April 15, 2016
the joy of water carving canyons
through rock, long, slow joy of rain, of rivers
slowly mingling waters with the sea. I’ve known
the wild spill of gulls glancing off sparkling waves.
All night stars burn themselves out, spending
energy in Dionysian dance. I have felt the moon
pull my blood in giddy tidal surge, as night wheeled
along its course and dawn seeped red and purple
across the sky. Winter whispered in my ear and
turned my breath to mist. In Africa I felt big cats
stir as night fell. A bull elephant in must charged
past so close I could have touched his leathery hide,
which shivered in the lust of gigantic loins. Once
I watched a hundred frogs climb from a muddy
lake to serenade the pines. My canoe slipped
past a Northern as it floated near the surface, black
and spotted with gold. Alone but not alone, I breathed,
arms aching with the joy of effort in quickly fading day.
Steve Klepetar’s work has appeared in ten countries, in such journals as Boston Literary Magazine, Deep Water, Expound, Red River Review, Snakeskin, Ygdrasil, and many others. Several of his poems have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Recent collections include Speaking to the Field Mice (Sweatshoppe Publications, 2013), My Son Writes a Report on the Warsaw Ghetto (Flutter Press, 2013) and Return of the Bride of Frankenstein (Kind of a Hurricane Press).
What motivates him to create:
It may be that the act of creation is a basic human need, or at least a common desire. When I was a child, I wanted badly to be able to draw, mostly scenes from my imagination. It turned out that I had no talent in that direction, but I found I could do something with words. It’s become an almost daily pleasure to create using language, its sense and sounds, as a medium.