Four Poems & Visual Art – Anton Pooles

IceFloe Press

Blue Jay


A splash of blue amid the rubble
of wooden planks and rusty nails
like an underground lake
not yet seen by the naked eye.
Dive in, feel the sting of cold water.
There are no etchings on the walls,
no history revealed.

The Way Down to the Lake


has no obstacles except for five
bone-white trees reaching out
from the cold ground like fingers.
Hundreds of years ago he was
killed by the boy named Jack.

Moth Man


My grandfather
collected butterflies.

He kept them in oak boxes,
on a green wall.

I asked him once,
what’s the fascination?

They’re magicians,

he said, in love
with illusion.

Prove it.

He spread the wings
of the dead leaf butterfly.

Can you see the sunrise
over the ocean?

I cannot.

That’s because you have
a moth’s heart

Ant Man


A nickname
transformed me into
a metropolis of bone and blood-streams…

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