Thursday, May 23, 2013

A flower now


More than anything lately, this blog has been a journal. As for the poems themselves, I worry little of their value beyond the pleasure they bring the writer, and those who find them. None have taken more than a few minutes to write. I am not trying to do anything. They are simply an expression of the joy and pain I might be feeling upon being granted another day. All have been written early in the morning, coffee or tea beside me, with daylight coming on. Joy or pain — almost always a mixture of both — and usually I would be hard pressed to distinguish between them. And hearing that, those who have known me for a while are sure to smile. A hopeless case, I know. And now I am smiling.

I’ve had an interesting, wonderful feeling lately. I feel as if my mind is finally grasping something my heart has known for a long, long time. A couple of days ago, I was for many hours as emotional as a child. The past was present in more beautiful ways than I have ever known, as if there were no longer need to go back anymore. The need to strive is gone. I am a flower now. I survive and thrive by instinct rather than will.

However long it takes to come, death is instantaneous. More acutely than ever, I am aware that each moment might be my last. Knowing this, how foolish I would be to go on trying to establish or prove my importance. Such a waste of energy and breath. I am a flower now. And so, beware the bee that flies up your nose.



10 comments:

Anthony Duce said...

I’ve enjoyed the poems each day. I like the analogy of being a flower now, and am happy for you to be where you now are. I know how hard that is. I hope to get there too someday. I have moments of such bliss and wish they would last.

William Michaelian said...

Anthony, thanks for your kind and beautiful note.

Christopher Blaum said...

An ancient Samurai saying (which I can't quote directly) impels us to meditate about our own death for a short time each day. Being pierced by arrows... etc. I always found this to be great advice - it makes me try and treasure each and every moment in life, for there is beauty in everything. I had been thinking for the last couple of days that I should send you a message to see how you are feeling lately because your artistic output has been tremendous lately. I'm glad to find that it is predominately joy-driven in this case - my artistic outbursts tend to coincide with troubled times...

Thanks for all you share with us

Chris

William Michaelian said...

Chris, I appreciate your thoughts and insight. My deepest thanks for staying in touch.

Gary B. Fitzgerald said...

.


Hardwood


I rise each day and find these trees
stand exactly where they did the day before,
stood unafraid in a darkened wood
through the cold and empty hours
to welcome in a new day’s pearly light.
But each day, it seems, I also find another
who has ventured past that unseen door,
has left us, we can only pray,
for something good and something more
and something less than standing through the night.

Proud these trees stood still when we returned
from the solemn procession and burial,
on a day of tears and a last goodbye, of dying flowers,
the lifting of a polished hardwood casket.
And though weary when returning from the funeral,
I take time tonight to walk beside the wood
and of these hardwood trees and life I ask it:
where stand and how grow until the day it’s I
who, dressed in hardwood, awaits a morning bright?


Copyright 2008 – HARDWOOD-77 Poems. Gary B. Fitzgerald

Paul L. Martin said...

Pure joy at finding them each day, William, sure as the sun.

And I really like what Christopher said about the samurai.

William Michaelian said...

Gary, thank you, sir, as always.

Paul, I’m delighted that you’re here.

Gary B. Fitzgerald said...

.


Funny how death, so far away,
was such a fascination in my youth.
Now, so close, I am loathe to even
speak of it.


Copyright 2010 – Ponds and Lawns: New and Corrected Poems, Gary B. Fitzgerald

Nazia Mallick said...

What a beautiful and candid post, William! But then you have always been that. Beautiful and candid.

I read your poems,and they never fail to fill me wonder and inspiration.
You are very important to most of us. Maybe you don't know that.

William Michaelian said...

Maybe I don’t, Nazia. But I know you’ve been, and remain, a friend through it all.