Michael Minassian – Five Poems

Michael_MinassianMichael Minassian lives in San Antonio, Texas. His poems have appeared in such journals as The Aurorean, The Broken Plate, Exit 7, Poet Lore, and The Meadow. He is also the writer/producer of the pod cast series Eye On Literature. Amsterdam Press published a chapbook of poems entitled The Arboriculturist in 2010.


The signs of spring
I almost missed:

The purple flowers on the tree
across the street –
February as warm as May.

The birds raiding
the hanging plants,
carrying twigs
and broken leaves
in their beaks –
building a nest among
the still bare branches.

Rain without wind,
wind without breath,
breath without sound.

Rain falling,
fooling winter’s chill,
seeking fleeting moments
in the weather’s fickle trail.

Nature’s calendar:
torn pages,
the air we breathe.


I’ve created a string
of dark objects
against this white paper:
flat black rocks ringing
the outer edge of the card,
a border that moves
in on itself
meeting in midair.

It is possible
that there is no meaning
here in any language
and there never was.

Only the weight
of emotions
to be placed
in the poet’s pocket
before entering
the deepest part
of the lake.


Build a fire –
use the ash
as war paint.

Scatter words
on the lawn:
pretend to sleep.

Try not to lust
before or after your
neighbor’s wife.

Stock up for colder
nights and days
of ambiguity.

When all else fails,
retreat into the future
not the past.


I sent you
this postcard
from home
with the dust
that arises
still attached,

Seen under
the full moon
these words sparkle,
then quick as breath
fall off into the night

A clock in the sand –
a dance, a song
a hand
lost then found.

Then cinema:
100 pages
of indecipherable
language and scenes


I could have chosen a postcard
to send to you with scenes
from the beach, perhaps one
of those jokey ones with an alligator
pulling down the bikini bottom
of a pretty girl with red lips and purple hair,
or maybe a drawing of a pink elephant
having a fruity drink at some tiki bar.

But instead I chose this card:
ice covered trees and a pitiless blue sky
to remind me that I am standing
ankle deep in discarded words
and frozen phrases, the letters I wanted
to write, now down to a single
text message, a hash tag
of cold winter wings:
an icicle hanging from my lips.




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2 Responses to Michael Minassian – Five Poems

  1. Pingback: 5 Poems published in The Galway Review – michaelminassiandotcom

  2. Dah says:

    Bravo Michale!

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