Tag: Shaun R. Pankoski

If Only by Shaun R. Pankoski

~ ONE ART ~ 4 Comments

If Only

If only
someone would invent love
in powdered form.
I’d sprinkle that shit
everywhere.
I’d cut big, fat lines of it,
invite everyone to the party.
I’d put it in the food,
the water, in the gas tanks.
Hell, I’d make bombs with it,
drop it from planes.
I’d do anything, anything
to make us love
one another
again.

*

Shaun R. Pankoski (she/her) is a poet most recently from Volcano, Hawaii. A retired county worker and two time breast cancer survivor, she has lived on both coasts as well as the Midwest as an artist’s model, modern dancer, massage therapist and honorably discharged Air Force veteran. A 2024 Pushcart Prize nominee, her poems have appeared here, Quartet, SWIMM, Thimble, Mackinaw Journal and MockingHeart Review, among others. She was selected as a finalist by Lefty Blondie Press for her chapbook manuscript, Tipping the Maids in Chocolate: Observations of Japan.

Immortal One by Shaun R. Pankoski

~ ONE ART ~ 4 Comments

Immortal One

The peacock at the Buddhist temple
is anything but humble.
He struts and screams of his magnificence
to anyone who will listen.
Flapping prayer flags
cannot compete with his glorious colors―
emerald, cerulean and glints of bronze,
opulent in the sun,
that follows him like a manservant,
casting him in his best light.
He weaves his way among the bamboo clumps,
the eucalyptus groves,
the pale, upturned faces of the Japanese iris.
While a holy breeze
nudges the brooms of the red-robed monks,
quietly sweeping the temple stairs.

*

Shaun R. Pankoski (she/her) is a poet most recently from Volcano, Hawaii. A retired county worker and two time breast cancer survivor, she has lived on both coasts as well as the Midwest as an artist’s model, modern dancer, massage therapist and honorably discharged Air Force veteran. Her poems have appeared here and other lit mags, including Gargoyle, Gyroscope and MacQueen’s Quinterly.

House of Cards by Shaun R. Pankoski

~ ONE ART ~ Leave a comment

House of Cards

I never left the house yesterday,
except to open the gate
so the cat could venture
through a tunnel she made in the grass
at the vacant lot next door.
Searching for the big-headed tom
that she loves to fight with,
she came home at 2am, soaking wet.

Tuesday I met a friend for lunch.
We ate mediocre Mexican food
and talked mostly about her father
who had recently died in hospice.
The whole time, I kept thinking
of the last time we ate together.
She told me then that she thought
Trump had some good ideas.

When I got my diagnosis,
it occurred to me that I probably
wouldn’t live long enough
to cook all the recipes
I had clipped and collected. That,
and who would take care of the cat.
But I still clip recipes, buy the ingredients.
I have an appetite now.

My baby brother, once my heart,
came home on a hot July day,
went into his bedroom and shut the door.
When his wife went in to check,
she started to scold him
for not removing his shoes before lying down.
He was dead. For this, and other reasons,
I hate my birthday.

*

Shaun R. Pankoski (she/her) is a poet most recently from Volcano, Hawaii. A retired county worker and two time breast cancer survivor, she has lived on both coasts as well as the midwest as an artist’s model, modern dancer, massage therapist and honorably discharged Air Force veteran. Her poems have appeared in The Ekphrastic Review and Verse-Virtual. She will soon be a featured Storyteller of the Week in Storyteller Poetry Review.