To me, one strange thing about living is having a name. Another is so many not thinking it strange. First Came the Meanings First came the meanings then their names chamomile squirrel supper table the boy himself a pebble down a well loving the hand that let him go Recently Banned Literature, May 10, 2013 [ 416 ]
Up in time to find a dove confessing to a weightless sliver moon. “First Impression” Poems, Slightly Used, July 20, 2009 Ask Me How Or Why Ask me how or why, I simply do not know. There is no purpose, only setting out. No work as precious notion. Or play that means escape. Prayer, perhaps? In the sense that love’s an ocean. And everything is yes. That the pieces […]
Q. Do you have any advice for writers? A. Yes. Fewer Words Fewer words, and fewer still — until you find yourself rich pulp, seed blessed, sweet juice, expressed. Recently Banned Literature, July 13, 2015 [ 412 ]
Was I sand then? That’s what my father asked when he was a child listening to family stories that took place before he was born. The ritual began when his mother first told him, You were sand then. In time, he no longer needed to ask. He simply said, I was sand then. Born in 1923. Sand again. The Great Questions The great questions, and as many stars or […]
All through the neighborhood, I find the wrinkled lips and toothless mouths of decaying iris blooms. Some are still sticky with color, evidence of spring sweets consumed. The evening breeze blows powder from their necks. No one visits. And so they pass, without regret, from glory days to introspection. Time for tea. The blessing of infinity to wise old aunts, so patient with the foolishness of boys and men. June […]
It is a petty kingdom that engenders fear and commands respect. It is a peaceful one that encourages hope, and acts with love. And that these kingdoms exist in the mind and heart, is what must first be understood. “Of Kingdoms” Recently Banned Literature, February 26, 2018 Bones Isn’t the news something these days? isn’t it always? wasn’t it when we were kids, and wasn’t it when we came […]
Once, during my childhood, I caused the death of a bird. Or I was caused to cause it, to drive a lesson home — That fallen from a tree, a sparrow is a rainbow on the ground. Sunlight Stored In Bone Sunlight stored in bone — life, limb, bird, song, leaf, gone, flown. Recently Banned Literature, December 2, 2014 [ 403 ]
The dry grass of my ambition has a beauty all its own.
All the more so with the fences down.
And the graveyard overgrown.
Portland, Oregon — December 1988
Before Me, the Past
Before me, the past speeds ahead.
It arrives, I know not when.
Behind me, the future is silent.
It knows that I am dead.
Pity, there is no grief in starlight.
Mercy, cries for the unborn.
Duty, is a failed science.
Love, walks alone.
You show me a sign.
A bright, fathomless smile.
As if there were, anything.
As if we were, real.
As if, rainbows give birth to children.
And they do: rainbows, and strawberries.
Fallen angels, white as any snowflake.
Black as an eye in a song.
Blue, as when light returns.
Green, because everything is so damn silly.
Honeyed as any flower.
Or as the scent and color of skin.
Intimate, as graveyard stone.
Whispers, with cold gray fingertips.
Wet shoes: where have I been?
And how did you find me?
A siren in a cityscape.
Moonlight, on a table.
Perhaps, or, simply, fate.
A wet sponge by the sink.
A leaf, a candle.
An unexpected need.
Poems, Slightly Used, November 21, 2010
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An impartial reading of history reveals that with few exceptions, what is considered good diplomacy is really nothing more than pressing one’s advantages and driving a hard bargain. But these mean business principles are hardly something to take pride in, and the so-called fruits of their gains only strengthen the chains that bind us. There is no honor among thieves. And there is certainly no more dignity in their legalized […]
I make no distinction between our online and flesh experience; wherever we are, whatever we are doing, this is the room we are in; this is our meal between us; this is our joy, and pain, and grief, and doubt. That We Write Each Other That we write each other in this way fulfills a very old promise. And the promise is this: that those of us not met […]
William Michaelian 