Tag Archives: Mark Nenadov

Winter Abode

by Mark Nenadov

Silent night—put more bricks on the fire
                tonight is the final night
when the snow owl flies—so light up your pipe
be alert
you’re frozen to the core
                you wise old man
owlish in all your ways
swallow your pride
smell the delight of the winter night
don’t you hide
                throw chalky bricks on the fire
and light your pipe
                it’s warm inside.


Victoria Day Weekend

by Mark Nenadov

Cool May day
evening folds me in
cold lemonade
bold firecrackers
which echo and cackle
and crackle
and whine
and squeal
as speakers thump
and cool air flows from my window
and blows steadily.


I scratch the hair on my head
and watch the still evening
getting ready for June
sewing up a quiet evening
wife and kid in bed
riots of color in the sky
explode again and again
keep a pacing time
as the wind chimes
ring in my head.

Old House

by Mark Nenadov

I felt like a bat
navigating that dining room
to the tune of a sun
which pierced through the shades
with crusty golden rays.


The sun came up empty
except for piercing crusty shadows
of darkness-soaked cobwebs which
Mrs. Marshall couldn’t keep up with
as time fluttered away.


Once people chattered there
I could hear their shoes clicking
preparations for a ballroom dance
but the only frantic heartbeats there
come from devilish rodent nests.


The library was creaky
if only moths were historians
there would be a good memoir here
they’d flutter in the march of time
absorbing paper treasures
in this parody of a used book store
where Mr. Marshall once sat
on a tattered chair
reading volume upon volume
of short stories and poems and memoirs.

Guess Who

by Mark Nenadov

My trip to Iowa faded
with big wheels turning
while Gene Clark sang
with longing in his voice
of his beloved Mississippi.


I left my friends
and a speed trap behind
and stopped in Dubuque,
but it was Memorial Day
and downtown was deserted.


I said goodbye to Dubuque,
and Eagle Point Park
where refreshing rays of sun
illuminated the beautiful river
capturing my eyes.


When I saw the rolling hills
and towering windmills slicing the sky
and I approached the City of Presidents
Cuba City, Wisconsin
I felt a bit of
Red, White, and Blue.


In town I sat down to eat a messy wrap
and a waitress was amused
by the strange Canadian she served
and I just sat and mused
as the radio played
Guess Who, a Canadian band.