Now that I think of it, No Tobacco, a poem that is a story that is a poem, fits nicely within the style or genre known as Magical Realism. What happens in it is to me, though, an everyday reality, because reality, while impossible to define, is a magical experience. When I say impossible, I mean it’s impossible for me, no doubt in part because I don’t need or want […]
How lovely. My first thought is, What Others See is ripe for illustration. My second is, how wonderful it would be if I could somehow see what you imagine as you read this fairy tale of a poem. That would be magical indeed. ~ [ 2010 ]
Long ago, in my fabled childhood, my piano teacher, Mrs. Crawford, told my mother one evening that I had perfect pitch. This was in my first year, when I used to sing with every note — not because it was expected of me, or that it was part of the lesson; the singing was a spontaneous result of everything that was going on — the sound, the feel of the […]
An owl calling, a star falling, and night, the solemn magician. . [ 1542 ]
Steady rain — three inches and counting. There are rows of tents in the park downtown, where, decades ago, families gathered and children played. Sometime during the night, I awoke from a dream in which I and some unknown but familiar others were approached and threatened by a vague form of hostility. As the danger grew nearer, we watched and waited near a glistening cedar. Suddenly the danger was gone, […]
I was ankle-deep in organic composted dairy manure, shovel in hand, when the mailman stopped at the foot of the garden space and said with a smile, “I just realized you look exactly like Gandalf.” I pointed to the manure pile in the driveway and replied, “And this is the source of my magic.” Under the vine, then, under the apricot, under the blueberry. Under the sun, the moon, and […]
William Michaelian 