Poems by Michael Brownstein


The flower rickshawed through her,
a water blossom yellow and strong
like a plank of wood, smooth and narrow,
a one by two, only true as if true
could ever be exact or honest
or even a deity worth dying for.
The stem of her body fluid and full,
her root work deep and philosophical
as if the voice of pain could ever be a flower,
the thick trunk of a tree, a nearby stream
bubbling over river rock, the carcasses

of the dead fish who swim there.



She wrote her dialogue in verse,
her emails in near rhyme, her thoughts
as sonnets, haiku and ballads,
but her eyes could not hide her fear
of aversion, her lack of understanding
dissension, expressions of danger and fear,
the rising poem like the hunter’s moon,
deep and glowing from the depths
of the dark waters of night into midnight’s
rampage of nightmare, agonies, and terrors.

One thought on “Poems by Michael Brownstein

Add yours

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: