He’s kissing a girl who’s been packing peaches, elbow-deep in fuzz. She’s damp with sweat and has tired breath — it’s hot and the hours are long. In the house, the old farmer almost sleeps through lunch. His wife watches through the window — she knows the boy — but of course it’s his parents she really knows. And anyway, it’s not her daughter, the pretty girl from town, just […]
Of our love, may others say they are moved to poetry. Of our foolishness, may they say they are moved to love. [ 503 ]
Suddenly I notice that scratching my left arm near the elbow makes a cricket-sound. After being a cricket for a minute or two, I’m ready to be human again, albeit differently. Now I wonder if I was human before. And what if this is a sign that I’m becoming a cricket, or that I’ve really been a cricket all along, or that I was, or will be, a cricket in […]
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 […]
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 […]
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
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It seemed almost rude last night to close the front door while a cricket was singing just outside. And yet a short while later, ready for sleep, I could still hear it, steady and measured, through the adjacent bedroom window. In less than a minute, I could no longer distinguish my heartbeat and breath from its rhythm and song. And I thought, the first and last word in all human […]
Just enough to wake a field, beneath a cooling street. Just enough to calm her, with restless tiny feet. Summer is a penny jar, slowly being filled. Fall’s a longing child. Winter is a graveyard walk. Spring’s a flowered mile. And love is just the way they talk, and joy’s their cry, and peace their smile. August 10, 2019 [ 476 ]
To accept the differences in children, loved ones, strangers, and friends, is one thing; to give thanks for them is another. Do both. And include, then forget, yourself. The moon is on the wane; and, once again, no one has the heart to tell her. A furry black bee is reveling in the blue flowers of the Agapanthus. Agapanthus: love, flower. July 29, 2019 The Greeting Now the greeting […]
William Michaelian 