sir baden powell patrol award winners, 2003-04
i took off running
with your hand in my pocket
to get a head start
on kissing the revolution
back to life,
because if we give those
meddling kids a chance,
they’ll steal the fun
right from our drinks
and laugh all the way home
with nothing to lose,
to open all the windows
for fear of suffocation,
or waking up
in a room
that smells like sleep;
i took a chance on you
the moment i held my breath
“because luck,
and love
are just walking around
with your eyes closed;”
believe me:
if i could see the moon
from my bedroom window
i would have started shooting
months ago.
- Andrew Chmielowiec
(featured in the poetry forum 01.21.12)
editor's note: Blind are both, luck and love. But, blind or not, good scouts keep their guns cleaned and ready. "Always be prepared!" - mh
september
i remember
the weeks i couldn’t stop
biting my lip,
in fear of shame,
or something worse:
dreams of baby teeth
and secrets;
waking myself up
in the middle of the night
to flip my pillow,
to see if you
had hidden anything there.
- Andrew Chmielowiec
(featured in the poetry forum 10.03.11)
editor's note: Only a bill from the Tooth Fairy, with the standard disclaimer against toothless debtors. - mh
dwarf pines
the cold months came and
still you’re out
sizing yourself up against
the saplings in your backyard:
jealous of their roots
and the ability to bear fruit,
shouting at the wind
for stripping all the leaves
from their branches
and waving your hands in the air
like the ring-leader of
a circle of children around
a wounded bird,
poking at it with sticks,
refusing to let it die.
- Andrew Chmielowiec
(featured in the poetry forum 02.13.11)
editor's note: There's more than vicarious voyeurism in this; there is cause and effect. Without the tenacious gardener, the most beautiful roses never bloom. - mh
bulbs
and to think, i almost believed you when you said:
that you lost your ring
in the backyard while you were burying bulbs
in the garden,
and
that it was in the ground somewhere,
probably half way to china by now,
and
that it wasn’t even worth looking for
at this point,
because if it was you
tunneling through the backyard,
trying to escape,
you wouldn’t want anybody to go digging you up.
Andrew Chmielowiec
(featured in the poetry forum 12.31.10)
editor's note: Maybe, lost subterranean memories should be left where they're buried to come back in the Spring, as new love or old roses. - mh
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