The Mag 131: Detroit's Past Through The Fog

Under Windsor Bridge by Adolphe Valette

Entombed in the gritty fog

rolling under Windsor Bridge

the past hangs heavy;

smells of damp basement.

Thinking back in time I remember

how many young men crossed this bridge 

north bound to Canada 

placing themselves in a sort of purgatory

not knowing if or when they might make a return trip.

Those were dark times in America

even darker for Detroit;

smoldering nightly somewhere in the summer heat.

A big time city eating it's own young.

Cannibalizing it's inner soul. 

The decay remains evident today

in areas blackened

that have not and never will come back. 

That's what they say.

Funny thing this city, 

where peace-nicks 

flowed to Canada;

while in the heart of old Detroit

riots raged to burned out store fronts;

skeletons of Detroit made cars smoldered.

Motor city became the capital 

of civil-disobedience & of civil-unrest.

The Mag 131

Michael A. Wells 

The Mag 130: No Shell Game

Image by Francesca Woodman

Don' t dare look past my flesh self

ignoring what discomfort troubles you.

I've come out so that I can be everything

I truly am-   the co-worker, the mother, the friend

the wife and the lover.

I don't hide my intellect behind my body

anymore then I will shelter my flesh

with intellect or my personality.

I've shed my shell;

these breasts, the curves-

this flesh and bone

this is my architecture-

I embrace all that I am.

The Mag 

Michael A. Wells

The Nightly News I Remember

There are times I remember the nightly news
framed in a seriousness and we all watched.
I would come home from school  and the others
they came from work or household chores
but we watched in the same room
the same RCA Victor
that doubled as a piece of furniture;
topped with white lace doilies and blonde lamp-

and always a man with a voice of authority
and there would be body counts every single night.
And for the longest time this went on
and we all watched and when it was over went
our separate ways.

There was no liberal newscast or conservative choice
there was only news and it could be very brutal.

Speculation

In bony avoidance I hide
from the possible. Still
my mind is well aware
of what it prefers not

to accept. Would be surrender,
disappointment to the indifference
that might be expected of me.

There is always the possibility
just as there is the what if I had
done differently. What ifs

are lame excuses for the afterlife.
They add nothing to the internal
discussion we have with our self.

Such speculations is cowardice
behind closed eyes. If I must,
speculate by poking out my eyes.



      

MAG 122 ~ Likeness

Puddle, 1952, M. C. Escher

Likeness

A puddle collective on the ground.

Mirror images mired in detail

reflective of all that's around.

Tracks and footprints form the frame

to cup and stabilize the fallen rain

of splendor in a muddy marsh.

Michael A. Wells


Mag 122

In Passing

We ate muffins out of papers;
spoke of logistics only in passing.

You bathed in tepid water.
The phone rang twice - I did not get up.

In the morning you left early-
left a note by the coffee maker

expressing your gratitude for the time
that filled the void.

I held the note for a while...
quite a while I think
but I don't really know time.

For Hoss

If you want to know why a tear is salty—

It‘s because salt is a mineral 

adding weight so tears run down our face

keeping us grounded in times of sorrow.

It’s because salt is a preservative,

a constant reminder what each day

together meant us.

In times of loss, however brave we seem,

the spring within us flows

because it comes from  having known.

Never to Be Seen

Patches invigorate the ready to wear line

she put to test and no one could be certain—

she ever came out of the blind.

There were rumors, I’m sure

you’ve heard that she never wanted to be

seen after he left her; after all the fuss

over Palm Springs, over the night the moon lapsed

into a deep coma and the best that he could do

was a sad impersonation of a neurotic art whore.

The things he did for a painting or two…

no wonder the poor dear would cloth herself

in camouflage.

The Problem With Poetry

Shameless Self Promotion

A poem of mine is up at Montucky Review.  A thank you to the Editors!  

To view the poem simply titled Sis, Click here

Magpie Tales - poem: Untitled

Utilitarian art

boxes in Duffy square.

Girders and panels rise

poking the Troposphere.

Windows offer a glimpse

of ground life—

crisscross traffic,

news barkers,

theater goers,

Father Duffy at attention;

Yul Brenner glares—

have you bought your tickets?



Michael A. Wells

Magpie99

Mag 98 / Poem: A Reminder

The bent elbow
slows progression-
force builds
pushing the river
around
over and beyond  

the banks like claws
snag what is delivered
from upstream

when the anger
has burnt itself out
the raging water fading
to original dignity-
scattered on banks
remain the wrath





Michael A. Wells



Magpie 98

Foxtrot - appearing in WestWard Quarterly Fall 2011

Earlier this fall my poem Foxtrot appeared in WestWard Quarterly.  Since this is a print publication there is not link to it but now that a little time has passed since the publication I have included now on the published poems page - see tab above or click here.

Untitled

Summer is confused
daylight is shifting
the nights come
under some spell
the landscape changed
in the blink of an eye
the possessed sleeps
with eyes open
and sees nothing

Magpie Tales 79: Poem: Maybe if We Hadn't Thrown the Cores

That summer we stuck
in the seats of the old Ford
our cotton clothing
clung to us wet
no one dared crank
the panes-

a few bugs would join
the ride but soon exit
the heat I think drove them
so we didn't

who knew there was
so much Missouri
corn and milo
some tobacco too

I lost count of orchards
stopped off for apples
juice dripping down
the chin- 

hurled the cores
onto the highway
till dad got after us

we saw signs
for real caves
but never stopped


Michael A. Wells

Magpie Tales 79

Another First Friday Opportunity - Synesthesia - Poetry and Painting Exhibit Tomorrow Night

In case you missed it last month - or just want to take it in again, tomorrow is First Friday in the crossroads art district and Jennifer Rivera's Exhibition titled Synesthesia is open at Apex Art Space -  1819 Wyandotte - Kansas City, Missouri  from 6 - 9 PM. Synesthesia combines the art of poetry and painting. Jennifer has 37 paintings on display along with the poetry which inspired her creation. Two of my poems and her paintings are among them.  Music - Painting - Poetry all make for a fun night.  Hope to see you there!

Picture Perfect Night

When I left work on Friday I was greeted by a picture perfect spring afternoon. The clouds were large and surreal in the blight blue sky - against the backdrop of the the downtown skyline they looked as though they were from a Norman Rockwell painting.


I met up with other family members and headed to the Crossroads Arts District for First Friday. For those outside the metropolitan area, in Kansas City on First Friday people sort of caravan through the various different gallery showings throughout the area.


While I would love to have spent the night checking out other places as well, I was glued to the Apex Art Space where abstract artist Jennifer Rivera had 37 pieces of art that were created in response to various poems chosen by her to work with.  Two poems I had written were among those that were used to prompt her work.


The crowd was especially pulled into to Jennifer's work.  At almost any moment and any direction you could find multiple groupings of onlookers engaged in conversation over the canvasses and poems before them.  Jennifer reports that over 1200 people came through the Gallery and I have no doubt. The stream of traffic was constant.


I'm very indebted to the many of my own friends and family who came to see the work and spending time chatting with each was important to me. I do plan to make a more leisurely look at the exhibit  soon as I want to give each the same kind of attention I would normally afford a new poem I am reading.

The two that were connected to my own poems both indulged my mind in ways that was particularly drawn to.  The smaller of the two was titled titled Anchored and the texture and tone created a very earthy atmosphere that was easy to get lost in.  A central portion of the picture almost had a hologram feel to it.  In the larger painting  I was drawn to the feeling of dissonance that seemed to emulate from it. I like this because in spite of a very peaceful aspect of the poem, there really is an unresolved aspect of it and I feel this captured within this painting.

There were many pictures I really loved from their visual appeal but like I said, I really want to walk through and take in each one with the poems as well.

To the left - Dangling  which was painted in response to my poem Dangling Thoughts.














Below -  Anchored  - in response to my poem titled Dream - Part Two.                     Jennifer and I below right.
                                                                                       

I hope to get some better shots to post, but these are what I have for now.

Oh, and least I forget - great music by Karim Memi & Beau Bledsoe!

Synesthesia - Poetry and Painting Exhibit Tonight

Abstract artist JENNIFER RIVERA will be showing work starting at tonight's opening at the Apex Art Space 1819 Wyandotte - Kansas City, Missouri.   The exhibition will feature poetry inspired painting  - some 30 works will be on display along with the poetry.

An artist reception from 6-9 pm and you are welcome to view the works and enjoy the music of Karim Memi & Beau Bledsoe from 6:30-8:30.

Two of my own poetry works will be among the selected works that Jennifer used to inspire her paintings.

Hope to see you there!

Journal Bits 2-13-11 to 3-26-11

• Sunday 2-13-11:  Reasing in Ariel's Gift there were a couple of things [that] caught my attention. One is the difference between the ordering of the poems in the origional Plath manuscript and they way they first appeared in print. The Plath order of the poems begins with Morning Song and ends with Wintering. This makes the first and the last words of the manuscript love and spring.  For all the edginess of Plath's more notorious poetry, this ordering of the manuscript  has a positive upward movement that is not generally associated with these poems the way they were ordered in its first publication.
• Saturday 2-20-11: Yesterday I has a rejection letter Rattle.
• Wednesday 2-23-11: The envelope is closed / to outside influences / sealed like the tamper proofing / of nuclear material / in an unreliable foreign nation
• Monday 2-28-11: There across my lap covering / my left hand is an RPT25 / I've come to view it as and extension / of my soul.  Feeling its leather / smelling the earthy sent / swell in my nostrils / invites memories of games played / of my son throwing heat...  my daughter who was more apt to toss lazy flys for me / to camp under like falling starts.
• Monday 3-7-11: consider - metaphor is for things you can't say... are your images ornamental or do they have broader vision?  "Poems are not read, they are reread." Terrance Hayes  [source for all this was Terrance Hayes Master Class]
• Friday 3-11-11:  His God had volume / his God embodied totality / fundamentally his God / was the word in all its plurality / all that is named and all / that remains to name / his God was living, growing / his God was language
• Sunday 3-20-11: "Each time of life has its own kind of love." ~ Leo Tolstoy
• Friday 3-25-11:  "The world today doesn't make sense, so why should I paint pictures that do?" Pablo Picasso
• Saturday 3-26-11: It's cold - I mean Burr Cold outside... I paid $3.44 for gas today - my God this is insane.
• Saturday 3-26-11: Darkness follows / the headlights eat / white hash marks.... 

* unless otherwise attributed to someone else in quotes - these are from my own writing.   2011 ©  Michael  A. Wells – all rights reserved

Just wanted to point out...

I have a poem published in the new edition of RIGHT HAND POINTING Issue 40 "Harsh Mathmatics"


The Accountant