Michigan Poems

Michigan Farmland

Michigan has blueberries, strawberries,
Apples, and raspberries…
Not dragonfruit. 
But there’s still plenty of options!

Michigan doesn’t grow dragonfruit. 
Coconut, or bananas. 
We have what can survive our seasons. 
Rows and rows of our Michigan specialties. 

Sometimes it snows an empty feeling. 
In this state. 
We can still get produce from out of states. 
But it’s as sad

My Michigan Home

Michigan is the best place to wear a sun hat. 
As flowers floating around stick to the brim. 
A park bench with a big tree provides even more shade. 
So we surrender to the coolness. 

Michigan is the best place to wear sandals. 
To protect your feet from the little stones. 
Try to walk barefoot

Rainbow's Bend, Michigan

Rainbow's Bend,
                 Of Michigan,
                           Score's Light!

Rainbow's Bend,
      

THE CHILDRENS LEUKEMIA FOUNDATION OF MICHIGAN REMEMBERING MARILYN PELLEGREN

THINKING OF YOU MARILYN PELLEGREN OUR PATHS CROSSED AND I CAN'T HELP BUT FEEL SO BLESSED WE MET THE MANY TALKS ABOUT RAISING FAMILIES CHILDREN MARRIAGE FORD MOTOR COMPANIES AND THE GARMENT DISTRICT WOW THE BALANCE OF YOUR LOSS LOSING TWO CHILDREN TO THIS DREADFUL DISEASE SO MANY ON WAITING LIST FOR DONORS OTHERS GOING

I wanna go back to Michigan

I wanna go back to Michigan
so I catch me some really good fish again.
The fish from any other U.S. lake
tend to give me such a bellyache,
that I can't wait to have a Michigan fish on my dish again.

September in Michigan

When fall comes around.
We expect leaves on the ground.
But still, we see petals in the breeze.
Which reminds us of summer’s unease.
It’s September here in Michigan.
But it feels like August again.
I want to enjoy hot apple cider.
I want to see a Halloween spider.
I want to wear my favorite jacket.
But instead, I grab my tennis racket.
And go

Clothesline of Joy

At the end of another summer day
Rainbow of deflated asses crotches and breasts strung along our deck railing
Flail like a Tibetan prayer flag
Under the smoky umbrella of burgers and brats
Grilling for dinner

Souls adrift from their left behind soaked skin
The sleeves and pantlegs re-begin

Arms and legs jog in place
In the cool lungs of a dry evening

To The Other Side

Out of the blue on this summer day
Richie asks me if I want to swim with him across the lake
Sure what the hell and that is that
I will match the older boy’s vim and whim
Two strong boys armored with Nietzsche arrogance and Tolkien muscle

Armada of scarecrows and wrists assemble on Wally’s manmade beach
To accompany us

Michigan

I’m from Michigan.
I don’t know what I want.
So I just go to school in state to save money.
The money lives in a Michigan bank.
I cheer our school mascot.
At a football game and it rains and snows.
I’m from Michigan.
I’m as worried as the Great Lakes.
Someday, we’ll dry out together.
But for now.
We stay in a forgotten state.
I’m

Witch from Minnesota

Her spell remains over me 44 years later

Once a bumblebee has kissed the nectar of Snapdragon
The creature is fever of succulence

She says, “You kiss so softly I think it’s a thing with guys with braces
My name is Bob.”
That’s quite a coincidence
After our third day at Civitan camp in Albion

High school awaits us all this fall

Someone

In Michigan

We don’t put away our boots and coats.
Here in Michigan.
Instead, we close our eyes and feel a soft presence.
We jerk awake, in our hammocks.
To a dream of cold snow.
But it was just a dandelion on my nose.
There’s a wind, but it’s warm.
There are clouds but they’re wispy and bright.
So we fall back asleep.
It’s really too

Lake Michigan

This chilly water I am sitting in.
Could it be Lake Michigan?
Slimy minnows in spurts.
Sharp stones that poke and hurt.
The sand is a bit harsh.
But exfoliates if you’re in a rush!
The breeze is a bit chilly.
The seagulls are a bit silly.
I get tangled in the seaweed.
And splashed by boats that speed.
But when we get tired, we

Mailbox Extinction

Tear by on a Friday
Doing 75 down Sharon Road
Short cut up north through the federal woods

Back here
No one knows from US-127
About the clear-cutting as far as the eye can see

Or the heads of hills chopped off and rolling
And curves of road that’ve lost their will
To bend

A mailbox shakes in my scissor wake
With no house or

Christmas Wishes from the Parents

The idea of Christmas snow in Michigan is replaced with fog
Hot breath exhaled to cold lollipop trees
My blurry life-sized polar bear salutes through the front window
To me
Staring back from the couch
He is sweating out there in his winter coat

House fills with noisy nightly ghosts
Filling empty beds left from the grown kids
Creaks I suppose from the

Michigan rocks

Washed up on the shore 
agates sparkle and shine in 
a hazy sunshine

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