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Michael Knoblach



Last Updated: 11/20/2009

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Status: Single
City: MEDFORD
State: Massachusetts
Country: US
Signup Date: 2/29/2008

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Tuesday, June 03, 2008 

Category: Writing and Poetry






Mice have been eating my old poems

Mice have been eating my old poems.
Once cut crisp,
straight white edges
have tiny tears.
The smallest of holes in words.
What does a vowel taste like?
What part of my poems
were a paper crib
for a litter of mice?
Mice babies:
little millimeters of life
growing
between sheetrock,
behind milk crates
crammed with books.
Delicious!
Mice eat all poets
good and bad alike
and their teeth are always growing.

So here's a poem for a mouse,
or mice (there are always more in hiding).
Poems keep being written
and time is always hungry.
All skittish creatures
seek shelter,
tiny comforts and distraction.
Every mouse dreams small dreams.







2:43 PM 
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Tuesday, June 03, 2008 

Category: Writing and Poetry





To Hand a Mother a Flag



A bomb.
A blast.
A lasting pain.

Bagpipes drone
moaning
old songs.

To hold him
folded,
a triangle of emotion.


Long worried evenings
watching
the news.

Hawks squawking.
Honor dishonored
by pen and politician.

Not hero, but heroic.
Zeros and statistics
multiply a sadness.


Fuel for
an aching
and eternal flame.

Her baby boy
has gone away.

His blood once ran
as red as mine.





2:38 PM 
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