflies blink,
whereas in winter he glides effortlessly
down the snowy mountainside
between the frozen pines.
His passion for discovery remains steadfast,
driven by the innocence and beauty
of every reborn morn.
Though in seclusion, he sometimes
struggles from bed to bath,
he refuses to succumb,
a token acknowledgement
of a promise to which he holds fast.


There is an awakening of my tongue
when it formulates those words
my mind delivers, words that enter
the awakening of the day
once they are spoken,
a day that is awakened
by the nudge of one moment
to the next, lengthening brightness
toward night
and the awakening of artificial light.
There is the wakening of a poem
when it is read aloud
as its concept awakens the air
which stimulates those listening
much like the awakening of a stormy sky
by a rainbow after thunder and rain
awakened the gathering dust
and parched grasses
on summer’s driest day.
The awakening of the sun
has long been known to waken life,
wakefulness beyond its effect
known to confuse and mystify it,
the pale awakening of the moon
depends upon it.
Then there is the awakening I embrace
when her image awakens my eyes,
an awakening that I be fitted
with the warmth of her caress
that enraptures me
with a wakening of sensations
to which I am lost,
from which I chose no awakening.


The oscillation of surf
in attendance with a lick of wind
will indicate to him
his role in the scheme,
burning sand grains between his toes,
scorching sunlight upon his neck,
seagulls and crabs, fleas and seaweed,
will enrapture his senses
to the moment, to a place
and instant he is about to visit
again for the first time.
He walks around,
absorbing the seconds,
aware because the present is light,
its event aglow, emanating
from an illuminated past
now gone dim, forward
toward an unknown future
rising from the immediate darkness
existing light will infiltrate
to fulfill the slow voyage
embarked upon without warning.
He stops to take a breath,
to study the seconds,
only to discover that his concerns
are not painted upon this current page,
his acquaintances, family, and possessions,
floating in the shadowy past
are temporarily inconsequential.
He is here, greeting what will be,
with the yellow laser light that penetrates.

Michael Keshigian’s tenth poetry collection, Beyond was released May, 2015 by Black Poppy. He has been widely published in numerous national and international journals most recently including Poesy,The Chiron Review, California Quarterly, and has appeared as feature writer in over a dozen publications with 5 Pushcart Prize and 2 Best Of The Net nominations. (

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