Tag Archives: Mike Jewett

Shortnin’ Bread

by Mike Jewett

Like a stain.
Like stained glass in a church with a steeple
like see all the people.
Like Mamie Brown
her baby loves shortnin’ shortnin’.
Mamie’s little baby loves
shortnin’ bread.
The ease of putting out an APB for a missing owl
but going through hell to file
a missing person’s report.
The report of a semiautomatic.
The gospel of a G.
Like the gospel of a philosophizer.
Somebody prayed for me.
They had me on their mind.
Took the time and prayed for me,
I’m so glad they prayed,
I’m so glad they prayed,
I’m so glad they prayed for me.
Like nobody prayed for Mugabe.
Like sacred spaces, Atlantic Avenue elevated.
Like BP Deepwater the spill in the Gulf.
The way her breasts feel in your mouth.
Like don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Like plankton fertilization and falling cosmic dust
and falling cosmic karma and kismet.
Like black goldfish swimming inside a brownstone.
Like five dead brothers and daffodils and a Jesus avatar.
A blue and tan Rothko.
A Rothko on fire in an L.A. riot.
Like bombogenesis and its beastly storms.
Like this is the norm.
Like a chimerical bombination in twelve bursts.
Ithery, bithery, sipetty, sap.
Like mieces in a mieces trap.
Like finding a stalk of hay
in a needlestack.
Like hey.
Like Punta Gorda and Kunta Kinte.
Like crab legs in a crab shack jack
set down the settings don’t come back
like fried chicken and watermelon on a helluva day
like every single time you looked the other way.
Like General Gau left behind on your lips.
Like that sweet & sour kung pao shit.
Like Everyday People
like She Keeps Passin’ Me By
like Woah.
Like your got up and went needs to get up and go.

Friday the 13th

by Mike Jewett
Illustrated by Janne Karlsson

Friday the 13th by Mike Jewett | Illustrated by Janne Karlsson

We rented a cabin on Crystal Lake.
I can’t wait till I get out of work-
It’s gonna be an awesome night.

My only issue with the place:
There’s reviews that warn
About this Jason guy.

I don’t know who he is
Or what his problem is
But it won’t ruin our weekend.

The Bruin

by Mike Jewett
For Theresa. Rest in peace.

Every star shines on you

Polaris, the North Star,
Will be your guide,

Reflecting your aura
In the smile

Of the Atlantic’s waves.
The silent forest

Looks to the skies
Where Ursa Major twinkles back

The light held in your eyes.
Sleeping bruins dream

About ice and glowing
Blues and greens

Dancing above;
The Northern Lights.

Every star will shine on you

The North Star, Polaris,
Will be your guide.

The Elements

by Mike Jewett

All the elements of a perfect storm
But there isn’t any water,

It’s our drought. We thank
The families with thank you

Cards for siphoning
Out gas tanks

Spiced with dry rub

Our children are eager,
Learning things you can’t learn

From books; jailed women
Shackled to beds, giving birth

To honeybees
And teakettle songbirds.

It’s hard when you have
No home to call home

Because snowflakes bring
Out the worst in him.

His dogs use scent to tell
Time. Time to board

Up the windows,
We say,

Waiting out the bone-white

Wondering which way
Is home.

Mon Petit Rouge

by Mike Jewett

I love you the way the sun rises every day, without fail. I love you like the night loves the moonlight, covering the darkness with her glow. I love you the way the universe expands into infinity. I love you for each star in existence and that ever will exist. I love you like seeing a streaking comet that comes around earth once every 80,000 years. I love you the way the soil huddles and heaves in winter. I love you for every grain of sand, and I love you the way sand becomes glass, solid and liquid, when put to heat. I love you for the lovebirds in your eyes. I love you as silkworms spin fine reflective threads. I love you past galaxies and superclusters when seen at the speed of light. I love you at the speed of love. I love you with the wild abandon of migrating butterflies being taken by summer’s wind. I love you for each tear that’s ever washed your face. I love you for every smile anyone has had the fortune of witnessing. I love you like a sunset’s last rays of the day, turning everything pink and fiery. I love you as a boulevard winds between houses with closed blinds and closed minds but the road ahead is open. I love you as words meet paper and poetry is created. I love you for every ant that ever worked to make a home in dirt mazes. I love you like the snowflake, vast in number and each unique. I love you the way bullets explode from chambers stopping at nothing but nothing. I love you like jellyfish sting, unforgettably. I love you the way a lioness defends her cubs unflinchingly. I love you the way fog slinks in, engulfing and blinding and in love with the moonlight. I love you like time heading forward and backward and all that is is now. I love you for every ‘I love you’ ever spoken, written, and thought. I love you like sage growing in a sidewalk crack. I love you as hieroglyphs carved within Egypt’s tombs, for the way glyphs of people all face towards goddesses and gods. Je t’aime, je t’aime, mon petit rouge.

Welcome to the Apocalypse

by Mike Jewett

Utuqaq, the apocalypse,
won’t burn us alive by fire, no.
Mayans never spoke of muruaneq
even in predictions.

Pirtuk, the apocalypse:
left behind in snowy bark,
footprints of squirrels
alarming at circling eagles.

Matsaaruti, the apocalypse —
the walking dead are peonies
furrowed on tombs. They’re not the end
though singing bowls sing

our breaths, icy and visible.
Siguliaksraq, the apocalypse.
Earth is grey and white;
pukak – the coming snow.

Luna Moths

by Mike Jewett

Moths frozen to the bark
of hundreds of trees
thaw in the warmth of the day.

By nightfall,
crescent moonlight
shines on dust motes

crucified to wood.

Specks glimmer,
beginning to hatch-

lime-green luna moths

from wingdust eggs,

edging off of oaks,

the night skies,

in search of sap
or cinnamon.

By lighted sliver
they feed

on sugars
and moonbeam
stopping only to freeze

nights later,


dust to dusk,
whispering along,

to the soft soughing
of pines.

Bath Salts, Miss Othmar

by Mike Jewett
Inspiration by Joshua Mehigan​​

From a room away
I thought Snoopy’s
high-pitched growls

and vocalizations
were the screams
of the Zuni

fetish doll
in Trilogy of Terror.
I was very excited.

But now it’s children
using polysyllabic

which just reminds me
of when I lived
in Park Slope.