POKÉMON MOON and other poems by Graham W. Henderson

POKÉMON MOON

the defiant day moon
overpowered by the sun
who lights it anyway
the deferent day moon
tries to touch its host

theater of the night moon
here on the beach all
touching each other
holding each other
in the white light
as if theater exists
without money
as if movies don’t cost
3.8 * 1026J/s

the day moon like
a super bowl ad for the night
a supper bowl since
all we eat is sun
we’ll never under
stand the sun
we’re too dull and small
the moon is a teacher &
the moon is a prophet

 

---

PEARL PARABLE

like the merchant
seeking pearls
i donated all
of my clothes
and stood
in the wind
trying to fit
stuffed
plastic bags
into the green bin
cars passed
and a plane
roared past

a party
between plastic
glasses of
champagne
i sat down
and you waved
from the table
of olives

an olive farmer
who gave all
he owned
for a field
of grapes

the open bible
on the coffee
table is a pool
of fresh water
we don’t approach
unless prepared
to drink

 

---

THE MANHATTAN APARMENT

did it just get darker in here?
she asked and no one
heard or no one commented
on the thicker mixture of air
and shadow of air and hurt
every drunk laughed toward
her every corner clamped
the door was a hungry hippo
sucking in staggering guests
getting slpopy durnk
setting words to a feeling
that sips booze through her
so it can be spoken
since no rational woman
can explain this modern pain

 

---

DREAMSICKLE

we said the sky was beautiful
how it colored the lake orange
between snow covered ice floats
citrus causes milk to curdle
landscapes are impossible mixtures
mixtures of orange and cream
in popsicles only in the process
ed world

---

SUICIDE GUN

i’m calling it out
no one can make an art
piece called suicide gun
that is a special gun
with a trigger placed
on top of the barrel
that can be bitten with
the barrel in your mouth

---

CHRISTMAS 2016

I.

“be not afraid
a child is born.”

i hear the bleating
in the night air,
in the once-dark sky.
why did they come
here? who are the con
trollers? the angels?

i want to have
visions and still
be sane. i will
be afraid at the golden
light, the torn sky
and voice of heaven’s
maiden. the angels.

and if a child
were not born unto
us? “be calm,
this is not yet
the end. after all
a child is born.”
my bleating goats.
my panicked goats,
lost herds running
through the dark
of the valley
calling from the rocks,
calling from the stone-
aged night. screaming
from a time before
the lamb-child.

II.

the priest snapped
a wafer in half
like an angel
breaking the bones
of Christ between
fingers.

i marched out
from under the over-
hang into the vault-
ed ceiling. crossed
arms over my chest
and still received
a blessing.
“no thanks. vegan,”
i told the wine-
bearing acolyte.
the line churned
and whirled,
an anthropic turbine.
suppressed chatter
rose up from
interrupted mass.

 

---

About the author:

Graham W. Henderson published his first story collection, Hendrix the Worm and Other Stories in October, 2016. He has work published or forthcoming in Five 2 One, Right Hand Pointing, and Smartish Pace. He graduated from Loyola University Chicago in 2013, and writes and performs sketch and improv comedy with the group Scantron. He tweets @gw_henderson