Once I realized I would live forever, I forgot all about it. Truth be told, if in my life there’s a common theme, it’s that almost without exception, whatever flash of insight I have, or feel I have, I forget within a day or two. And so it might be said that my present understanding is an accumulation of inspired residue dating back to childhood, those tiny bits which, against […]
Two and a half miles and two owls. Robins and rain. Petals and pollen. Street, feet, sandal-squeak. And that was my run. My brother’s funeral has come and gone. It was in Edmonton. We were here at home. There was video provided the next day, despite a power outage during the service, which left the room dark. A side door had to be opened to admit some light. Admit the […]
How much of what I tell is made up? And what part of it is true? All, all. December 30, 2021 . After the Snow A wind has come up — as if somewhere in the earth, perhaps in the ground behind the house, a door, a hatch, previously unknown, has been flung open to admit a sudden gust of hope — gust, spelled ghost, for, just as suddenly, the […]
Less than two inches of rain appears to have raised the level of Mission Lake about one foot. The thick green coating of algae remains undisturbed. The dead tree upon which birds roosted during summer is now mostly submerged. Further on, a great blue heron rests on what remains visible of another snag, soaking up the very bright early morning sun. The path, too, has been transformed; the dust is […]
After writing for so many years, after devoting so many pages to pixel and print, it’s only right to ask myself what, or how much, I might be keeping hidden — not from those who are kind enough to read them, but from the one sitting here, tapping away at his keyboard. It’s not simply a matter of confession. Even if I were to divulge the most private and personal […]
After some time away, I’ve drifted back into Emerson’s journal, where, after reading for a while today, I found myself on Page 590 of the first volume of the two-volume Library of America edition. This time around, the searching sweetness of his observations makes me feel like a butterfly or hummingbird; his hesitations, confessions, and insights are flowers. It’s a springtime, summertime reading. Our grapes are in bloom. After losing […]
As long as this body is in the world, and as long as it remains lit from within, the urge, the desire, the need, is to tell all — the instinct, the drive, the purpose, the dream. I am my own living and breathing confession, and by this confession, my life is fulfilled. I walked very early this morning on streets shimmering with particles of ice. The sky was almost […]
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 […]
It’s true that in terms of my past, I have not written about everything. And it’s just as true that I have. I might not have written about this or that directly. But what I have learned from my puny struggles in life sheds light on what I do write about, and ultimately choose to preserve. The challenges, incidents, and embarrassments are all well represented. And this is not a […]
William Michaelian 