London Poetry Review » Leo Yankevich

CROW

Leo Yankevich — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 00:00:44 +0000

Crow, the doves descending on the square

have sullied your name, cooed gossip to wealthy tourists,

their gullets stuffed with handouts, while you soar

over the oaks with dreaming clouds, with the glare

and glimmer of the distant but holy sun

in your misunderstood eyes, your paeans one

with the wind. Yet it was you who, perched on the shoulder

of Jesus, watched him suffer and heard him cry,

and it was you who saw the enormous boulder

moved, and you who saw him enter the sky.

ULYSSES

Leo Yankevich — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 00:01:32 +0000

His head reels—gulls beneath the mackerel sky
prey on schools of pilchards, sprats, and herrings.
He holds the helm fast, tries to catch his bearings
in the mirror of a bloodshot eye.

A tempest bellows, “All clouds lead to Rome.
Light pours down on both the preyed and preying.”
Grateful for the dark, the light and greying,
he spurns his ache and calls the moment home.

MARKET

Leo Yankevich — Sun, 01 Mar 2009 01:01:28 +0000

We went down to the market.
Your hand inside my pocket
was soft and ivory white,
your eyes two jewels bright
beneath gold locks of hair,
flowers in April air.

We walked where loving led,
and did not look ahead.
We did not see the hens
headless on the fence,
the quartered hogs on hooks,
the butcher’s angry looks,

the crones with wizened hands
behind the tulip stands,
their thin grey hair unmade,
their eyes lit dim from trade,
devoid of beauty’s powers,
but selling the same flowers.

THE FAMILIAR NIGHT

Leo Yankevich — Sat, 01 Nov 2008 00:01:30 +0000

You leave the dive, the din behind the doors
forever shut. You stagger in the light
and watch rats bear the moon and stars away
into an afterlife of steaming sewers.
Face baptized by the quiet, hell to pay:
there’s only you now, the familiar night.