Spotlight: Kevin M. Hibshman
It's an excellent day to share with you the work of an individual I find highly talented. It is with great enthusiasm I share with you, on the Jimmy Broccoli page and website, the poetry of Kevin M. Hibshman.
I first ran across Kevin's poems several months ago. What initially caught my eye was his attention to detail and the "realness" of his work. Kevin writes about life the way it really is and how it is really experienced - using exceptional, yet down-to-earth, poetic language. His poetry is always unique, intelligent, and enjoyable to experience.
Kevin in his own words:
Writing authenticates my life. I view it mostly as a tool to further investigate and document the human condition as it presents itself uniquely to me. The privilege to share this work allows me to hope others will be able to relate to the commonality that connects us all regardless of who or where we are in life.
Here are two poems by Kevin M. Hibshman - and I know you'll love them as much as I do!
Time to whittle things down.
I don't have expensive habits save for cigarettes and
I suppose I could drop them and survive.
There's no night life anymore.
No need for other than utilitarian clothing which also has
become barely affordable.
Not with my kidneys.
Junk food is still pretty cheap and still
I don't drive, have never owned a car.
Our little house is about the only monthly concern, oh,
How can I forget my student loans like an invisible ball and chain?
At least I have kept them at a do-able rate.
Not entertaining anything but fantasies.
At the end of every stretched day, sleep becomes the ultimate luxury.
Kevin M. Hibshman
Life Has Been Your Parachute
We wait with balled fists and white knuckles.
We receive the updates.
You set your bed sheets on fire.
The fish your mother brought you was really human flesh.
The police cuffed you after you ran down the street screaming protests
against rampant cannibalism.
You call to inform us of a relapse.
You scored crack on a side street where it has known to have been cut with
We hold our breath waiting for the next call.
You sell your coveted Star Wars memorabilia to buy more acid.
The voices that come are not friendly.
You frighten your neighbors while arguing with yourself loudly
using two different voices.
Last Winter you made it all the way to D.C.
Thomas Jefferson wanted you to save the Union.
Life is your parachute.
You have yet to hit the ground.
We watch you cycle through several layers of delirium.
Your mother prays.
Your father repairs to the garage to hide.
I wonder how much longer you'll be able to cheat what seems to be your fate.
Life has been your parachute.
It has been one hell of a free fall.
Kevin M. Hibshman
Photo: Kevin M. Hibshman