Tag Archives: Steve Klepetar

Steve Klepetar

Honey Cat

She fed him liver and cream,
her wild familiar—
bruised, bleeding killer of birds

and in the sky a sickle,
a scythe, and a boy falling
from a great height, his hair aflame.


Steve Klepetar watched two large deer stroll across the backyard just before the sun went down.


 

Steve Klepetar

The Other Key

I was alone, rain beating
windows black,
alone with your voice
as it echoed down the hall,

alone, but not alone,
book slipping
from my hand, words
like minnows scattering

in the house of dreams
where you held the other key.


Steve Klepetar watched two large deer stroll across the backyard just before the sun went down.


 

Steve Klepetar

Home Fires

We read our futures
in fireplace flames

listening to the snap
of burning logs,
eyes turning inward

as we breathe sweet
smoke, and after
many hours we speak

in a dead language
incised on our tongues.


Steve Klepetar’s father once told him that the Latin for “bang bang” was “bangum bangum,” and the poor kid believed him.


 

Steve Klepetar

Beyond Touch

Trees
caught fire,

sky
rained ash,

our hands
were flame,

eyes like coal
burning
in the grate,

hair roaring
in the wind,

until we
were beyond
touch,

all of us
smoldering
in the ruined land.


Steve Klepetar watches the news every weekday at six with his hand over his face.


 

Steve Klepetar

Between Us

we forget the world
so easily
with a little wine

some cashews
and almonds
in a glass bowl

a violin concerto playing
as we shut our ears
to the day’s awful news.


Steve Klepetar might just be the best known Shanghai-born Jewish-American writer of one sentence poems in all of Berkshire County


 

Steve Klepetar

Reading on the Beach

I start out trying to read on the beach,
sun glaring off the page,
but it’s so hard to concentrate

with you rising before me, eyes
burning, hair tangled and wild
in summer sun, book hissing to steam

in my hand as you pull me out to sea,
sky darkening as we swim
beyond the sandbar, past the breakers

into moonlight and the solemn moaning of gulls.


Steve Klepetar, who can play about three chords, went to Junior High School with Walter Becker of Steely Dan and Tommy Ramone.


 

Steve Klepetar

On the Platform

The train was late, so we stood on the platform
staring down the track into darkness,
and my father said
“Don’t wish your life away,”

said it with a slight smile, a little joke,
a little wisdom I could have for free

as I walked down to the far end and back
just to feel my legs move, shake off the weight
of doing nothing, and then the train roared in

and we’re riding into night,
rain beating against the windows,
thickening, turning to snow as we travel west.


Steve Klepetar has cancelled his trip to Canada because they won’t let him buy Nova Scotia.


 

Steve Klepetar

From the Undertow

A woman pulls herself from the undertow,
half blinded by the sun, for she has struggled

a long time against this kind of drowning,
learned to float, respect the waves without enmity

or fear, learned to empty herself when ocean
rumbles beneath a vacant sky, learned to trust

her hands while singers gather on the beach,
voices weaving among shells and rocks

as she sits on the shore counting each breath,
every one her own miracle of mercy and grace.


Steve Klepetar has cancelled his trip to Canada because they won’t let him buy Nova Scotia.