In the Garden
Salt on a sparrow’s tail, and a world of things unseen — Dear one — your hand — is shaking — [ 704 ]
Tag Archive for ‘Poetry’
Love, Look at the Two of Us
A seed, breaking through hard ground. Human seeds, all around. What this poor poet has so long tried to say, is expressed far more eloquently by the beautiful virus in our midst. Beautiful? Yes. For this is how a mother reminds her children when they heedlessly, carelessly forget — that we — are all — connected. For this, and for all things, she has my gratitude. Seen by my wife […]
Bring the Blossom
The doves were here again today. They have visited the fig tree about five times now. And the cherry trees have started to snow. Their petals are like pages, where poetry goes. March 21, 2020. Afternoon. Bring the Blossom As a child knows to scratch the ground just where the earth most needs it, love brings the blossom down to please it — love, bring the blossom, my vow […]
Begging Bowl
I will be the cherry tree, and you will never know. March 20, 2020. Afternoon. [ 700 ]
Spring and All
The hyacinth censed what the lilac meant by the swelling of its buds — this way, love — March 20, 2020 [ 699 ]
In the River Remarkably Still
Will the doves choose the fig tree for their nest? They were back again yesterday afternoon, settled peacefully in the same place, which would safely support a new home. Maybe if they are left undisturbed long enough, they will decide to stay. Then again, considering the way they watch us through the kitchen window, they might also be angels. Earlier in the day, I rode with our eldest son up […]
Writing About Cherry Blossoms
Yesterday morning we drove past the cherry trees in the park across from the state capitol. Given the chilly weather lately — there was even some snow on the ground in the hilly areas around town — it will be many days yet before they are at the peak of their bloom. I was out this morning at the first hint of light, walking in an icy wind. I thought […]
Impermanence and Beauty
Impermanence and Beauty are sisters. To know one, you must know the other. And when you do, there’s no telling them apart. How I love them — their sky a mirror, their hair full of cherry blossoms. March 13, 2020 [ 694 ]
Day Book
Which should I believe? Which should I trust? Earth’s April, or the April in my mind? The many Aprils, the Aprils of loss, the Aprils of discovery, the Aprils of love? None? Both? All? The Aprils of the foolishest of the most foolish of fools? The April of fine calendars, of which my mother has no need, and knows nothing about? March 11, 2020 [ 691 ]
Steps
The worm moon — on such a clear morning, even her robins are visible. March 10, 2020 Steps “When she rests in the apple tree — that’s when we’ll harvest the moon.” And they took great care with the ladder, not to make a sound. “Son? Do you see her face? Why are you looking down?” And that is what he remembers, this day in the […]
William Michaelian 