Two Poems
Mark Blaeuer

The Peasant Skims His Glossy Catalogue

On a raw March day—I wouldn’t mind
if spring this year were a tad premature—
I run across an ad for a boxed set
of eighteen DVDs showing the czars’
art collection at the Hermitage.

I never splurge, ordinarily,
but now the wind cuffs our bungalow,
and flurries of diaphanous insects—
of tiny span—descend from mating flight
to ragged lawn, melt under, a deep loss . . .

It’s over. Though I can’t quite be accused
of furthering a wish for Romanov
execution, nonetheless I serve
as witness. Here is the official knell,
plus my Visa expiration date.

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Mark’s notes: “This poem ran initially at The Flea, in 2011, and was included in Fragments of a Nocturne (Kelsay Books) in 2014.

“Our planet supports numerous species of ephemerid—all designed essentially to procreate (or inspire). Had our Craftsman-style bungalow been able to multiply, I wonder how many could have fit inside the Hermitage at Saint Petersburg.“

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Bucolic

In 1963 United Artists
released a 45 by Country Johnny
Mathis. Side A, a certified non-hit?
“Thinkin’ Too Far Behind.” That and the flip
he yowled affectedly in a high twang
embedded in the amber of vinylite.

Two people at their cabin years ago,
priming a leaking pump. Our wee hour chore:
cold fingers, balky valves, a dim flashlight.
Street-dumb, we failed as born-again hayseed.
I grieve, though, remembering an orchid
that brightened the sawdust path to our springhouse.

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Mark’s notes: “After its 2004 debut at The Dark Horse, this piece resurfaced a decade later in Fragments of a
Nocturne (Kelsay Books).

“Our log cabin, built using native materials and hillbilly know-how, stood in the Ozark Mountains of Arkansas. Fifty or sixty yards off: a spring, our main water source, with rockwork enclosure and electric pump. Come April, a nearby showy orchis, Galearis spectabilis, blossomed without fail. Lastly, Country Johnny Mathis (1930–2011) should not be confused with the singer of ‘Chances Are.’ We held onto our rustic dream for six years before admitting defeat, selling for the original purchase price, and bidding the place farewell.”

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Mark Blaeuer lives just south of Lofton, Arkansas. He was a ranger for many years at nearby Hot Springs National Park, and his M.A. is in Anthropology. His poems (and a few translations from Spanish) have appeared in 100+ magazines, such as Better Than Starbucks, Bindweed, The Borough, Ezra, Grand Little Things, The HyperTexts, Lighten Up Online, The Orchards, Passionfruit Review, Pulsebeat, Susurrus, Ultramarine Literary Review, and Wales Haiku Journal. His collections are Fragments of a Nocturne (Kelsay Books, 2014) and Surfacing Below (SurVision Books, 2025). He’s also written a couple of history books: Didn’t All the Indians Come Here? (Eastern National, 2007 [out of print]) and Baseball in Hot Springs (Arcadia Publishing, 2016).

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Two Poems Mark Blaeuer

Two Poems
Mark Blaeuer