Poetry of Alec Kowlezyk


When the solitary willow tree
was finally favored with a companion,
in the form of an ugly timber utility pole,
out along the roadside of a desolate moorland,
the willow ridiculed the timber's sorrowful state.
How could it compare with her (the willow),
being defrocked of leaves, limbs and its very bark-skin,
reeking of the creosote that it perspired.

Yet the willow grew fond of the utility pole,
and the utility pole never lost its initial infatuation 
with the sheer beauty of the willow in full bloom.

The willow swayed gracefully in the wind,
daring to allow its leaves to be caressed
by the power lines spanning the pole,
until one day a passing lineman noted this.
He foresaw potential problems of limbs ensnared in wire,
ordered the willow removed at once,
whereupon it was immediately reduced to roughly sawn logs,
abandoned alongside the moorland road,
burned for a campfire by the occasional passerby,
reduced repeatedly to slight ash,
scattered to the winds,
until the utility pole didn't recollect there being a tree at all.


and this persistent beacon of light,
twinkling above the southern horizon,
brighter than all the neighboring stars.
It's difficult to believe that
I am looking at a star - a world - perhaps an entire galaxy,
so far away that it appears to be a single point of light,
millions of years gone,
eons dead.

And I have to wonder ...

Within the curvature of the universe,
is some unknown intellect
simultaneously scrutinizing the very light
reflected off the planet earth,
radiating steadfastly
across gulfs of time and space,
and am I not now,
at this very moment,
one million years deceased?


An old woman
Out for a summer night's walk
Passes under a streetlamp when
shadows of tree limbs
and power lines
and leaves
Flash across her rounded back
While her one foot is implanted
In the cone of light
And the other is already buried
In the surrounding darkness


Looking at the actual site 
depicted in a photograph 
taken in gold rush times -
he held the photo before him
noting the same desolate hills
punctuated only by a distant figure -
a Brady-like photographer on the ridge.

Dropping the photograph -
his eye coupled to his camera optics - 
he was quite startled to see 
in perfect alignment and sharp focus
the distant figure of a man
on the ridge
apparently in the act of taking his picture.


back in Studio Fifty Four
Andy took a brief respite from painting the
Sistine Chapel ceiling (abroad)
to tell the truth / he was not happy
creatively with the work in progress
despite the fact that the acting Pope 
was quite ecstatic about it

he had inlaid countless silk-screen panels 
of Popes from the glorious past
the multiple images suggesting legions of the Holy men
when in fact 
given the span (duration of time)
the count was relatively (actually) small

and then inspiration struck 
and on the flight back
he envisioned in total
the divine scheme (plan)
he had the entire concept fleshed out
before the
wheels touched down on Rome Airport

and there 
(in) some other place and time it exists
as Andy interpreted
(directly) from his muse
the final cut 
each ceiling panel of the Sistine
chapel / the same - but a different variety - of Campbell's Soup


After soft-circling
the lowland of her belly,
his hand continued leisurely upward,
tactilely recording the fine contours
of this strange, reposed

crossing latent boundaries,
until he found his fingers
molded over the elevated breast
of his sleeping lover.

And he had to wonder ...

a pleasant enough fantasy,
sensually so exhilarating,
but could it really measure
against the feelings he held
for this somnolent soul mate,
without whom he was incomplete?


savored slowly
oysters on the half-shell
her mouth swells with ocean

All poems by Alec Kowleczyk
copyrighted 2002

Alec is a native of South Troy, New York. He is a civil engineer by day with an interest in the mechanics of poetry. Contact at Mirrorrim@usa.net

Artwork from Allposters.com

Music: The Farewell by Antonly Holborne

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