Sunday, November 16, 2008

November Postcard


          This bright frosty morning,
          the world smells like
          a million lonely breakfasts.

Haiku from Songs and Letters, originally published November 15, 2008.

Note: I almost dedicated this poem to Richard Brautigan, then I thought, “What the heck, he’s dead.”

Strangely related link: Library of Unwritten Books

3 comments:

Joseph Hutchison said...

It is Brautiganesque, but not derivative at all. My morning today smelled of granola, yoghurt, and blackberries. And I can't eat blackberries—ever—without thinking of Bill Stafford:

Blackberries Are Back

Blackberries are back. They cling near
little streams. Their eyes, bright mornings,
make tunnels through the vines.
They see their own thorns in the sky,
and the print of leaves.

At night they hide inside the wind,
ready to try the outdoors on.
They swing for distance, root for
fidelity. The truth is your only ransom
once they touch your tongue.

====

And hey—there's your bright morning without the frost!

~im just only me~ said...

I hate lonely breakfasts :( Sometimes I find a paper to keep me company, but its never the same as the silence of a friend...

William Michaelian said...

Lonely Breakfasts

Sometimes I find a paper
to keep me company,
but it’s never the same
as the silence of a friend.

And now you’ve got me thinking about loneliness as an artform....

* * *

“Blackberries” reads like a page out of Western Oregon’s notebook. It’s interesting, using language so meticulous and precise to depict something that can devour an entire hillside in a single summer. That’s Stafford for you.