After the Fall
Why does the bird sing? Because it will? Because it must? Because it can? As the child is a poet, the child is a man. And the man goes out on a limb. Why does the man sing? To break, and to bend. To break . . . . . and to bend. [ 20 ]
Tag Archive for ‘Poetry’
Long Time Passing
My mother grew sweet alyssum in the bed by the porch. That is my childhood. There is more, of course. Her birthday on the Fourth. And the force that transformed us. Mind gone, her body a torch. Mine gone, to alyssum. And a smile that could be a rainbow, or door. A limb to sing from? A wind chime? A breeze? An arch? [ 18 ]
Now and Then
Or the time after the war my father walked the horse and plow several miles to the north side of town and another farm to do a job for two dollars — that plow there behind the house, surrounded by next year’s bluebells, if you can imagine them — or him, smiling at his good fortune and at the vineyard beyond — less one brother. Or just the other day, […]
And You Will Be Blessed
Somewhere, in this very moment, there is a peach ripening, and somehow it will find you and drive you mad. And you will be blessed to forget the rest, everything you have thought, and done, and feared, and said. If this seems a riddle, it is. If you prefer strawberries, go right ahead. That is where joy comes in. It is like standing in a waterfall while receiving guests. Come […]
Canvas 927 and Canvas 928 first appeared in Recently Banned Literature.
They were later included in the Fall 2017 issue of Akitsu Quarterly.
Another drawing and a very short poem will be published in the Fall 2018 issue.
Canvas 927
Canvas 928
[ 12 ]
Two Drawings
Joyous, Loud, and Something Else
Coffee on, I was reading near the open front window this morning at a little after four, when a robin started singing, either from the lush volunteer cedar near the walk, or from the roof, or from the tall juniper directly across from the window and behind the dahlias. I couldn’t quite tell, but its voice was so joyous and so loud, all I could do was stop and listen. […]
Long Train
By winding path and riverbed, prickly plant and honey shed, the thoughts you thought you hid, but can’t. [ 9 ]
Ink and Pen
How a bird about to sing, instinctively seeks the highest branch. How a bell about to ring, shivers at the hand. How a joy about to be, has always been. How you are the bird, the song, the branch, the bell, The sound, the hand, the joy, The now, the when. And how, and then, in one last breath, You put it down, and pick it up, and […]
Footfall
When clearing tight small areas of debris, I use our grandson’s miniature rake. When I walk, I notice that most other yards have no tight small areas, because the machines the owners use to maintain order have destroyed them, or otherwise dictated their absence. The standard result is one uniform yard, whereas, when I work outside, I see multiple yards, I see worlds within worlds, I see light and shade […]
In Season
Strawberries. Blueberries. Blackberries. Cherries. I could spend the next hour experimenting with the order of those four words, to see and hear which looks and sounds best with the color, flavor, and meaning they convey — or the next week, and the next, until berries and cherries give way to melons and peaches. And if I say it’s a listening thing, the falling of water on rocks and the crack […]
William Michaelian 