Tuesday, November 8, 2011


All the little things — I love
how they break and throw off sparks.

I was a sower once; in my pouch,
there were ten thousand suns.

In those days, I was man
and woman both.

I am still. Hold me
to the light.

Turn me gently
in your palm.


Stickup Artist said...

Your are fearless! Next time I am out in my rocky little world, I will pick up a pebble, hold it to the light, and turn it gently in my palm...

William Michaelian said...

Thank you. I think that if you had not done that very thing already a great many times, you would not be giving us the beautiful photographs that you do.

giacomo conserva said...

it is late in the night here, I dozed off and now am barely awake, but reading your poem I am left dazed, astounded- one viewpoint and then another and another and another- anamorphosis it's what this is called- till the 'I' speaking gives place to a 'you' and the movement finds its rest there (for a while). This is what dialectics is about in its highest sense. And utopia too: the becoming of the poem is utterly devoid of violence, full of warmth- at least in the mind one manages to have a change without agggression- but the mind is as real as 'real life' anyway- so this is a great parable and teaching and indirection too. Accomplished in beauty, a quiet splendor.

Wine and Words said...

At what age will I know myself so well that I commit to male and female? At what age will I be solid enough that any part of me can be held, much less against the light? I do not know you. I do not know me. And yet, each day knowing more.

vazambam said...

You took this paraphrase to heart:

"God has a very big heart but there is one thing he will not forgive--when the muse calls a man to her bed and he will not go."

(with apologies to Alexis Zorba)

William Michaelian said...

Giacomo, you are more eloquent in your sleep than I am awake. Thank you for reading so deeply. Once again, your insight has me thinking.

Thank you, Annie. I would say you know far more than you think or realize. And I think that condition is a key part of being human.

Vassilis, such is my happy undoing. Another drink, then, with thanks.

erin said...

it is such a marvel, this small word, god. i saw it in my reader and i was instantly hushed, elevated, curious, alive, and thought, oh my, william michaelian is so brave, or crazy. ha!

your poem is so little. it is like that, like god. all poems are. and all things are poems.


William Michaelian said...

Two school kids, sitting on a bench at lunch time, trading universes.

Brave? Now it’s my turn to say ha!

Crazy? Perhaps, but not yet nearly enough.

Thank you, Erin.

Transcend Designs said...

Honestly William,
once again your words are able to transport me out of my cube,

if even for a brief time...

thank you...!

: )

William Michaelian said...

Ah, thanks, Brad. You just brought a smile to the face of a bearded loon.