A Symphony of Movement by Michael L. Newell

Wildly whirling while backlit
by a fiery sunset, a woman invented
a loose-limbed dance, filled

with leaps, twirls, bends, and swirls,
as her long black hair unfurled

in rising and falling wind,
and I stopped some distance away
to witness and celebrate the woman's

ecstatic movement and marriage
with the elements, and allow all I saw

to become imprinted in my mind, to forever
remind me of how one person can both praise
and meld oneself to world's magnificence.

Michael L. Newell lives on the Florida coast. He has recently had poems published in Bellowing Ark, Jerry Jazz Musician, and Shemom.

Choosing by Michael L. Newell

Each window holds a world, no two
quite the same.

Each world holds a you; choose one,
the others forever lost.

She takes your hand. You step through.
Nothing will ever be the same.

You look back. The window is gone. Look
ahead. She smiles. She waits.

Children peer round her dress. Their shy eyes
welcome you. You forget the window.

You walk to your new family. A choir
of birds sings. A road unspools into the distance.

Michael L. Newell is a poet who lives in Florida. He frequently publishes in Jerry Jazz Musician and Bellowing Ark.

Now and Then by Michael L. Newell

A breeze strokes the skin of a pool;
a dog licks herself slowly;
a cloud absentmindedly drapes the moon;

soon we are upstairs;
the long slow rhythm of search, blessed
stillness, we find how breathing

makes quilts float through a room, how
fingers become incandescent -- a colony of fireflies;
when the rain starts, we listen

for hours -- now and then
one of us says, "Don't
leave, never leave." Now

and then I remember these things,
lying alone as the wind slams
sheets of rain through the screen,

as my fingers turn gray under lamplight,
as the room darkens and shadows
stream down walls.

Michael L. Newell has recently had poems published in Jerry Jazz Musician, Shemom, and Bellowing Ark.  He has had 20 books and chapbooks published over the past three decades.

Quest / Joyfully Blue by Michael L. Newell

Quest

The road rises gradually, tumbles 

down into a valley, curves back 

and forth, straightens and goes

up a long grade into 

darkening sky, then switches 

 

sharply back along its own path;

everywhere I look I see life dying, 

being born, struggling, triumphing, 

and fading away into energy which 

will feed the next generation of travelers

 

searching for a destination where 

they can rest at last, lay their heads

upon a stone or stump or clump of grass,

and sleep until they find a dream

which allows them to rise and move on.

 

              (Kigali, Rwanda, March 2012)

 

 

Joyfully Blue

In the dark blue

deepening to black

 

of early evening,

I, silent and still, sit

 

listening to a gently rising

orchestra of sound:

 

a bird rhythmically sounding notes

which call to mind

 

Milt Jackson's mallets slow dancing

up and down a vibraphone, a chorale 

 

of insects gradually growing louder, voices

of lads playing soccer in the distance

 

down a curving dirt road, men 

and women talking, laughing, flirting,

 

and welcoming the deep peace of dusk's

warm and comforting waters;

 

I lean back and my eyes rest upon the rising 

of a silvery moon, and I drift away.

 

                (Kigali, Rwanda, September 2011)

 

Michael L. Newell has recently been published in Bellowing Ark, Shemom, and Jerry Jazz Musician.  His most recent book is from Cyberwit.net.  Its title is Don't Fret (Jazz Poems).

Say Goodnight Michael / Grotto by Michael L. Newell

Say Goodnight Michael

            (for Jill Stanton, Kimberly Lively, and Anna Maria Shortt)

 

"You," she said, "can never just say goodbye, turn

and leave.  There are always more words, more

things to do, more time to fill, until

someone finally just shoves you out the door."

 

I thought about this, then turned back

into the room: "You," I began, "don't

seem to realize that each new avenue and alleyway

of conversation leads to another and another until

we eventually find our way back home.  Of course

then we must retrace our path, particularly

if the journey was an exciting one.  So you see…"

Three pairs of hands shoved me out the door:

"Say goodnight, Michael."  The door closed.

 

"But I wasn't finished," I said

to a passing neighbor who entered his room shaking

his head and avoiding my eyes.

 

"I'm never finished," I muttered.  The cat

in the hall window yawned and stalked off.

 

 

 

Grotto

 

That deep wound, that gorge,

where all lost loves and beliefs

flower in the steady

rain of inconsolable memory;

 

those who visit and stay

too long disappear

and return only

in the cruel rains of autumn.

 

Michael L. Newell has recently been published in Jerry Jazz Musician and Bellowing Ark.  His most recent book of poems is Don't Fret, a book of jazz poems.

He Who Dreams A Life by Michael L. Newell

No one knows my heart who does
not love the night filled with silvery
moon, glittering star, streaking comet, and,
above stands of trees, an owl ghosting.

No one knows my midnight mind who does
not see, hear, or feel wind, rain, mountain,
stream, river, and ocean populating
the dreams which flow from night into day.

No one knows me who has listened
to tales of distant plateaus, dolphin and whale,
wolf and bear, stately redwood and fir stretching
to the horizon, and not imagined a life of travel.

No one can understand, whose heart is entwined in
the daily minutiae of the life of man, why I am as I am.

Michael L. Newell's latest book of poems is Don't Fret: Jazz Poems.

A Symphony of Movement by Michael L. Newell

Wildly whirling while backlit
by a fiery sunset, a woman invented
a loose-limbed dance, filled

with leaps, twirls, bends, and swirls,
as her long black hair unfurled

in rising and falling wind,
and I stopped some distance away
to witness and celebrate the woman's

ecstatic movement and marriage
with the elements, and allow all I saw

to become imprinted in my mind, to forever
remind me of how one person can both praise
and meld oneself to world's magnificence.

 

 

Michael L. Newell is a retired teacher.  He has had seven poetry books published in the past 3.5 years.

A Memory of Water by Michael L. Newell

Rain rips through the night

in savage gusts, tattoos

the window which sighs, punch drunk,

a fighter about to topple.

I roll over in bed, deep

contentment, snug, dry,

remembering a hundred other times

I have sprawled like this, listening

to drumming on roof and window.

The shadow filling the room

is bigger than night or memory

and I slide into it, a familiar robe--

warm, worn, comforting.

There is a history here, yours and mine,

a chronicle of cells growing more complex,

moving toward dry land but never

forgetting, always coming back to the shore to dangle

a foot, a toe, a sleepy lolling around

the edge of water--

like tonight as I leave

a window half-opened

and turn my face to the fine spray.

Michael L. Newell is a retired English/Theatre teacher.  His most recent book is Meditation of an Old Man Standing on a Bridge (Bellowing Ark Press, 2018).

Song of an Old Widow by Michael L. Newell

A breeze streaming light

wafts through an open door;

 

roses wave in the yard; 

a hummingbird feeder

 

does its job for an afternoon

stream of visiting birds,

 

and I rock in the living

room and remember days

 

when you sat on the porch

whittling animals from 

 

basswood following the grain

to creations (bear, salmon,

 

fox, and wolf) that breathed

as they sat on the mantle;

 

I imagine your slow moving

body entering our home

 

one final time, draped 

in late afternoon light.

 

Michael L. Newell taught abroad for twenty years in ten countries.  He is now retired and living on the south-central Oregon coast.  His most recent book of poems is Meditation of an Old Man Standing on a Bridge (Bellowing Ark Press, 2018).

Night Approaches by Michael L. Newell

The last remnants of twilight hang

above the peaks surrounding La Paz;

a few long strands of clouds, rather

like elongated schools of fish, float

above the glittering lights of the city

tossed upon mountainsides

with the reckless abandon and beauty

of stars inhabiting the sky

from horizon to horizon.

If I died at this moment,

my request would be to sail

amidst such beauty for eternity.

                                    La Paz, Bolivia, March 31, 2010

Michael L. Newell lived abroad for twenty years in ten countries.  He is now retired and living on the south-central Oregon coast.  He spends his time reading, listening to music, writing, and walking for an hour or more most days.