Monday, January 24, 2011

Breathless


Feathers painted
before their birds arrive

souls revived
in pristine
air


Update:
“Breathless” added to Poems, Slightly Used.

14 comments:

nouvelles couleurs - vienna atelier said...

I love this poem, this vision,
don't know if my interpretation of "Feathers painted
before their birds arrive" is like our fate, it is already painted before we arrive...

have a wondefull day William, full of inspirations

Bitch said...

Beautiful!

William Michaelian said...

You too, Laura. Thank you. I love your interpretation.

Thank you, Monika!

Andreas said...

I imagine feathers painted with feathers. The thought makes me giggle. I don't know why. Perhaps because it tickles. Wings spreading in a rib cage, rising toward life.

It's beautiful, William.

Wine and Words said...

Feathers painted, in anticipation of a bird? Carts before horses? Sometimes they appear the fools errand, and other times, capital HOPE.

William Michaelian said...

Thank you, Andreas. Or, feathers painted with strokes so light, they appear as sound.

All of that, Annie, simultaneously, when it’s least expected.

Old 333 said...

Your poems often draw the reader into pleasant wonderings, William. With this one I saw dawn touching sleeping pigeon, iridescent sheen upon grey bird in grey city, just before the clamourous, glaring day begins.

Thanks as always, William - inspirational stuff.

William Michaelian said...

Delighted you find it so, Peter. With these grey lines of yours, you open doors yourself.

Art by JFM said...

It is said that souls have wings. Since birds come in many colors...are they really the auras of past souls flying about until they find another fledgeling to inhabit?

Beautiful words William...

William Michaelian said...

Thanks, Jan. I don’t know, but I think there are times when they try to tell.

Woman in a Window said...

perhaps the soul is always trying to tell,
always engaging in disambiguation,
painting itself some corporeal sense,
failing,
painting,
a shadow of success,
a capitulation of ash,
more.

or so it told me this morning.

it's startling how different our paint palettes are, isn't it? i see your paint, or i should say, the colour of this poem, as oil based. curious.

xo
erin

William Michaelian said...

Interesting. I see it (now that we’re looking at it in this way) as being comprised of rainbow and mist.

I think there are times when they are purposely vague; also when they’re uncertain; and playful.

What were we talking about again?

-K- said...

Wow, two back-to-back gems.

William Michaelian said...

Thanks. Still, to be on the safe side, you’d better not hold them up to the light.