Paul Ilechko


Filibuster

Autumn becomes the time
of a broken supply chain
a time of inflation raging

out of control and a madman’s 
filibuster echoing from the walls
of Congress     as I lie here

suffering with another spell
of chronic pain     watching 
chandelier bulbs flutter and die

like butterflies when the first 
chill bites into the pale blue
clarity of the dryness     unaware

of the snake in the long grass
of the smoke billowing from
beyond the ring of low hills

I used to be an angel until
my wings dried out     unable
to obtain the necessary 
lubricant in these difficult times. 
 


Train Journey, Notated
(Loosely derived from Shadow Train by John Ashbery)

There was a blockage     and we were trapped behind it     unable to pass

We had been traveling     admiring the wide variety of views

And yet     there was a sense of discomfort     of missing something essential

That was exactly it     we felt an overwhelming need to retrace our steps

But still we stayed     looking around us     held quiet within that moment

Boxed in     trapped in darkness

It was very precise     we were within a specific instant of the flow time

And we were weak    but we were also in love     there among the flat midwestern plains

In our silence     we were aware of the patterns of entanglement that comprise the universal

The wind whistled     as if to us

Once it left     we felt a terrible tug of loneliness


Where are my children now     all that I hope is for them to remember me

If I am to pass anything on     let it be the need for conviction

Be invisible to the mass of society     stay behind your metal doors

If you walk     take the longer way
 


Underwater Sonnet 

It was a deeper understanding than I had ever known
when he disappeared underwater once again     he had
a connection to the depths     he had no fear     and nothing 
seemed to fear him     as he cut through entire ecosystems
the light at those depths was pale and mysterious 
flickering and temperamental like an opioid dreamscape 
the more he swam the more his brain seemed to change
his personality to adapt to ocean life     something had
fused inside him     a new connection     the way the tendrils 
of his nerves flowed freely     like seaweed in a sudden 
stream of coldness     he rarely spoke of his previous life
of the small town that he grew up in     of his father the postmaster  
of his mother dead in childbirth     or his so-called friends
from army days     who all wore black and stank of Miller Lite.
 


Bee Smoke

Pepper smoke     Jack
sing to me of bullet teeth
of fenced-in prairie 

and the shrunken souls
of madness     remember
the olive grove     remember 

the range of my artillery
remember the ice-cut glass
that holds your blossoms


we came together in mercy
ignorant of finance     sure
of forest horses     in debt

to mathematics     finally
woken by the delayed arrival
of a softness of bees.
 


Victorious

Within the sweeping surprise
we remained intact     we walked
victorious     we embraced

the wayward     a folding 
phenomenon     defeated by
the cosmopolitan

     *     *     *     *     *

Years pass by in surprise
and dismay     a kind of brickface
collage     posters painted

a la Banksy      with rats and soldiers
of empire     passing themselves off
as metaphors for insincerity

     *     *     *     *     *

A population that embraces
the flaws and sanctions
of illiteracy    in the end

everything is a factor
of finance     terrorism is the way
in which money is used. 
 


Sonnet for Alternative Careers

Never accepting things at face value     we remember
a time from before the current time     a time
that was filled with what we imagined to be pleasure
even if it turned out to be a mere mirage     and the dream
contained us     locked inside some other role     as
a thinker or an engineer     a dental engineer who
manufactured toothy smiles from resin or acrylic
and we burned bright in the love of our persuasion 
in the alcoholic trading of reactions     or stepping lightly
as a dark-cloaked mystic     comfortable among the glowering
faces of men with tall foreheads and perpetual sadness
and we knew that any other life would be less
than this one     touching ourselves to gauge reality
surrounded by stones     engraved with our reputations.

Paul Ilechko is a Pushcart nominated poet who lives with his partner in Lambertville, NJ. His work has appeared in many journals, including The Night Heron Barks, Tampa Review, Iron Horse Literary Review, Sleet Magazine, and The Inflectionist Review. He has also published several chapbooks.

 
 

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