William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings

Dreams

Strawberries — Haiku, Poem, and Dream

Indeed, love bids the earnest question: Can one have truly tasted a fresh, ripe strawberry and still believe in politics and war? The answer is, quite clearly, No. May 17, 2019   Haiku June With my very own eyes — a ripe strawberry picking a little girl. Poems, Slightly Used, June 18, 2009       Rainbow Ring Around the Sun Rainbow ring around the sun rain to come grandson […]

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Is the early-morning tapping of woodpeckers a form of communication? Is it song?

Is the mind’s ear the source of an echo?

And what of the mind’s eye? Is that where we go when we’re gone?

Canvas 1,176 — March 14, 2018

Canvas 1,176 — March 14, 2018

Anonymous

I see you on a swing in a doorway
between two failing timbers,

caught by an echo
in the black night beyond.

Recently Banned Literature, May 23, 2011

Canvas 1,176 — Anonymous

Jung and Easily Freudened, Specimen 1

I used to have dreams about work not done. I was behind on the farm, I was late, the necessity and importance of the job had completely slipped my mind. An example: suddenly it was April or May, and I realized I had forgotten to prune ten whole acres of vines. Always, or almost always, the dreams culminated in a feeling of guilt and shame. It has been many years […]

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Christmas Dream

Christmas Dream

  Christmas Dream By the time we had finished unwrapping my father, we were all very old and yet for all that he still blinked and smiled and said,                   “We need more wood on the fire.” Songs and Letters, December 24, 2008

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In the Half-Lit Damp I See a Face

In a dream last night, I was visited by one, or two, or three white-haired gentlemen I apparently should have known, but who were only vaguely familiar. They knew my name, but I did not know theirs. They seemed to be waiting for me to remember. Finally, I confessed I was at a loss, upon which one gave me a hint, a rather long and mystical-sounding title of a musical […]

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As Any Thing That Is

I’ve lived in Oregon for more than half of my sixty-two years, yet rare is the day I don’t think about the place of my birth. And there are numerous dreams. Back in 2014, this one became a poem. And yes, there really were nights like this.   As Any Thing That Is Another night in the old hometown. The streets we used to roam. The lights are out. There […]

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Dreaming of Books

I did something a couple of days ago that I’ve never done before. I bought books online from a shop in England: The Works of Sir Thomas Browne, published in three volumes by John Grant in 1927 in Edinburgh. Anymore, there are very few of these complete sets available. I’ve watched them come and go at prices higher than I’m able or care to spend. This time around. I was […]

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