Friday, March 18, 2011

The News


Blossoms in the wind

my old Japanese
school friends

children once again



Library Notes: Added four-volume set of Tales from Blackwood (1912). First volume here. Entire LibraryThing collection to date here.

Updates:
“The News” added to Poems, Slightly Used.
In the Forum: dim wattage, dim wittage.

15 comments:

♥Jan♥ said...

Lovely, William. Spring to me bring visions of cherry blossoms, apple blossoms, pastel colors and a renewal of life on earth~~~

Joseph Hutchison said...

Beautiful poem, William. Like the best haiku, quietly time-haunted....

Momo Luna said...

Such beauty and whole worlds in these well chosen words....

I wish you a good weekend William.
Sweet greetz for you!

jasmin said...

William,
in so wenigen Worten,
die Welt füllt sich damit,
Gute Wünsche Jasmin

William Michaelian said...

Thanks, Jan. Thanks, Joe. Thank you, Monica. Thank you, Jasmin.

Haunted by spring, haunted by the news, still riding the big yellow school bus through the countryside with those childhood friends of mine.

Jean Spitzer said...

Lovely.

William Michaelian said...

Thank you, Jean.

erin said...

let's believe in the power of poem

xo
erin

William Michaelian said...

In other words, let’s believe in everything.

rahina q.h. said...

William i was reading this and the previous posts (recently i have been so busy) and they feel like the petals of a cherry blossom that linger on the ground and then disappear leaving only an image of themselves on the memory.

William Michaelian said...

Rahina, thank you. I would willingly entrust them to that fate. It is mine, I know.

vazambam said...

I have to
say this one here

took my breath away

William Michaelian said...

Mouth to mouth to ear
and back, I’m happy
it’s restored.

For such kind use,
dear sir, cannot
be ignored.

erin said...

can we narrow belief down just a bit and leave aside the horrors? i mean, if we have such powers, can't we be selective?

xo
erin

William Michaelian said...

What measure would we use? Leave aside this horror, but not this, or this, or this? And upon our arbitrary judgment, what becomes of that which remains?