Michael Pruchnicki


Michael Pruchnicki Poems

1. In The Midnight Sun 1/29/2008
2. Casualty 2/1/2008
3. The Dear John 2/1/2008
4. Jump Boots In The Door / Gi Tanka 2/1/2008
5. Check It Out, William Blake! 2/1/2008
6. Gone To Jesus 2/1/2008
7. Mother's Day 2/1/2008
8. Sidewalk Ophelia 2/2/2008
9. Chicago Botanic Gardens 2/2/2008
10. Jump Boots & Silver Wings 2/2/2008
11. Change Your Tune 2/3/2008
12. Dunce's Lament 2/4/2008
13. Rising Early On Double Nine Day 2/4/2008
14. Anchor To Windward 2/5/2008
15. Swallow The Anchor 2/5/2008
16. Dear Miss Yrotaval 2/5/2008
17. Where Are They? 2/5/2008
18. Fragments On 18th Street 2/5/2008
19. Lyrical Grenades 2/5/2008
20. Dearest Meaghan 2/6/2008
21. We'Re All Equal, Right? 2/6/2008
22. Active / Passive Pantoum 2/8/2008
23. In Good Company 2/8/2008
24. Raggedy Rhymster 2/8/2008
25. Senryu At Little Big Horn 2/8/2008
26. Autumn's End 2/8/2008
27. Rejection Letter 2/9/2008
28. When All Is Said And Done, Mes Amis! 2/7/2008
29. Chicken Feed On The Fortymile 2/8/2008
30. Vote For Obama! 2/15/2008
31. Beware Of Banishment, She Said 2/15/2008
32. Behind The Wheel 2/15/2008
33. Michael And The Mermaid 2/16/2008
34. Labrador's Doggerel 2/16/2008
35. Gone To Jesus #2 2/16/2008
36. The New Order 2/16/2008
37. And The Legions Came 2/16/2008
38. November Harvest 2/16/2008
39. Ditties & Doggerel 2/17/2008
40. Gog & Magog 2/17/2008
Best Poem of Michael Pruchnicki

38th Parallel

Once I lived in a village not far
from the thirty-eighth parallel
near Kaesong, in fact

The snow that February fell for days
blowing horizontally to the ground
hills and paddy fields filling with drifts

We lived, ten of us, in a hut
that smelled of kimchee and garlic
we huddled together on the warm floor

The sergeant in charge was from Chicago
a big-mouthed Irish guy from the South Side
he talked constantly about his gang back home

The North Koreans who ran the prison camp
grew to dislike the sergeant and our guys
we ate less and worked...

Read the full of 38th Parallel

Closet Drama

In a back bedroom upstairs stands an antique armoire-
a four by eight foot clothespress of Spanish dark maple-
ornate cornice and frieze overhanging double doors,
brass hinges and doorknobs gone verdigris,
carved diamond shapes inset in each door panel-
a facade behind which odds and ends hang and lay
in skewed disarray like discarded costumes,
soiled and stained with sweat and greasepaint.

[Hata Bildir]