Saturday, January 9, 2016

Michael Keshigian- Three Poems

Carrying small flames
in asbestos pockets
of an insulated overcoat,
he clandestinely traverses
city streets,
tossing a spark here,
a smoldering cinder there
that temporarily ignites
then extinguishes
but serves as an admonition
to all to take heed
within their present comforts
and disingenuous deeds,
this phantom in his dark cloak,
hoping to go unnoticed
on his way toward the cemetery
to abscond the souls
of those that think
they may rest in peace.

It might happen anywhere,
anytime, day or night,
in your bedroom, at work
or in the field where you casually stroll
to view the beauty of sunsets
against the tree-lined sky.
There will be no yearning,
no nostalgic provocation,
the sun, the moon, and the stars
will not tip their hands,
but suddenly, without warning,
she will materialize in your mind
and breathlessly you will stagger
at the impossible tangibility
of her appearance,
the meteoric rise of your pulse
as her phantom touch
sends your thoughts asunder,
your dizzying need,
reflecting, and magnifying
that unquenchable desire
the years long ago absconded.

He sat upon the boulder
not quite centered
in the middle of the field
and flipped the pages
of nighttime‘s novel
to the chapter where the moon
ascended above the white pines,
fir tips giving the massive face
shaded stubble
as clouds on either side
shaved the surface closely
then departed slowly enough
for the stars
to begin the following chapter,
enhancing glows that extended
the moonbeam’s pale path
which he followed
off this rock of familiarity
to the page where dreams
dared to be considered
amid the sandy mesh of light,
descriptive details in separate paragraphs
which he read
upon these ashen pages,
eventually lifting his eyes from the glow
to absorb the mystical message
he received from the luminosity
as he closed the book,
shifted homeward,
bolstered by an aura of reverie
the translucent light imparted.

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