Mike Acker: “Ex”

 

ex

is said with such ease, such nonchalance
when what’s meant is the once beloved
the once esteemed once revered

before the universe decided to test the bond
and the bond failed, before the tear, the rip
sometimes terse, often sustained

regardless, the ex, a two-letter word
packed tight like a small, thick scar
long after the slash

 

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About the Author: Mike Acker lives in Vancouver, British Columbia. He has lived in various parts of the world; his early education was in German and French. While living in California, he worked as a professional translator. Mike enjoys writing short poetry, especially with the intent of exploring the possibilities latent in a single image.

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Image Credit: Jacob Byerly “Portrait of a Woman” (1852) Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program.

“Sunday Mourning” By Mike Acker

 

 

Sunday Mourning

Real butter for a change, melts on my toast
with apricot jam thickly spread like I like it.

Cold, caloried cream swirls in freshly brewed coffee
with a teaspoon of real sugar.

Habits die hard; having just cooked an omelette
for two now only one will eat.

Glasses slide low on the bridge of my nose;
Sunday paper ready to go.

The pool’s blue tiles glisten under
the early sunshine.

What a glorious morning
this could have been.

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About the Author:Mike Acker lives in Vancouver, British Columbia. He has lived in various parts of the world; his early education was in German and French. While living in California, he worked as a professional translator. Mike enjoys writing short poetry, especially with the intent of exploring the possibilities latent in a single image.

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Image Credit: Esther Bubley “Washington, D.C. Hugh Massman, second class petty officer who is studying in Washington, must leave the house very early, so Lynn has breakfast alone while Joey sleeps on the table” (1943) The Library of Congress.
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“Out of the Blue” By Mike Acker

 

Out of the Blue

Out of the blue, I hear your rustling in the back
of my frontal lobe among the cellular boxes,
caved-in and heavy with sediment.

When I pull the yellowed, frail strings
leading to you, covers are nudged open
and you appear.

Forty years have worn down your features like
pebbles in a stream; past passions are now
but faint, electrical pulses, barely registering.

But, in this commotion, a crumpled neuron nearby
opens releasing apparitions of you and me standing
over a spot in our favorite park,

searching for the golden snake ring I had thrown
into some bushes after a jealous fit over a once-
sharp reason, now too pointless to recall.

But it is not really you and me; it is aged molecules
that oscillate into a semblance of our shapes
and then shift back to forgetfulness.

As quickly as these stirrings of recollection had come
to life, they fade; the dust of the past settles
back down, like lazy snow.

I will hold on to your shadow
but you, you are now forty
light-years away.

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About the Author: Mike Acker lives in Vancouver, British Columbia. He has lived in various parts of the world; his early education was in German and French. While living in California, he worked as a professional translator. Mike enjoys writing short poetry, especially with the intent of exploring the possibilities latent in a single image.

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Image Credit: “Two Men on Banks of Stream” By Arthur Brown (1878) Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program

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More By Mike Acker:

The Selfie

What Do You Call This? Bubba Ganush?

“The Selfie” By Mike Acker

 

The Selfie

Holding it right is half the challenge.
The other is not to shake before the click.

They say that the aim may change due to
the pressure applied by the finger.

To think that in the old days they had to
handle the powder directly to produce

the explosion, which, of course, also
gave the flash. The modern version

is so much easier; just aim and shoot.
The only question is: the temple, or the mouth.

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About the Author: Mike Acker lives in Vancouver, British Columbia. He has lived in various parts of the world; his early education was in German and French. While living in California, he worked as a professional translator. Mike enjoys writing short poetry, especially with the intent of exploring the possibilities latent in a single image.
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Image Credit: “Portrait of a Woman in Bonnet” Jacob Byerly, daguerreotypist (American, 1807 – 1883) Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program

 

What Do You Call This? Bubba Ganush?

 

What Do You Call This? Bubba Ganush?

By Mike Acker

 

What Do You Call This? Bubba Ganush?

They hug and whisper kind words
in the other’s ears. They share
their home-cooked fares, and
delight in the quaintness of
the other’s ways and customs.
They express with kinder words
their surprise at the other’s warmth
and grace. They admire each other’s
moral codes and are surprised
at the similarities of both
their devils and their saints.
But as soon as the formalities
come to a peaceful end, they both
return to the open arms of their
jealous gods.

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About the Author: Mike Acker lives in Vancouver, British Columbia. He has lived in various parts of the world; his early education was in German and French. While living in California, he worked as a professional translator. Mike enjoys writing short poetry, especially with the intent of exploring the possibilities latent in a single image.