William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings

Symphonies and Bridges — Two Poems

Another thing I’ve noticed while writing is that when the subject at hand brings something else I’ve written to mind, that something else is far less likely to be a piece from the last two or three years. For whatever reason, my thoughts drift back to older associations, as if the paths that take me there are more familiar and well worn. This could be a sign that my memory is failing. Or it might be that the older work came into being during more challenging or difficult times, and this has etched it more deeply into my mind. Another possibility — and I’ve referred to this here before — is that as I live, I am less and less the one who is writing, and more and more the one who is being written. When I write and publish something now, I don’t congratulate myself or dwell on it, I let go of it immediately. And so when, by whatever accident, I do encounter it later, I am in effect reading something that could have been written by anyone. When eventually I find out it was me, I smile and move on. Yet another possibility is that by virtue of the nature of this project and journal itself, I have naturally gone back to the beginning and am working forward, which would mean I will get to the more recent work by and by. Whatever the case, one or the other, all, or none of the above, what follows is the result of an encounter I had a number of days ago, very early on Christmas morning — two poems written on Christmas Day 2016, preserved here and now before I forget them again.

I Get Up, and What Do I Find

I get up, and what do I find, but the sweetness of pain and infinite light,
nothing to lose, nothing to gain, and everything right,
as reigns in this world this death and this life,
this hurt and this strife,

I get up,
and what do I find,

but a star so bright I am gloriously blind.

Recently Banned Literature, December 25, 2016



Symphonies and Bridges

Deep down, you know it’s all true — the war, the poverty,
the symphonies, the bridges, space flight, the cello, the monastery,
the pilgrim, the wind chime — and you know it’s perfect
and sacred just as it is, as right as a recipe
written in your mother’s
own hand,

oh dear lord look at you, where have you been?

out playing, out sleighing, out walking this land,
out in the moonlight, seeking the daylight,
out being a child and being a man,

sit down, then, but first wash your hands,
and I will clothe you and feed you
with all that I have,

with symphonies and bridges,
and sugar thrown in,

with love and with riches I still can’t explain,
but deep down, I know it’s all true,
and that’s what I give, and that’s what I am.

Recently Banned Literature, December 25, 2016

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Categories: Everything and Nothing, Recently Banned Literature

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