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Blogger Spotlight: Michnavs at “michnavs”

Poetry can be a delicate thing, with each word, even the placement of such words, often having a very specific reason for being. The balance can be fragile, easily tipped, yet very strong when rooted properly. Likewise, featuring the work of a poet has similar perils. The mere act of trying to define a style runs the risk of coloring in spaces the don’t belong to you and therefore jeopardizing the foundation of the poetry.

That being the case, it’s best that you explore a poet’s work on your own, without someone else advising you to study the iambic pentameter or reflect upon the allegorical references. One word can mean many different things to many different people. And that, in essence and in one sense, is what makes for good poetry. The reader should be able to study the tapestry of words and pick out the threads that make a pattern they can own, however briefly. In the following piece, which could be about a number of things, Michnavs accomplishes just that. Enjoy.


Wake up Dreaming


She was broken. Beautiful, but

broken. Nobody noticed.


He was magical. Shabby, but magical. Nobody cared.


They met in the least likely place. They met in a dream. In a large, furnished room with a king- sized


at the center, where they had both opened their eyes to find themselves lying next to each


wearing nothing but the clothes they had slept in.


Neither of them panicked. Because they were aware that it was a dream. A dream where whatever


happened couldn’t affect their reality.


They shared multiple eternities in that dream.


The first eternity they remained in bed, staring at each other. Never moving closer, but never moving away, either. And never making sound.


The second eternity, they spent rationalizing their situation.

I think we’re dead,” she said.

He smiled., “Really? I was hoping maybe a coma or a Saturday sleeping in or something.”

She shook her head, the side of her face brushing her pillow back and forth. ” I don’t sleep in on Saturdays. Or any day. And we’re too aware for this to be a coma. Coma means brain  damage.”

He snuggled deeper into the mattress thoughtfully. “Hmm. Then maybe we’re dead.”

She sighs. ” I can’t believe  I wasted thirteen sleepless nights on a speech just to die before I deliver it.”

He laughed. “You’re worried at undelivered speech? I was two days away from marrying my girlfriend before i woke up here.”


The third eternity, they decided to get up.


(Written in response to NovemberNotes challenge by Sarah of Heartstring Eulogies and Rosema of A Reading Writer)


You can peruse more of Michnavs’ work by clicking here. If you have comments specifically for Michnavs, please be gracious enough to make them on the original post found here so Michnavs can be assured of receiving your feedback.

17 replies »

  1. I will therefore ignore the poem but thank you for the wisdom of your words. Poetry is as personal as any work of art. It is to be enjoyed or despised at will by the reader and no-one has the right to challenge the reaction. I get extremely alarmed at the numbers of people I stumble upon who are writing in a particular form because it is fashionable rather than just allowing their own voice to develop. You see, I’m not really sure what any of these forms really are. I just know that if something speaks to me it speaks to me, in the same way as I can’t stand yellow mustard but love Dijon. I shall now pop over to michnavs to leave my specific commentary on his work (which I loved – oops …. cat out of bag!)

    Liked by 1 person

    • I completely agree. Poetry is a murky field that should purposely remain undefined. A particular piece will either speak to your or it doesn’t; that’s the nature of the endeavor. To make this a bit more personal, in an anecdote that might be leading us a bit astray from the subject, I once submitted a poem to a website that promised constructive criticism. I knew the piece wasn’t award-worthy, but I was still rather satisfied with the effort and assumed that I would at least get a few pats on the back. Instead, the piece was roundly trounced for, to boil it down, not conforming to norms and was therefore essentially useless. Not a word was said about the emotion, only the presentation. That’s why I wrote the intro to THIS blog post the way I did. I’m not going to tell you what you should find. Instead, I’m simply opening the door…

      If you’re feeling a bit adventurous, the poem in question can be found here:

      Liked by 2 people

      • Oh I shall enjoy reading the offender over coffee a little later (always striving to look elegant to the French neighbours of course) … those that talk of form should perhaps read e e cummings who I adore and whose failure to punctuate nor capitalise sentences enhances his art. Or meet my youngest daughter about to graduate her Fine Arts Batchelors Degree in Liverpool (she loves you yeah yeah yeah) and who announces quite unabashedly to anyone who cares to listen that she can do what she likes because it is art and if they can’t see it they can move on please but not punch her in the gut with overblown and often fatuous criticism. I do love a kindred and I absolutely knew you were one before I read this piece and it has served to make me more of a slave than I was yesterday!

        Liked by 1 person

        • I still remember discovering e e cummings whilst in junior high. (To be fair, the initial “discovery” wasn’t all that arduous, as I merely glanced over at a friend’s desk in English Lit class, spied a volume of what appeared to be poetry, and simply asked “Who is that?” The rest is history.) Although I had already encountered other writers who veered from convention to a degree, to run across someone with a complete disregard for what is expected was an immensely liberating sensation. (P.S. Your surprise Beatles reference caused me to erupt with a bit of a giggle snort, garnering a look of stern disapproval from Scotch the Cat. I wonder if he’s French?)

          Liked by 1 person

          • My experience exactly. cummings liberated me … it was that simple. And remains so. And anyone who can describe coital eyes as ‘big love crumbs’ has my vote – exquisite. I am delighted to elicit a snort. To verity Scotch the Cat’s ancestry find another moment to (unexpectedly) snort and note the actual nature of his startled expression. If his eyes enlarge and the place where his eyebrows would be were he human arch higher than you would believe possible BUT (and this is crucial) his mouth remains closed and effects a lip pursing that has you assuming he is sucking a whole lemon he is French. No doubt whatsoever and he must be allowed to wear a beret, drink red wine and smoke Gauloises (or Gitanes but never EVER Marlborough nor any other cigarette called ‘light’).

            Liked by 1 person

            • Ah, I now have a mission in regards to Sir Scotch. I shall study your guidelines in detail and then procure the proper recording equipment and try to catch him in the act. Perhaps I’ll even make a short documentary which can be unleashed on YouTube where absolutely no one will ever see it. I’ll keep you posted!

              Liked by 1 person

  2. I agree with Osyth, your intro was wonderful. Being a bit of a versifier, I know that what I write sometimes is not what others read, and that is how it should be, just as you said. Poetry should speak to your soul – not be some mathematical equation of placement of words.
    I’m off to visit michnavs for another fix.

    Liked by 2 people

    • While I do enjoy the challenge of a rhyme from time to time, I much prefer free verse, as evidenced by the piles of such around my house. Perhaps someday there might be a collection in all that mess, but most of it will simply remain little passages that make me smile wistfully when I’m 87…

      Liked by 1 person

      • Wistful is good, very good. I understand where you’re coming from. When I read something from a while back and think – “that’s not too shabby” I get a little glow that warms my heart.

        Liked by 1 person

  3. oh my…never would I submit my poem to a “helpful criticism” group….. if five hundred readers say it is “poignant,” or “beautiful” then I hardly notice…..but tell me my poetry is “wrong” or “doesn’t make sense” or “not a proper form”—it will break my heart and the words will sting forever. I like your blog a LOT. Victo Dolore is one of my favorite blogs!…. and THE favorite Doctor Blog. She can always be counted on to be sympathetic and understanding. I like that in a doctor…or in a poet, for that matter.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I’m glad you like the blog! As for the criticism group, I honestly went into the adventure hoping to gain some benefit and perhaps a little growth. When I realized that I was being critiqued based on things that really didn’t matter to me, I quietly closed that chapter and moved on with my life. I really don’t mind, and I even enourage, “constructive criticism” as long as the emphasis is on the first of the two words. And Victo Dolore? I admire practically every word I find on that site… 😉


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