Sunday, April 24, 2016


Flowers blame not feigned belief, nor question
vain displays of grief — they are too gentle and wise
for that — and so in their presence the hours pass,
as those of ours forever past, upon this hill
of greenest grass — in beauty
and humility.


Jan said...

Absolutely beautiful, William...
I feel as though I am visiting the resting place
of that soul lying within.

I wonder if it is called a "resting place" because
one's soul is just resting, waiting, to join the other souls in heaven~

William Michaelian said...

Perhaps because of that; and, I suppose, for as many reasons as there are of us who visit. Thank you, Jan. Here’s to a peaceful Sunday.

Gary B. Fitzgerald said...

This has got to stop, Mr. Michaelian! It isn’t fair. It’s almost cruel. I tried to give up poetry over six years ago and look what you do. I drop in to visit, just to say hello, and you inspire me yet again.

Anyway, since I left you two tree poems before, I guess I can leave you with a couple of flower poems. Thanks a lot, pal! I tried to quit.

Plastic Flowers

Little pot of plastic flowers
on the front porch table.
They look so realistic, two or three
different kinds and colors
complete with perfect little plastic
stems and thorns and leaves.
A genuine spray of these
would cost a pretty dime.

But you can tell that these aren’t real
because they’re growing dingy,
becoming dull, coated with grime,
neglected by time and dusty.
Not like the real ones, fresh and clean,
a rainbow of petals and growth, leaves
glowing with living, vibrant green.

You can always tell the real ones
because one day they aren’t there.

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

A Flower

Such a simple thing,
just a flower;
petals and pistil and stamen,
a scent and a color,
a bloom and some seeds.
Just a stem and some leaves,
growing, absorbing, reflecting
the light, some roots taking
water from soil.
Just xylem and phloem, some
membranes and tissue and cells,
a nucleus, some organelles,
green chloroplasts transforming
the sun into starches and sugars,
just chlorophyll, molecules
of elements and atoms built
of protons and electrons,
muons and quarks, made of waves
and strings and fields of time
and space and energy and chance.
It’s really quite simple.
Just a flower.

Copyright 2008 – HARDWOOD: 77 Poems, Gary B. Fitzgerald

William Michaelian said...

Quit all you like, it won’t quit you. But of course I don’t believe you one bit, although you might have convinced yourself temporarily, momentarily, contrarily, that you and poetry don’t fit. What a laugh. What grit. It’s really quite simple: these are just flower poems: yet how lovely, from here where I sit.