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. Dear Miss Yrotaval 2/5/2008
12. Where Are They? 2/5/2008
13. Fragments On 18th Street 2/5/2008
14. Lyrical Grenades 2/5/2008
15. Dearest Meaghan 2/6/2008
16. We'Re All Equal, Right? 2/6/2008
17. Change Your Tune 2/3/2008
18. Dunce's Lament 2/4/2008
19. Rising Early On Double Nine Day 2/4/2008
20. Anchor To Windward 2/5/2008
21. Active / Passive Pantoum 2/8/2008
22. In Good Company 2/8/2008
23. Raggedy Rhymster 2/8/2008
24. Senryu At Little Big Horn 2/8/2008
25. Autumn's End 2/8/2008
26. Rejection Letter 2/9/2008
27. Vote For Obama! 2/15/2008
28. Beware Of Banishment, She Said 2/15/2008
29. Behind The Wheel 2/15/2008
30. Michael And The Mermaid 2/16/2008
31. Labrador's Doggerel 2/16/2008
32. Gone To Jesus #2 2/16/2008
33. The New Order 2/16/2008
34. And The Legions Came 2/16/2008
35. November Harvest 2/16/2008
36. Ditties & Doggerel 2/17/2008
37. Gog & Magog 2/17/2008
38. The Captain Called My Name 2/17/2008
39. Freshwater Mariners 2/17/2008
40. It Seems To Me 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

Battlepoem

The price we paid is the blood we shed.
Our bones unmarked by granite stone.
We are alone here and we are dead.

We crossed open fields as our enemy fled.
First platoon entered a free fire zone.
The price we paid is the blood we shed.

Teenage kids at the point of the spearhead,

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