September 2017
After teaching at a college in South Florida for thirty years, I retired, and my wife and I have traveled around the country, and moved twice in the past two years. Now that we are settled, we are looking forward to exploring our new city and making new friends. Some of my poems have appeared recently in such journals as The Broken Plate, The Comstock Review, Exit 7, The Lake, and Third Wednesday. Amsterdam Press published a chapbook of my poems entitled The Arboriculturist in 2010. Check out my author's page on Facebook or go to my blog at http://www.michaelminassian.com.
HARLEQUIN’S CARNIVAL
after the painting by Joan Miro
I enter through the window, a sky
of impossible blue over my shoulder,
the sun, a spiky black and white,
above a red spire in fluid motion
and the black pointed mountain
that cuts the air like a razor sharp
Catalan sword:
the room I am in now
is in full nightmare bloom,
all severed eyes and creatures
real and imagined from deep
in the subconscious stream;
objects I recognize from far and near,
instruments of music or torture,
body parts and a festival of fear,
floating bits of undigested food
and prancing amoeba who seem to be
looking straight at me –
while the severed body parts
and eyes captured on full display
have a worried look
but what frightens
me even more is that I have been
in this room before, and despite
the warnings sounding in my head
begin to climb the ladder
past the waiting creatures
whose eyes follow me even out of sleep.
Originally published in Ekphrastic California, 2015
HARLEQUIN’S CARNIVAL
after the painting by Joan Miro
I enter through the window, a sky
of impossible blue over my shoulder,
the sun, a spiky black and white,
above a red spire in fluid motion
and the black pointed mountain
that cuts the air like a razor sharp
Catalan sword:
the room I am in now
is in full nightmare bloom,
all severed eyes and creatures
real and imagined from deep
in the subconscious stream;
objects I recognize from far and near,
instruments of music or torture,
body parts and a festival of fear,
floating bits of undigested food
and prancing amoeba who seem to be
looking straight at me –
while the severed body parts
and eyes captured on full display
have a worried look
but what frightens
me even more is that I have been
in this room before, and despite
the warnings sounding in my head
begin to climb the ladder
past the waiting creatures
whose eyes follow me even out of sleep.
Originally published in Ekphrastic California, 2015
© 2017 Michael Minassian
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