Washing Apples In Streams, a book of poems

 

Here are what two fine poets had to say about my second collection. These quotations appeared on the original paperback jacket.

"John Flynn speaks of real and recognizable characters in real and recognizable locales; their dreams and their anxieties are -- to use a word now sniffed at by the tenure hounds -- universal in their relevance."

-- Sydney Lea, former Poet Laureate of Vermont, and former editor of New England Revew and Breadloaf Quarterly

"John Flynn's poems show originality and his own imagery. They are good and deserve to be read." 

-- Leo Connellan, former Poet Laureate of the state of Connecticut

Link here to the book on Amazon:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Washing-Apples-Streams-Michael-Flynn/dp/0967824206

This is the original cover of the paperback version

Here below are a few sample poems from the book.

POW WOW AT GREENBRIAR

 

 

Numbers may be small

Nipmuc, Algonquin, Abenaki

but they're all here

to fight off extinction

with a wedding on stolen land

where wild sons picked wild grapes

and pickerel chased silver pines

before state engineers drained the streams.

 

Parking and admission 99 cents

under skies of sunny early autumn

bride and groom inside the circle,

the fire smoldering as chief and best man

in English first, then relaxed native syllables

pray for animal spirit unions,

holding in a circle each other's hand.

After the maid of honor wraps the couple

in a blanket of tears,

the chief invites his nation to dance.

 

Inside the beat of the drum

their faces striped in blues and vermillion,

in feather fur and leather adornments

to honor the heart of a living earth.

No certainties without loss

no deeper innocent woods

than the mesmeric fires in a bride

calling her groom to the stars

over paradise.

THAW AT LAKE QUINSIGAMOND

 

 

A child has drowned,

hear the slipping

of moonlight oars.

 

South of Route 9

trees take what's left

of the empty boat.

 

The boat speaks,

don't give enough

give better.

CONSTRUCTION SITE TRAILER

WATSONVILLE, CA

 

 

Stars return with the smell of oranges.

He misses boar hunting, his wife.

Sets up a fresh pot of coffee on the propane burner.

 

Polishes the gun. Cleans the tools.

Ain't never really learned nothing

won't listen to no one.

 

In pointed boots made of grey snakeskin

he's got no town to squeeze

no window to leap from.