Here, in the warm white fog,
our smiles contain miracles,
miracles only an ancient love
could ever manifest.
...
Touching them, you sense
that beauty within you shall
also someday bloom.
...
Spring. A great yellow stain.
Forsythias burst and daffodils explode.
Swallows hurry back from Mexico
and are bitten by
...
As a boy growing up
on a poultry farm, every
Saturday morning would find
me collecting carrion from the roadside:
...
Across tombstones ancient,
cobwebbed, and crumbling
slips a cold, bilious fog.
...
1. Life Is The Path
2. He Who Hunts Two Rats, Catches None
3. Disregard Reality
4. I Think, Therefore I'm Dead
...
This word laughs
like cool running water.
Agog is a delirious munchkin
with eyes as big as ostrich eggs,
...
Live as if today was
conceived in the savage
warmth of prayer.
...
Beneath the crescent moon
she dances the tarantella
with mammoth Martian crabs
of Burracho Beach.
...
Mellow as a mango.
The women, ages nine to ninety,
always dressed in black.
Lavender breezes and waves
...
Maples turn scarlet.
The hills now painted dreams.
Wild geese cry 'Autumn! '
...
Her braided hair hangs
like great black ropes.
She cracks her knuckles
twenty times per waking hour.
...
David Kowalczyk lives and writes in Batavia, New York. He has taught English in Changwon, South Korea, and Quetzaltenango, Guatemala, as well as at several colleges in the United States, including Arizona State. His work has appeared in five anthologies and over fifty magazines, including California Quarterly, Bogg, Maryland Review, and St. Ann's Review. He was founding editor of Gentle Strength Quarterly. He has published three chapbooks.)
As If I Am Your Dream
Here, in the warm white fog,
our smiles contain miracles,
miracles only an ancient love
could ever manifest.
My blood turns to wine.
The edges of shadow harden.
Time fills with tears.
Let us surrender
the sky we stole
from the gods.
I love to read your poems in the morning. They uplift my entire day.
I love your poetry! I'm simply addicted.