Through the Song
I walk until the poem is done come in and write it down and tho’ I soon forget the words I live them through the song ~ [ 2117 ]
Tag Archive for ‘Writing’
Cedar Silence
Fourteen weeks of daily early-morning running: suddenly it sounds ridiculous — about as ridiculous as publishing daily blog entries — as if I really have that much to say, or there’s that much that truly needs to be said, and which might not be better and more fully expressed by silence — or by walking across the street and shaking my neighbor’s hand for no special reason, other than the […]
Thinking We Know
Talking to ourselves in public, under the impression we’re speaking to others, is only one of the funny things we do; imagining others are listening is another; thinking we know the difference, is funniest of all; beautiful, too. ~ [ 2089 ]
Words and Meanings
We do fairly well with our words and our meanings, Except where they lead to the destruction of the environment, And to persecution, injustice, poverty, starvation, and war. In those instances, it would be better if we learned to keep silent. That still leaves us plenty of room for poetry, and for self-exploration. It leaves us room to express our love, gratitude, and astonishment At finding ourselves able to write […]
A Flashing Yellow Light
If you were to ask me what I really do, I wouldn’t know what to answer, except that it appears to be very little. I write decently, and say some decent things, but I’m probably at my best when I’m not writing, and even better when I’m not saying anything at all. Sometimes I think that if I were to remain silent long enough, the meaning of my lifetime of […]
Nonethemore
We broke the ice in the birdbaths and filled them with fresh water. The first drink was taken by a squirrel. Then a pair of juncos descended from the bare birches. They hopped around the rim, stopping for very quick small sips — stopping without stopping, you might say. More sun, more cold, not a drop of rain. The dry air inside makes the sinuses ache. My blood pressure was […]
Eternal Child
Sometimes writing is like holding fabric in my hands and looking at it from its woven underside. Sometimes it’s like watching a preening robin after it’s had a sunshine bath. Always, it’s the eternal child’s way of saying remember me — and an old god’s kind and absent-minded smile. ~ [ 2048 ]
Pruning and Writing
The bathrooms are clean, the floors are clean, and we are clean. And since the weather is dry and sunny, after our afternoon walk I’ll be able to resume work on the fig tree. I have nothing else to do in any formal sense, nothing “important.” And anyway, I’m convinced that tending to ordinary, everyday details, and really paying attention to them, is the best thing I have to offer […]
To Ant, or Not to Ant
On the last day of the year, in a used bookstore we visit every so often in West Salem, I chanced upon an unread copy of a Library of America edition containing three works by Herman Melville, all having to do with the sea: Typee; Omoo; and Mardi. Priced at only eight dollars and fifty cents, the book was still in its original white slipcase, and its ribbon marker had […]
William Michaelian 