ZACH KLEBANER - POEMS

Zach Klebaner is an award-winning artist whose work has appeared in numerous literary journals, anthologies, and publications. His goal is to inspire love, laughter, and creativity through words and images. Follow him on Medium at https://zach-klebaner.medium.com/ for tips on living a fun, fulfilling, and creative life. 

​Love’s Ledge

​There is a not a cell in 
this body unwilling to 
do what it must. Falling

Is fate. Failure is attitude.
The altitude adjusts with 
each tick, the marker of you. 

Risk is just the proof of poems.
The purity of attempt 
is a sword to obstacle.

The details of love can drench 
the damned with all dancing rain
this rain that pools in puddles

And asks for fanciful boots. 
This rain that patters lightly like
a tender, motherly touch. 

This is rain from the clouds of
doubt, clearing finally like
a puzzle solved of its’ steps. 

This is rain of light response
to the order of devils. 
This rain cleared over a cliff.

I spent years climbing for such
silly reviews. This rain was
the sign to jump over all. 

Review of the Ridiculous ​

​Funny that there should be
arguments
in this house of loneliness

For the past can’t be a fruitless flood
but
what of its’ damning darkness? 

Hilarity, fresh prose,
and
a process of optical adjustment.

Fighting Chance ​

​I inhale hope
like an asthmatic

To tie together
many wrongnesses

For watching has wrinkled!
I must act in defiance

of Reality
and carve out a painterly premise. 

Chasing A Blackbird ​

​In the cherry pepper trees
Beyond the blowing trumpets of grass
Lies the blackbird I seek
Who sits in belting song
Upon those brutal branches. 

I spring toward this oaky behemoth
Grab hold of those branches
Bravely bring myself toward
Those black feathers of prophecy 
Like a child of impulse

As the birds bellowing turns 
Into a squawk 
Before bringing its’ widened wings out
For a frightful flight of freedom
Out toward the horizon. 

Like a farce of weakness
I sit bawling of impotence and incompletion. 
The teardrops fall to the branch
And become a billion blackbirds 
Decorating the sky with me.

God Never Picks Up The Telephone

​My eyes are reborn 
in the bending waters. 

Sent to rage and decompose
they have let go. 

Conditions have not changed
they have been seen beyond time.

When the desire to pray dissolves, 
the prayer is answered. 

This is the clockwork
of spontaneous vegetables. 

This is the spirit of possibly leaving
like a laughing rainbow of powerless power.