Mike Finley

Rookie (July 4,1950 / Flint, Michigan)

Mike Finley Poems

1. Sleeping On My Hands 2/28/2006
2. Gise Pedersen Sets Me Straight On A Matter Of Natural History 3/4/2006
3. Moab 3/5/2006
4. The Dogs Of Madison Square 3/8/2006
5. Embarrass 5/18/2006
6. Icky 5/18/2006
7. Landing In Las Vegas 5/18/2006
8. Traffic Stopper 5/18/2006
9. Little Bighorn 5/23/2006
10. When We Are Gone 3/5/2006
11. Lullabye 3/9/2006
12. Your Human Being 2/28/2006
13. Witnesses 2/28/2006
14. Return Of The Non-Native 5/26/2006
15. On A Bridge 5/26/2006
16. Pointless 5/27/2006
17. The Jeffers Petroglyphs 5/27/2006
18. Rosary 5/27/2006
19. Perspective 5/31/2006
20. Mescal Has Steamboat Run With Thedogs 5/31/2006
21. Sergeant Ernesto Gallegos Abolishes Higher Rank 5/31/2006
22. Bernal Diaz At Prayer Before The Massacre,1519 5/31/2006
23. A Prayer For Foolishness 4/29/2006
24. A Prayer For Refuge 4/29/2006
25. A Prayer For Money 5/1/2006
26. The Changeling's Wife 5/2/2006
27. Death As Snack Cake 5/17/2006
28. Garfunkel 2/20/2008
29. Shampoo 2/20/2008
30. Sometimes The Soul Will Hotfoot It Away 2/22/2008
31. The Soul Loves The World More Than You Know 2/25/2008
32. To The Soul Every Day Is The Sabbath 2/26/2008
33. The Soul Isn'T Especially Smart 2/27/2008
34. The Soul Does Not Know If It's Dying 4/2/2008
35. The Soul Likes To Roll In Unspeakable Things 4/2/2008
36. The Soul Doesn'T Know If It's Dying 4/7/2008
37. Aging Prodigies 4/9/2008
38. The Soul Flies Straightway To God 4/10/2008
39. Unmitigated Gall 7/2/2008
40. The Cresting Minneapolis 7/2/2008
Best Poem of Mike Finley

A Prayer For Poets

Let a thing be what we say it is,
if a donkey is eating corn
let the donkey not be an allegory
nor the corn a corn byproduct.

Let us not despise readers
for not 'getting us'
when we did nothing to let them in,
and everything to keep them out.

Let every offering be a gift,
first from you and then from us.
Let 'Let this serve you well'
be both credo and apologia.

Do not let us fall down
the well of our awareness.
Neither let us feel special
Just because we hear music.

Lead us not into obscurity,
and deliver us from ...

Read the full of A Prayer For Poets

Sleeping On My Hands

I sleep on my hands every night.
As I pull the covers around me
and prepare to let go,
first on my right side,
then on my left,
I bunch both hands under the pillows,
holding my head up through the night.

My head must need to be held up so,

[Hata Bildir]