Stan Petrovich

Stan Petrovich Poems

This is true:
In a state of meditation
I left both mind and body behind

Someday there will be all-fire,
Fire enveloping everything;
And also someday there
Will be a consuming chill,

After a 100-day drought
Wringing the patience from everybody's pores,
The rain finally enshrouded the concrete city;
Strange hungry plants invaded odd corners,

He was a massive storm:
He was never meant for the norm;

Wilson, Wickford and Dunne
Were gunslingers and lawmen
With a remarkable thing in common:
They all had half-brothers they needed to kill.

Life can be a little pat,
The limp handshake of a mounebank
Who steals you blind.
Life can be a poisoned substance,

In search of something real: to it it is nectar;
When we look for ink, paper and nomenclature;
For ours is a world of representation;
The bee's is a world of satisfaction.

I have lost my love of mankind, for his predominance and unstable
stewardship of our inadvertently unstable planet earth;
the errors that have occurred cannot be reversed: ask the polar bear,
ask the space junk falling on our heads. Ask the dreary sun

For you, my sweet;
an apple in your mind's eye;
a strudle in lieu of a pie.
We would, if we could,

i am stuck here
in some kind of walled-in pit;
had i legs & arms
i might climb out of it.


Cations anions
Come in strange colors
Unlike fermions
That are much duller

Grandiose, spread-eagled, he is lofted from the window
Only for his head to bond in a pool of blood
-Never ming the five kids in the blowing snow-
This man's last act was a thud.

Boneless beasts
Whose life is no more
Than a wabble in the succulence of plankton,
Far below light,

Ask why, if the maple trees get nervous
As the dry winds of October strip their leaves
And all are lost,
Do they fret?

Cloud Nine lived a life of fantasy,
Barely conceding the existence of Cloud Eight,
Who felt jealousy for Cloud Seven's
Silver lining,

A girl, a horse, a blinding beauty:
How many hands, feet, ankles
Did my roaming limbs do duty?
Further anatomy would surely rankle.

the bleeding baby seals
feeding the inuit are unimportant
the brokenlegged horse
lying & dying in the field at night


It is so stupid & sad
that 'poets' feel
that if only they invoke the word

the needles
it is a city in california
named after desert peaks that fly upwards
and pierce the cloudless sky

Interfering, yet definable
The dust covers my eyes.
I once saw brightly,
But now it seems I am always in the shade,

Stan Petrovich Biography

Appearing in a mirage, I wandered the Arizona desert for forty years, always alone, always lost. The heat takes its toll on verbs, not adjectives. There are not two ways to approach dehydration; only one, the one with symbols. Petroglyphs in rock show the way to live without presumptuous glory. Then, tired of the blistering sands, turning to my later years I longed for the sea. The green currents called. So leaving the Gila mirage-maker behind wound my way to Massachusetts, to watch the sea examine what it created, and to die.)

The Best Poem Of Stan Petrovich

The Wine Of Samadhi

This is true:
In a state of meditation
I left both mind and body behind
And in a trance melded with the flow of the universe,
Surrounding my partially enlightened consciousness.
Unlike wine that can make a man a clown,
As Shakespeare was perfect at describing,
I became a vessel of perfect love,
Thrilled as the time I experienced ESP,
So frightening I had to cut it off immediately like a limb,
So amazed at its truth I can never doubt it;
Two strangers in a room full of people, merging
For only a few seconds,
Wood, metal and water,
The earth turning beneath my clambering feet,
The world talking the language of solid feeling,
But with another intervening.

The Samadhi was momentary too,
Equally astounding.
I was alone
Yet I was with everybody.
Every joke, every crazy love, every plight of wondrous energy.
Then it left me like a brief breeze
In the loneliest desert.
I changed of course but remained the same at the core:
Tortured by karma but saved by the Samadhi.

Stan Petrovich Comments

Captain Cur 22 April 2012

Read some of your poems stan. Insightful and deep. I know the draw and openness of the sea. Any particular ones you can recommend I read will be appreciated. Captain Cur

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Stefanie Fontker 10 October 2011

More than just a man, Stan is a poet, a teacher, a philosopher, and a friend close to my heart. He has taught me so much, and he has inspired me, and many others to never stop learning, to never stop trying to reach for the stars. Always write, and always live.

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