The Gift Was a Word
I don’t remember the year. But I was quite small. The gift was a word. I’m unwrapping it still. Recently Banned Literature, December 25, 2013 . [ 1270 ]
Tag Archive for ‘Poetry’
Poem
There is a seam in my glass mug, but no hem and no zipper. What holds the two edges together? What keeps the neck from raveling? The mug is wearing a glistening pendant with transparent chain: A bead of moisture suspended, a sweet drop of rain. Her skin is the color of coffee: trembling, scented, reflective. There is conversation: memory: faded print, falling away. October 25, 2021 . [ 1268 […]
How, of a Morninge
Goose Lake. A dense fog, the cottonwoods dripping, the oaks, the cherries, the brambles, the berries. For the first time in a year we are able to walk to the water’s edge. This end of the lake is very shallow and full of decaying lilies, between which can be seen the mossy bottom just inches below. Quiet. Few birds are out, and none are chattering or calling from the immediate […]
A Simple Rhyme for Grown Children
You have been kind. I have been blind. And you have been blind. And I have been kind. Kindness and blindness bind us. Let’s keep that in mind, And find love. . [ 1258 ]
Apology
Words are shadows cast by meaning.My intent? Aye, there’s the rub. The sun is understanding:it leaves me blind, strands me in the wood. Recently Banned Literature, December 18, 2012 . [ 1257 ]
The Page and the Moon
The rising sliver of the waning moon is good company. So is a blank page. I have seen many of the latter dawn and fade over the years, very nearly one each day — fade into print, into scratch, swirl, and scrawl. But if I had to choose between the page and the moon, I would keep the moon and let go of the page. And while it is one […]
To Build a Fire
That little word, a flame — out with your breath. Recently Banned Literature, November 13, 2013 . [ 1238 ]
Curious Symbols
The recorded voice of a long dead relative and the old associations it stirs. How the first fall rain wakens mold in the yard. Leaves in his eyes, moss on his arms. Then you realize that all those years he was alive, you witnessed only the talking version of him, and never, not once, the solitary, the silent. Or, perhaps, that was his silence. As this is yours. Pages and […]
Autumn Fires
Can you imagine standing on your bare feet in dewy grass, and still thinking you must search for the truth? Sept 21, 2021 . Autumn Fires On the sidewalk after coffee, my dead father appears long enough to inhale the smoke rising from my friend’s freshly lit cigarette. The three of us smile, say nothing. Recently Banned Literature, November 12, 2009 . [ 1234 ]
Shall I Tell You?
Being right is such a small, fleeting thing. I would rather be loved, Or unnoticed, than looked up to, respected, and feared. It rained through the night — Shall I tell you about my wet feet? — about her smile when I came in from the yard? September 19, 2021 . [ 1233 ]
William Michaelian 
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