Three poems by Christopher Kobylinsky

"Wheel of Fortune," "Schubert in the Wind," and "A Triptych for Sonny Rollins"

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

Wheel of Fortune


There are times when
roadkill becomes
the crow’s delight—
life is what you make
it, they say, but what
about the opposite?—
even the wind that whirls
the last leaves
of autumn as though
they’d caught air from
the fan blades around
the wheel of fortune
can sail a kite, though
one can’t often help 
but wonder if
it’s me or the wind
that pulls the string 
tight—as though lightning 
could be struck
by Benjamin Franklin
 

Photo by Vijesh Datt on Unsplash

Schubert in the Wind


Think of a man whose health can never be restored... – F.S.

A wind blows through and through tonight,
it howls through headphones,

like dread the dying huntsman hears
it sweeps sniffing against the window,

it makes a seashell-led quintet 
of Schubert’s own

string quartet, it soars, it cries in
desperate D minor chords—

breaks each cloud apart—and look!
Orion’s Belt? Or only stars? 
 
 

Photo by Jack Hunter on Unsplash

A Triptych for Sonny Rollins


1. Almost Like Being in Love

this has been a rare mood,
most like bein’ whole,
most like bein’ the music
of a bell ringing for
the ear I swear I was—
in love…


2. I’m an Old Cowhand

I hand my legs my cheeks,
I don’t know how to stand,
I’m no star, no song—
we’re from the town where 
the radio is all borderland,
where the buffalo roam 
around a rug or
the barbecue…


3. God Bless the Child

that’s not the Bible,
that’s his own child
crowdin’ ‘round the door—
you yourself the child
that’s got, that may have,
the yes he’s got…

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From the author:

I have had poems previously published in Grey Hands Literary Magazine, Poor Yorick Journal, Incessant Pipe, Scapegoat Review, and Poetry Quarterly.