Grasping at smoke in a dream:
the breeze of the once existing,
aware of something
by the nothing it left.
[originally published by Cerebration]
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Sang Lee is Dead: memoirs in fragments
By Charles Bivona
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Ache of the knees
and the spine, of
the gasping breath
of lost lovers—
ache of the passage
from this now
to that—
of the aging bones creaking
through each midnight turning
and a shadowy aching
that lives in the dream.
—
BIO: Poet and writer, professor and Ph.D. student, Charles Bivona wears many hats. Luckily, he looks good in hats.
CONTACT: charlbiv@gmail.com
Passion is the carpet of grass
blanketing the back yard.
And if you would smile at me from the window
your green eyes reflecting me
and blending me with the lawn
I know I would be lost forever
and unable to care.
—
BIO: Poet and writer, professor and Ph.D. student, Charles Bivona wears many hats. Luckily, he looks good in hats.
CONTACT: charlbiv@gmail.com
Like the curls of my hair
that you twirl around fingers,
I’m pulled in passionate spirals;
my lonesome old
life contradictions: they
willingly snap in your hand.
Enlightenment is
the intricate structure of the storm
cloud that is only discernable
in the ungraspable illumination
of a lightening flash.
—
BIO: Poet and writer, professor and Ph.D. student, Charles Bivona wears many hats. Luckily, he looks good in hats.
CONTACT: charlbiv@gmail.com
[outside my office - April 16, 2009]
The Cherry Blossom Blooming
By Charles Bivona
New life hanging
flora from the tree,
buds of living
pink on the retina—
reflecting perfect
doses of red-shifted spectra
to mimic all in the skies:
the ruby-stained,
screaming,
stretching away of
starlight’s elongated bleeding.
What Hubble must have seen,
his pin-focused eye
stabbing through glass
into darkness enveloping cold:
a murdered heaven,
sanguinary
streaking,
retreating in every direction.
[originally published in The Newark Metro: http://www.newarkmetro.rutgers.edu/poetry/display.php?id=88]
—
BIO: Poet and writer, professor and Ph.D. student, Charles Bivona wears many hats. Luckily, he looks good in hats.
CONTACT: charlbiv@gmail.com
REALISM: A Love Poem
By Charles Bivona
Then you wake to burning pillows,
her sighing sleep,
and imagine the windows melting,
dripping liquid glass on her face.
You see her skin peel back slowly
revealing nothing—
not the light you assumed was beneath,
not the flames that you felt shooting
from her eyes every time that she saw you,
not the frightening pocket of molten rock
that swallowed you while you screamed,
not anything supernatural—
only skin and muscle and bone…
your imperfect animal twin,
the sweating and breathing life
of the flawed and cracked bag of meat
that you love.
—
BIO: Poet and writer, professor and Ph.D. student, Charles Bivona wears many hats. Luckily, he looks good in hats.
CONTACT: charlbiv@gmail.com
Through another winter’s dusk
the recent snow melts,
sending rivulets of city tears
down cracked brick faces.
I think of you often.