Cricket in the fern, cricket in the bush —
oh, the lovers who never meet in this world,
turned poets, one by one, like us!
Minstrel
Primitive: Selected Drawings in Pixel, Pencil & Pen, 2010
[ 498 ]
Perchance to Dream
A calendar not marked by dates, but cricket wakes and thunderstorms. A journal of bright Shakespearean colors — and then, in wanders gray and takes the stage. A fallen leaf, written without hand or pen. A leavened moon. A risen when. [ 497 ]
Still Life
These three vases, common as they seem — striped, floral, and one a jug for milk — were bought to hold flowers, bright before they wilt. Then came an early snow, an august summer blizzard and haze to blow September free and clear, and some still say they see her here in the strange white gown she’s come to wear, and I believe them — else how would these petals […]
If this is the letter O,
I can only wonder about the rest of the alphabet,
and what brings on these spells.
The Letter O — August 26, 2019
In a Vast White Space
A little boy, with a little apple and sticky hands,
busy the spirits about him, busy the wind,
many the voices, solemn, joyous,
in a vast white space,
written in plain white words,
a white ball chased by a wide white hound,
an alphabet of snow,
and you, with your funny little arrows,
ink-tipped, turned upon yourself,
in a vast white space, an apple,
turning red.
Recently Banned Literature, June 2, 2014
(written on the nineteenth anniversary of my father’s death)
[ 495 ]
The Letter O — In a Vast White Space
Scene from a Recurring Childhood
If my age is equivalent to the number of times the earth has traveled around the sun since I was born, how old would I be if I lived on another planet, or in another galaxy, or in another universe altogether? And isn’t this what I already do? The degree to which I resist things as they are — that might be a more accurate rendering of my age. The […]
Emergency
A grape on the tongue, and language is born. Or is it dream? Or is it memory? Emergency He was riding his bicycle slowly over the bumpy dirt road that ran between his father’s vineyard and the neighbor’s. It was late summer. The atmosphere was warm and still, and the air was heavy with the scent of ripening fruit. As he wobbled along, he noted with pleasure the tracks […]
Or Should I Say
The strawberries are blooming again. During the past few weeks, with my encouragement and approval, they have sent runners in every direction. Joint by joint, new plants are tacking themselves to whatever bare ground they can find. And where they are growing over rocks, they are rooting in the gaps in between. The secret? Water, along with the understanding that every inch of this wise old earth is a sacred […]
Stumble-Step
Remember, thou child collector of impressions, thou art also the collected one. Stumble-Step The stumble-step of a tiny calf, born of an elderly mother — see how the herd gathers ’round. [ 491 ]
Canvas 298 — August 21, 2013
More Than Anything
Love does not say, “See the bad man.”
Love says, “Come, let us find the good in ourselves.”
Love does not heap shame on those who are lost.
Love remains near, that they may be found.
Love does not say, “This one, but not this one.”
Love says, “In good time, all.”
Love does not wait with a flag at the wall.
Love is a lantern in your heart, filled with starlight.
Love does not say, “Peace is a dream.”
Love says, “Love, more than anything.”
Recently Banned Literature, November 22, 2016
Essays and Collections, November 2016: Poems and Passages
[ 490 ]
Canvas 298 — More Than Anything
At the Flower Show
During the last few years of her life, my mother did not know the time, the day, the month, the season, the year, or the name of the town where she lived. She just lived. She liked music. She liked flowers. She liked apple juice. She did not like pain. Now, I know what time it is. But I do not know what time is. I like rain. At […]
William Michaelian 
You must be logged in to post a comment.