That I also do a podcast where I read these poems and answer questions about them. If that’s something that sounds at all interesting to you, you can find them here, the episodes tagged “Intentional Stuttering With Mike Bonikowsky”.
Listen to me read and discuss “Red Stuff” on episode two of Intentional Stuttering With Mike Bonikowsky, if that sounds like something you would enjoy. You can hear it right here.
I’m super excited to announce that my poems will be forming the basis of a podcast. “Intentional Stuttering with Mike Bonikowsky”, a spinoff of the Geek Orthodox podcast, will have new episodes every other Sunday. I’ll take one of my poems and answer a series of questions about it, and discuss whatever should arise. You can listen to the first episode, “Canis Familiaris” here!
If you would like to request a poem, or have any questions or comments or furious interjections, email my producers at email@example.com.
When the Facebook bell starts ringing
To tell of more lives taken
By men with names that are not like ours
You always say the same thing.
You say it every time,
That they are monsters and
Inhuman and cannot
For they are not like us
No brother, not at all.
But I say, brother, you’re a liar
And maybe sister, you forgot
The things we used to say in high school
The songs we sang when we were young.
A little too in love with easeful death.
And I say how fortunate were we
And the heretics we hated
And the infidels we feared
And I say thank Christ He made it clear
Which end of the gun we are to stand on.
“Cormorant Lord and Other Poems” is now available! Fifteen poems about babies and burnout and debt and disability and getting broken and getting built and the Jesus in all these things (and some other things too). Made of trees and smelling of ink and available to buy right here. Also available as an e-book.
Every morning, every night
He folds his hands and holds them up
I spill out the blister packs
Scarlet pills in a scarred white cup.
I have seen that shape before
And now I find it troubles me.
Those hands held in just that way.
But I can’t place the memory.
Capsules gather in his hands
Each decoction in its turn
With names like Latin liturgies
That neither of us care to learn.
They’re meant to still his demons
Quiet the trembling in his limbs
Meant to make his visions cease
And meant to win some rest for him.
Only later on that night
When all is quiet on the floor
I remember where I’ve seen
Those hands make that shape before.
On Sunday at the altar
Patrick kneels with his hands held up
To eat, drink in that same way
Body and blood from that same cup,
He takes one like the other
Would that we all were so devout
Swallowing a mystery
For to cast a mystery out.
Insomnia-inducingly, bowel-looseningly excited to announce that Cormorant Lord and Other Poems From Under The Hebrew Sea is now available here. All the best poems from this site (and even some that aren’t) now available to carry about with you in case you see a carefree person and wish to unsettle them.
Designed by the inimitable Jeff Baker of digisciple.me and presented in finest .pdf and tree-paper.