Civilized
We are not all marigolds or roses. Some of us are nettles, some are chickweed, some mint. How quiet the church house, the burial ground! How perfect the hedge! December 13, 2020 . [ 956 ]
Tag Archive for ‘Poetry’
Granite Verse
The winter light, the old books and photographs, pierce me through and through. I move among them with my teacup like a ghost. I do not bleed from my old wounds. They might be kisses, for all I know. Words are like that too. They never say themselves. They do not know how. Yet they rule the world, each a tyger burning bright, each of heaven, each of hell. Shakespeare […]
A Fair Beginning
On my deathbed, deep in the heart of age, I would be blessed to hear a voice say, You have made a fair beginning. And if there were no voice, another sign — wind along the eaves, or hummingbird befriend me. Should I hear it twice, I would not know my name; a third time, maybe — given to a tree outside, or a tiny newborn baby. December 12, 2020. […]
Old Man Winter
Should I fall asleep and never waken — but what if that has already happened, and this life I have lived, and am living still, is but an instant of the dreamy outcome? . Old Man Winter Daylight spilling from his tattered sack takes all night to reach the ground. I’m a penny on a railroad track. Choo-choo. Choo-choo-chooooooo. Poems, Slightly Used, November 26, 2010 . [ 952 ]
Counting
Fruit is falling — ripe, soft, hard, green. Humanity is the shaken tree. December 6, 2020 . [ 949 ]
As It Is Written
I have pruned orchards, and rows and rows of vines. Mud on the ladder, frost on the ground. This makes me different somehow. Cold toes. Orange peels. The bright fur coats of faithful hounds. Now my pen has wooden handles, with a blade at the end. In the fog, its voice makes the strangest sound. November 29, 2020 . As It Is Written After a long day’s work, the writer […]
As the Crow Flies
I cannot even say, with certainty, It is what it is. Does it really exist? Do I? Is the existence of one dependent upon the other, and vice-versa? Do you and I exist, if we do, because of each other, and perhaps even for each other? Are our lives a dream? Are we living now, or then, or some other when? Are we dead? Are we in the womb unborn? […]
Encore
In the dark chill, between boughs, a thought not quite a thought moves — flutters, falls . [ 942 ]
Copper Rain
More than halfway through, I’m not quite sure how I feel about George Schuyler’s satirical novel, Black No More. It’s certainly not without humor, and not without a large measure of truth. In the clever guise of science fiction, it is, in effect, a witty, sharply drawn editorial cartoon on American race relations. That I find the bitter edge of its caricature unappealing, says as much about me as it […]
Storm Poem
From midnight on, the house has been pelted with branches and cones.Their clatters and clunks sound like a roofing crew. Such is November in the ark.Will Ararat be visible come daylight? Or will it be leveled by the flood?O, wind! O, rain! Wash this blood from the breast of the dove! November 13, 2020 . [ 929 ]
William Michaelian 