William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings

Tag Archive for ‘Meaning’

Your Answer

What do they mean? Do you ever ask the words themselves? Or do you expect them to do as you tell them? If they were your children, would you demand their rigid compliance, or would you give them the freedom and space they need to blossom? Your answer reveals the kind if writer, speaker, thinker, dreamer you are. If you’re sure the words you use are at your command, then […]

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Scratches

Sometimes I look at the last scratch and think this is no way to end, and then I scratch, and scratch, and scratch again. Sometimes I look and think this is the perfect way to end, and then I scratch, and scratch, and scratch again. Sometimes I look and I do end, only to find myself scratching again. And then I look at them. I look at them, and think […]

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Star Light, Star Bright

A picture of a mountain isn’t a mountain. So with a river, a flower, and those we hate and love. Memory, too, is a kind of picture, as are words. The word mountain isn’t a mountain. But to show each other our pictures, we climb mountains and mountains of words. The memory of something that happened isn’t the happening. Maybe that’s one reason we keep fighting wars. Genocide in books […]

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Cricket in the Rhododendron

I used to have a printer, and reams of paper on hand. Envelopes and postage stamps. Now I have a cricket in the rhododendron. I have the things I’ve said, and what I thought they meant. But only as I do or don’t remember them. A closet full of books I no longer need or wear. The coat that fit me when I had short beard and hair. Dust enough […]

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Juniper Tales

Yesterday I saw a hummingbird visit a small spider that had made its web in the juniper, about fifteen feet above the ground. Twice it appeared to touch the spider with its long beak, and each time it did so, the spider held perfectly still. Then, when the hummingbird zipped away, the spider moved to the tip of the nearest branch. It’s hard to know exactly what happened. The hummingbird […]

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Pause

The big rhododendron by the front door’s in full bloom. Each bud, when open, holds about a dozen flowers. It would be meaningless to say they’re red — just as it would be meaningless to say that this is the first day of June. What I hope will not be meaningless, tho’ it matters not one way or the other, is that I’ll be stepping away from my online publishing […]

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Borne by the Bier

Sweet sleep, for we might say sleep is that from which we arise, to emerge at birth and find ourselves astonished by the light; and then, at the appointed time, that to which we return, ripe and ready for the next miracle. Sweet, for how could it not be? — as sweet as the sleep of the child one was, is, and will become — sweet as the dew on […]

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