between breaths five owls - bonesjournal.com

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between breaths five owlsMichael O’Brien & Johannes S. H. Bjerg

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between breaths five owls© 2020 Michael O’Brien and Johannes S. H. Bjerg Cover painting by Elliott O’Brien

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between breaths five owlsMichael O’Brien & Johannes S. H. Bjerg

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April 2020

In this book the authors explore the parallel (haiku) as a vehi-cle for writing linked verse. This works quite simply with one writing “the first left side poem” and the 2nd writer writes the “right side poem” and goes on to write “the first left side poem” in the next parallel.

The poems were written under the still ongoing Corona Virus pandemic and may of course reflect this reality.

Michael O’Brien and Johannes S. H. Bjerg

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fresh snow

leftalone

not knowing

thewind carves

your death

aflute inyourface

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there’s a kindness

coldfront

in letting

ablackfingerprint

the sealie

insidethepotato

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its last breath

betweenowls

in a fisherman’s bucket

acrayontree manipulates

the universe

gravity

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sleep, knee,knowing

bourbonandcheese

you’rea vessel

thenight

for Soma

ametallicwomb

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someone’s teeth

thestones

making a lawn

followingushome atnight

grape hyacinth

divideusinto 4syllables

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in this cello suite

treeclowns

a fly crosses

yourblood

your field of vision

asapmoon

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night rain

testingavirus formasques

your only friend

youtouch

a mandala of ants

yourmissing face

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to get somedistance

likeawaterbird

you leavethe floor

youmakeapignoise

for a cloud

andwalkonwater

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preferring the night

oneofthesepills

to the left side

containsaself-playing

of your face

guitar

14

on day ten

inthewoods

you beginto return

aheadofourgroup

the apples’ stare

ametaphor

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high sun

alonggonewinter

do dinosaur bones

leftafish

go pop?

inyourelbow

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the painmanagement course

morningposture

didn’t mention

thesunbalancing

daffodils?

onapole

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time’s hero

you’dprobably

the slow dripping

findShangri-La

of taps

underthecouch

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followingyour schedule

afterthestorm

you donothing

thereturningsound

again

ofswifts

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deep autumn

fromthewind

the back of the vase

youpick

still there

onecloud atatime

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an injectionwith hippos

leftturn

just tocounter

ajudgestirring

your allergy

saltwater

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autobiography

andthedeathpoem

you shout at the moon

youwrote

and nothing happens

waseatenbyfrost

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tinnitus:

morninghaze

that’s the whales

inanemptyfield

of yourinner ocean

amanexercising

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high sun

gradually

feeding apples

youbecome

to the river god

atundra

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your communication

morningheat

with the sea

abottleofmilk

is throwing stonesback and forth

leavingthebowel

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soft beasts

inaharpsichord

finding the wind

aglassheart sews

her new skin

afield ofmustard

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what we know

thehawk’sshadow

of the beyond

amemory

written ona dust mote

ofcavepaintings

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heavy w/ loose change

youcounteryourgene forcastingshadows

smacking wet cement

withone

a fish

forgrowingtorches

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lex Hollywood

abandonedrailway

we can shoot

betweenwillowandalder

the damn virus

cuttlefish

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wilting snapdragon

themitten’s

our belief

anentrance

in the killer’s retirement

totheshadowworld

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see,

jacksnipe

if we had tails

inthedistance

we couldchase them

apowerstation

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first signs of autumn

wavesofcotton

the silence

takeoff

of other people’s bodies

withtheBookofLeaves

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in the towerof clouds

lightningstorm

fish spawn

mostpeoplenotknowing

in the word ‘table’

thesmellofblood

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bird vision

yourinnerear

you leave the mustard

retains theholographicocean

in the fridge

thatbirthedyou

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the rainthat was your friend

washingday

aspires

wearingclogs

to sovereignty

acamel

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spitting at a fish

forthesake ofargument

you become the universe

letKevinC.wakeup

and order an egg sandwich

withathunderstorm

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the apples

thiscoolevening

in your ankles

inasmalltown

worm eaten

madefamousbyakiller

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on the first day of autumn

inadream

you forgive the neanderthals

youaddadog

for mother’s diabetes

toBruckner’s4th

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time travel

afterdissectingthetiger

that’s how you find

achildlookinglonginglyat

your lost socks

themoon

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cemetery at dusk

apressbriefing

you add blue

yetnoonereleases

to the soup

abutterfly

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come dance,

deepinthetallgrass

said the mountain,

foldingtime

in my tempo

youcounttoabillion

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withered field

perhaps into a patch of eyes

thegarden withthetrampoline

you sow your heart

survives

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closeto the sky

autumn fog

they usehorses’ hoofs

atreespeaks

to imitatethe sound of horses

foritself

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third degree

thistestprocedure

a leaf falls

revealsthepresence

in the night

ofstars

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it’s Thursday

ontheoutskirtsoftown

and you letthe wind

anemptybottle

sitin your place

inanemptyfield

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the bear’s posture

springwind

a tube of dissolvable

onemorekiss

b-vitamins

andI’muprooted

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one stepat a time

pinecone

falling

youtakeanumber

into the horizon

andwait

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a hundred plus moons

likeadog

the rangers finish up

yourshadowcomes

for the season

whenyouwhistle

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the shepherdof birch trees

wintermorning

slowly he carves

hangingoverthemoon

a flutefrom his femur

yourloneliness

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depressed

whatkindofecho

but you eat a salad

canyouevenget just in case

outofaduck?

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spring

weeatapicnic

and you

onthehillside

misplacethe rain

watchinghiddenbirds

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asked for i.d.

absentminded

you pull out

youcallout yourownname

a wedding photo

andanswer:No!

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strangehow thesespring hills

influenza

go up and down

youshout

like in winter

inaswan’sear

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the stench of death

tobesafe

in the appropriate box

hewearshisface

marking x

insideout

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his skin

darkmorning

madefrom stars

thelanguage

breathesladders

ofpotatoes

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