The Muse

(An International Journal of Poetry)

ISSN 2249 –2178

 

Volume-2                                                  december -2012                                                Number-2

 

At the Well

by Dr. Steve Klepetar

 

I could neither spill, nor break the hearts

of those that do.

All this

water

 

you carry in spoons and broken sieves

liquid pulsing

over

 

edges

and through

trap doors

 

of holes can only

serve to dot a dusty

trail

with worlds

each

 

a tear-shaped

paradise

glinting with rainbow bands.

 

.........................

 

The Parlor of Mice

by Dr. Steve Klepetar

 

 

I can no longer escape into the parlor of mice,

that pretense of a place where frozen land folds

 

under snow.  Knee deep in too many fields, too

long a stay in this sour smelling hotel.  Footfalls

 

drum and end in corridors of trust.  I climb, go up,

I ascend, I am a soul in glass, butterfly pinioned

 

to walls of air.  Here is my thumbprint, my breath.

On the last day I sit in your hallway, drafting blood

 

oaths, almost friendly among broken and fiery leaves.

..............................

 

 

Password

by Dr. Steve Klepetar

 

 

When you come to the gate, bow low

by river’s edge, that stew of mud and geese

and torn leaf rags.  Find the smoothest stone

to polish hard against your chest.  Hold it in

your hand – a melon seed, a shining moon

key, a gemlike word made flesh. There are

words hanging in April trees – willow

and oak and pine – a lingering breath, nothing

but wind’s gray smoke swirling in high branches

while you wait beneath heckling crows.

Let the river slip through your fingers, snow-cold

and open now where banks bend into lapping

foam.  Memorize the only prayer for spring:

a gentle thrust and a rising in the blood, a promise

of eyes and the yipping of frisky dogs in the cold

sunrise.

   .................................