If, in the end, what we have written or told is only a story, That, too, is well, because it is the very same thing that life has done. And even given our last word, the story goes on. See us in the Index, under Ocean, Under Flight, under Stone. . [ 1294 ]
We stay together, this body and mind. And we are still, even when we go wandering. November 19, 2021 . [ 1293 ]
Everything I write is meant for an audience of one. I address no group, large or small, and I don’t spray my words scattershot with the idea that if I aim high enough, they’re sure to hit someone. No, I’m still the farm boy I’ve always been, with a homemade slingshot and the nearest clod. And if you happen to be the one I clobber, I apologize. In person, I’m […]
When once we see everything is a flower — from wayward child to walnut shell, changing sky to ancient, mottled hand — we understand that no measurement or value can express the shimmering grace of this world. Life is so fine and so rare, it cannot be fathomed by means of comparison, or appreciated on such narrow, limiting terms. Just as there is profound strength in the whole, the individual […]
In a graveyard, on a hill — Gravity, try to stop me now. November 16, 2021 . [ 1290 ]
The mild rainy weather has given rise to a new generation of mold, creating a scented atmosphere as complex and alluring as a newly opened grave. November 15, 2021 . November The ear fills with sky-sounds, the eye with cloud-motion and leaf-fall. Distances are not what we think them at all, but blessings ripe and uncountable. The glad-spent remains of the summer garden are brought to the pile. Manure is […]
An inked page, a lined face,a trace of last night’s dream. A dark age, a bright place,a grace as much as anything. “As Much as Anything”Recently Banned Literature, June 30, 2014 Canvas 591 November 14, 2015 . [ 1288 ]
The birds are out, the robins in pairs, their colors intense. They are like little day-lanterns that help me see the light. And now it is night, and the wind is high in the meadow. And the wind is why my body is a hut the trees know. Recently Banned Literature, December 19, 2017 . [ 1287 ]
November wind by which all that is useless and spent is driven from me I like to think you begin in the heart of a small wood curious about the lives and the love of two leaves and that you are as helpless as anyone who has faith in poetry Recently Banned Literature, November 13, 2017 . [ 1286 ]
drop by drop on fallen leaves / music comes to a poem November 11, 2021 . Your Bird on Her Limb in the Rain Remember, when you describe something, you are really describing yourself. So be vivid. Describe well. The more clearly I see your bird on her limb in the rain, the more I will rejoice in your glorious spring. Recently Banned Literature, February 23, 2017 . [ 1285 […]
William Michaelian 