Yellow Poem
Birch carpet, fly me home — make my life a yellow poem. . [ 1607 ]
Tag Archive for ‘Poems’
Child’s Verse
Each act a kindness, each breath a prayer, Each word a poem that finds us there. . [ 1560 ]
The Mask
Warm, cloudy, humid. Fires east, fires south. And here I am, recognizing once again the sheer luxury it is to be able, for so long, to pursue my tiny line of thinking — to read my books, to write my notes and poems and then pretend them to the world — for pretending and publishing are much alike — tho’ the mask I wear is nearly identical to what it’s […]
Phases
What’s left of the moon a perfect little fingernail I remember when our baby girl was born . [ 1499 ]
Outside In, Inside Out
The grass behind the house is on the wild side. Shaded most of the day, it stays green if left alone. No mowing, no water. Churchyard grass. Perfect for imagined goats. Pick things up, then set them down again. Sticks, leaves, stones. Rainbows. Poems. The days and nights themselves. A swarm of bushtits in the cedar. Some are upside down. What’s the world to them? Outside in. Inside out. The […]
Jiggity-Jig
When we set out in the cold this morning, the body said, Are we sure? We didn’t answer, of course. And when we finished our run, with our feet wet and warm, the body again said, Are we sure? We climbed the steps, let ourselves in. Took off our wet cap, dried our sandals, and propped them against the wall above the furnace vent. Coffee? we said. Gladly, was the […]
War Is Over
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 […]
Foolish Questions
On the tracks to the east, a train’s heading north. A long train. North through the fog, beneath a full moon. The moon that kept us up most of the night. Light in the room. Light between the closed blinds. But it’s the silence up there that I wonder about. I can’t help thinking how strong the moon must be. Is that why it’s round? To keep it from being […]
Short Poem, Long Poem
short poem, long poem soft low stop go then now my father’s last breath . [ 1376 ]
Morning Tea
After sipping icy water spiced by moss-crowned leaves, the robin flies from the birdbath to the fence-top for a meeting with the squirrel. When they arrive, they find the sun already waiting at the spot. Welcome to my secret hideaway, says he. I’m surprised you found it. Then the clouds move, and the sun, the robin, and the squirrel disappear. And here we find the poet, not quite ready, in […]
William Michaelian 