Michael Keshigian: Blue Ghost

Her eyes
and the lake
are his memories,
cobalt images of clarity
and purity, running deep.
It was in this cove
where the black spotted loon
dove head first
into the heart of blue,
attracting the tender pulse
of her affection
inciting her
to follow the creature
into the watery sweep
tangled with milfoil
that snarled her hair
while the checkered fowl
dutifully hunted
for its young.
Her blue eyes wide,
blended eventually
with the ripple of current
that swept beneath the surface.
He visited that cove often thereafter,
especially those days
where the sun’s gleam
highlighted the blue ghost
within the restless ripples
that will forever
wrap him in riddles.


Previously published in Red River Review

Michael Keshigian, from New Hampshire, had his twelfth poetry collection, Into The Light, released in April, 2017 by Flutter Press. He has been published in numerous national and international journals including Oyez Review, Red River Review, Sierra Nevada College Review, Oklahoma Review, Chiron Review and has appeared as feature writer in over a twenty publications with 6 Pushcart Prize and 2 Best Of The Net nominations. (michaelkeshigian.com)

Michael Keshigian: HONEYCOMB BLUES

This is how it used to be with him and his lover, she taught him a new song every morning, a different line with her head on the pillow, climbing the stairway of his spine with a weightless melody until it filled his brain and he sang as he rolled over to lock his lips around hers so she might sugar his mouth with more honey, her tongue tipping sweet words backwards in his throat. The day was longing after mornings like that, sunlight a lonely companion, though the song droned like bees in the hive all day in his head. Copyright Michael Keshigian. Reprinted here by kind permission of the author.

Michael Keshigian: Thief

Two days ago

the sun caught me stealing light

to illuminate a poem,

demanded restitution,

then reported me to Mother Nature

who posted my likeness about the land.

Soon, the ocean, forest, birds, flowers, et. al.

filed suit for substantial abuse

and complacent philandering without permission.

I pleaded guilty;

admitted taking breath from wind

for deliverance,

marshmallows from the sky to sweeten song,

and rage from the ocean

to instill a sense of urgency.

Convicted and confined to a windowless room,

no writing, visitation

or glimpses of stolen sights,

I was sentenced to imagine beauty

without embezzlement

and the wholesale exploitation of words.

Copyright Michael Keshigian. Reprinted here by kind permission of the author.

Michael Keshigian: Afternoon Barbecue

The women share a secret, chattering until we enter their circle, giggling when they think we can’t see. We ask them for a hint but they only lower their eyes and smile delicately from the corners of their mouths. It only increases our desire to know. Perhaps it was something they did long ago, consequences notwithstanding, the memory possesses a lingering sweetness. This might explain their camaraderie, the way they rest their chins on the curl of their fists, stare at each other with intense intrigue. Tell us one story or give us a clue. Whisper a sentence or even a word that might carry in the warm summer breeze when you close your eyes to remember. Copyright Michael Keshigian. Reprinted here by kind permission of the author.

Michael Keshigian: MUSIC GRATIFICATION

He wanted to know everything

a musician knew,

how to start with a note

that blossomed into a composition,

jazz or symphonic,

it didn't matter much,

Take Five or Beethoven's Fifth

as long as he could make

some toe-tapping or baton swinging

sense of the melodies

that swirled in his head.

He could write lyrics

all day long on a blank page

but had only the rhythm of words

to dance to,

the timbre and articulations

came from a different place

and were never enhanced

by a slick clarinet gliss

or a violin's frenetic staccato.

He was happy, though,

that he could listen to

the most complex pieces

or simplest tunes

and transform himself

into a feather

that floated upon the resonance,

landing gently at the final cadence,

gratified that he could internalize

the intention of sounds

he couldn't call his own.

Copyright Michael Keshigian. Reprinted here by kind permission of the author.

Michael Keshigian: THE MOON

just hung there

slightly above the horizon

donning a wry smile

against darkened backdrop

its anemic white garb

resembled a freshly cut fingernail

found on the black desktop.

I tossed my cap

towards its lower point,

beyond reach of the trees,

landing it gracefully

like a Frisbee on a finger,

wondering

how did the cow jumped over

this slightly cocked glow

without bumping its head

on the unseen portion?

The iridescent float winked

to share such sport

but startled I turned

to watch the cat

play the fiddle

till the dish came home

with the spoon.

Copyright Michael Keshigian. Reprinted here by kind permission of the author.

Michael Keshigian: Moonbeam

Every night
a different message.
Tell me tonight
about the translucent bones
of icicles on the gutter.
Their tale is a disclosure
of your stalking.
You enter as a burglar
on the heels of darkness
and leave no fingerprints,
yet cleverly steal away secrets
between the elusive shadows
you create,
some darker than others,
convoluted figures
rummaging in the most remote corners
of the room.
The sleepless await an explanation
but your peering eyes
slip away
when the clouds make you blink.
If you do take something,
no one is the wiser.
The sand in your light
eventually blinds into submission
the most suspicious
who, in the morning, awake inspired
yet unaware of your intrusion,
until the icicles drip
in the rising sunlight.


Copyright Michael Keshigian. Reprinted here by kind permission of the author.

Poet Michael Keshigian

MICHAEL KESHIGIAN is the author of five poetry chapbooks. His sixth collection Jazz Face , was recently released by Big Table Publishing Co.  His poetry has appeared in numerous national and international journals as well as many online publications, including California Quarterly, Barbaric Yawp, Tipton Poetry Journal, Jerry Jazz Musician, Sierra Nevada College Review, and Ibbetson Street Press. He has been a feature writer for The Aurorean, Poetree Magazine, Chantarelle’s Notebook, Bellowing Ark, Pegasus Review, The Illogical Muse, interviewed by Boston Literary Magazine (bostonliterarymagazine.com/Fall2007 Spotlight)) and Reader’s Choice in the Fairfield Review. He is a multiple Pushcart Prize and Best Of The Net nominee. (www.michaelkeshigian.com)