September 29, 2017 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

Samuel Zeller photo



Paul Ilechko




Kyrie Eleison



Bring to me Eleison.

Bring to me the glorious light.

Beneath the fluttering storm of feathers,

behind the frozen window-pane,

I find again the unwanted sound,

a flagellant blast of trumpet,

an echo of diminishing returns.


And here we form our lines,

presenting arms, present

tense, taut as steel wire

stretching from pillar to post.

Where Eleison, bringer of dreams,

brings resolution to the mighty

crashing chordal resonance

at the end of all our days.


Here we create the necessary sound,

the tentative ripple of mystery,

pulled whole cloth from the cuffs

of our shirtsleeves, stitched with

a palest fragrance, aromatic and

attaching — this we shall retain. This we

shall repeat, chorus after chorus to infinity.

To Eleison — to the light of winter trees

reflecting through the glass of

the shattered pane of life.






Purple Morning



The purple-violet violence

of a cloud-damaged sunrise

bruises the sky. A puzzling

sadness, weary and unwarranted,

plays on repeat, pouring out

its message of despair upon

the flaccid pebble-wrack

of the river bank. Finality

decays, the half-life of life itself,

decays the way a storm withers

into nothingness from radar green

to empty air. The way a chord,

once struck, may only recede.

Life is parabolic — like a fire

that blazes into being, consumes

all fuel, and disappears.


This morning is just another morning.

This day might offer grace.

Exhale the breath that aids the burning.

Expunge the tear that mars your face.






Paul Ilechko

Paul Ilechko was born in England but has lived much of his life in the USA. He currently lives in Lambertville, NJ with his girlfriend and a cat. Paul has had poetry published recently by Dash Literary Journal, Gravel Magazine, Gloom Cupboard, MockingHeart Review and Slag Review, among others.

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