Poetry

For my niece in ukraine

The lone chair
 
in the middle of the world
in the middle of planet Earth
in the middle of a continent
 
in the middle of the city of Kyiv
in the middle of an apartment
in the middle of a darkened room
 
in the middle of a war in Ukraine.
My thoughts jump from my niece
over there
 
to over here

in the middle of my own minute

concerns.

~~~

Alex Nodopaka © March 19, 2022

                            💜

To bear or not bear arms

 

As my niece in Kyiv

is being shelled

I write poems

based on her words*

and what I see

on our TV.

 

I hold my Siamese

the way I imagine

her holding hers.

It seems odd to me

with the repressed

memories I held

 

for over 80 years

but that's all I can do

except bear arms

and join her.

I never in my life

thought I'd say

 

Damn Russia.

         𒁮

*Fugitive security

A poem based on the words of Alex Nodopaka’s niece in Kyiv

 

The daily shaking of the 5th

floor of the building

where I live frightens me.

 

Nightly I put down

a few blankets on the floor

of my bathroom.

 

The only place that offers

a false sense of security.

Wedging my head

 

between the toilet

and the wall for protection

I try to sleep

 

despite the rumbling

keeping me awake.

~~~

Alex Nodopaka © March 17, 2022

          🙏


The Metamorphosis of Salvador Dali

for a wallet 
I became a Dali before 
I knew it. 
Then he skinned me 
and made me into a leather tie. 
Tie dyed it to boot. 
That's when I knew 
deep in my heart 
he was a hippie 
way before his time 
or mine. 

~~~

Alex Nodopaka © 2009

He's unafraid of experimentation 
His verbal arsenal is a real treat. 
The power he belts out through his lyrics 
combines prayer and a call to arms. 

He pits comma against colon. 
Distributes periods like machine gun bullets. 
Doesn't bother to close sentences. 
Splits phrases with slashes and dashes 

putting Ezra Pound to shame 
and to me it doesn't matter if it's true. 
He plays his stanzas like jazzy Klezmer 
where meaning and sound collide. 

Wordy claustrophobic metaphors pit 
against incongruous settings worthy of 
Magritte or anamorphous flat cubist 
conglomerations by Juan Gris 

a.k.a. José Victoriano González-Pérez. and 
look, this is simply a complex play on word 
worthy of a painting or a poem or it's just 
plain intellectual volvulus twisting. 

~~~

Alex Nodopaka © 2011

I write words and listen to 
sounds from Persia. 
There's a party next door 
and when the exotic music stops 
so do my words. 

They fall from pages, 
shatter and split into 
loose alphabet. 

In effect each letter 
on the ground 
forms collages varied as the dresses 
of the women over the fence. 

Today is a special Babylonian day. 
One of tying blades of grass together. 
With each tie one makes a wish. 
I tie one knot. 
You and I. 

~~~

Alex Nodopaka © 2006

      💖

Introduction to the Poet