I felt eternity in your touch.
When our eyes locked and our skin touched,
I felt eternity stretching between us, before us, behind us,
I felt a grounding to this moment and an awareness of all others,
In that touch, the past is vibrant, passionate,
in that touch the future is defiant, frenetic,
In that touch, in this poem, we now resonate
in eternity.
Eternity (in a touch) I felt eternity in your touch. When our eyes locked and our skin touched, I felt eternity stretching between us, before us, behind us, I felt a grounding to this moment and an awareness of all others, In that touch, the past is vibrant, passionate, in that touch the future is defiant, frenetic, In that touch, in this poem, we now resonate in eternity. 05/25/2021 M. L. Michael
Our matter danced before we ever met,
elemental building blocks that took each other for a spin,
around and around – closer and closer,
until their union formed something new –
something bright and something pulsating,
a bit of the beginning
and a bit of the end. […]
Beyond Heaven Our matter danced before we ever met, elemental building blocks that took each other for a spin, around and around – closer and closer, until their union formed something new - something bright and something pulsating, a bit of the beginning and a bit of the end. Our matter danced again when we met, orbits colliding in a memory of fusion, growing dizzy in love and creating something new, something bright and something pulsating, a bit of the beginning and a bit of the end. Our matter will dance again long after we met, after saying goodbye and drifting so far apart that we return all the way around and closer again, until there's a collision and a collapse - a bang of something new, something bright and something pulsating, a bit of the beginning, and a bit of the end. -06/28/2020- M. L. Michael
I want to create a playroom for her.
I want to create a playroom that never leaves her…
…to begin with, I’d fill her room with colorful toys,
so her grasping gaze sees the beauty in every hue,
and the value of each shade along the spectrum. […]
I want to create a playroom for her.
I want to create a playroom that never leaves her...
...to begin with, I'd fill her room with colorful toys,
so her grasping gaze sees the beauty in every hue,
and the value of each shade along the spectrum.
and - against all the warnings - I'll get her toys
that make nothing but music and all kinds of noise -
because there must be noise, especially in the beginning,
...it's from the noise that we shape our music,
and there's unrestrained glee to be found in a child's cacophony.
and, regardless of her age, may there be plenty of books,
may there be little magical tomes made of cardboard thick pages,
with drawings of dragons and kittens, astronauts and princesses,
and with short, monosyllabic, phrases, that reinforce positivity,
and cast spells across her imagination like a streaking star across the night.
and to compliment such an unabashed and expanding mind,
let there be those toys of pure foolishness and absurd deviations.
whimsical toys that confound the senses and tickle the intuition,
like the toy that ticks down to an arbitrary clock and then explodes
in a hiccupped exclamation of letters, shapes, and expectations.
and let there be paper, lots and tons of paper,
with crayons and chalk that will get everywhere but....,
because, surely, for a child, every surface/every space, is a moment,
and every moment must thus be filled with some kind of expression of exploration,
some kind of declaration that they are living like royalty atop make-believe mountain.
...and finally, to end with, let there be soil, a garden of some kind with seeds at the ready.
so her little hands get dirty as she helps plants that may someday be transplanted,
...because, most of all, it is important for her to know that her playroom
is not trapped in here, and that what we nourish and grow healthy in here
is worth our time and our effort to spread and share out there.
-01/15/15
M. L. Michael
I want to create a playroom for her.
And I want to create a playroom within her.
And I want to create a playroom that never leaves her.
***********
Because someday, and unbeknownst of my being, I will leave her.
And I will want this joie de vivre to stay with her forever…
For Bee-Tiny I want to create a playroom for her. And I want to create a playroom within her. And I want to create a playroom that never leaves her. *********** Because someday, and unbeknownst of my being, I will leave her. And I will want this joie de vivre to stay with her forever... ******** M. L. Michael 01/12/2015 **
You were brand new, so brand new that no more than an hour ago, I witnessed your rather shocking and spectacular arrival to this funny blue and green planet we call home.
You were surreally, so severely, new that my heart immediately soared and ached, that my brain reeled and seized over this brand new, great new, tiny new, fragile new, capital u, Unknown.[…]
Your Name Is A Poem That Your Mother Spoke You were brand new, so brand new that no more than an hour ago, I witnessed your rather shocking and spectacular arrival to this funny blue and green planet we call home. You were surreally, so severely, new that my heart immediately soared and ached, that my brain reeled and seized over this brand new, great new, tiny new, fragile new, capital u, Unknown. For at no other point in my life has it been made more clear that I have no idea what I what I am doing. At that point my confusion was a pit, deep and dense within my stomach. It made me antsy, and it made me buggy. And your mother said it was adorable. “Adorable”. No...that’s your word now, Bethany. Your father felt far from adorable. He felt slightly …disconnected... a bit out of body, like he was observing himself in third person, like he was watching one of the biggest and boldest chapters of his life written into being. You were barely brand new when the doctor asked who was going to cut the umbilical cord...and (bless his 90-to-nothing heart) your buffoonishly befuddled father looked around for a volunteer …until it dawned that he was the prime volunteer. Then, when your father was handed the scissors …and in all his goofy grandeur... he grabbed them from the middle (...as if never before, in over thirty years of living, had he handled a pair before). Then the doctor (bless her patient heart) showed him that no, we hold scissors by the handles when we wish to use them. But, you know, as foolish as this makes your father sound… I would not have wished for your first moments to have been any different. Because here’s this pivotal life scene – unfolding spontaneously, improvisationaly, before our eyes – it’s a moment of stupendous weight – and here it is overcast with wonderful absurdity and comical confusion. It is filled –bristling, bustling and brimming- with positive, electric, emotion. For it was but moments ago that you were delivered into this world like a magic trick...a magic trick so amazing to behold that your dear ol' dad nearly lost it, because it’s the greatest magic trick that he has ever witnessed, and so it shall remain the one trick by which all others are judged. And so now here you are …so adorably, absurdly, beautifully, brand new... M. L. Michael 01/01/15
Ta-Da!
It’s a tiny human!
in her wake,
in her ether left,
she leaves spaces
for a lingering sigh
in that cold remain.
she leaves remnants
for a longing goodbye
in that Hollywood rain. […]
in her wake, in her ether left, she leaves spaces for a lingering sigh in that cold remain. she leaves remnants for a longing goodbye in that Hollywood rain. trailing behind her, and beyond her, as a wistful scent, as a wishful hope, as a whispered what, is an impression of an ideal, a glimpse through a rose window, a hint at an ache against the reel. with one breath you can draw her back in, you can draw her back into your mind, into your heart as a work of passioned art. with one more breath you can summon her spirit, you can summon her spirit as a sensation of a dart remembered through the heart. with another, with another breath, she starts to slip further away like love-me/love-me-not petals caught in the air. with another, with another breath, she dances further from your fingertips, like that balloon you won (and then lost) at the county fair. and with one more breath, her vividness is nearly vapored. and with one more breath, she leaves you wanting much more than her perfumed essence. 1.1.2014 M. L. Michael
To her alter,
on bent knee I offer
words poured in her honor.
&
With this ink I thee wed,
the passion in my stead
to the heaven in her head.[..]
a proposal To her alter, on bent knee I offer words poured in her honor. & With this ink I thee wed, the passion in my stead to the heaven in her head. 11.18.13 M. L. Michael
before the lights went out,
we told each other “I love you”,
those words became our wards,
our incantations of life against night.
before the lights went out,
we would make each other laugh,
we would push back our bed time
with spiteful, sleepy eyed humor.[…]
before the lights go out before the lights went out, we told each other “I love you”, those words became our wards, our incantations of life against night. before the lights went out, we would make each other laugh, we would push back our bed time with spiteful, sleepy eyed humor. before the lights went out, we would tell each other stories, we would relive and enliven, we would relish as much as possible. before the lights went out, we always said “good night”, because this has been a good day, and this will be our good night. M. L. Michael 11/03/13
In the name of the Muse,
I pledge to you,
with the resonacy of reality,
with the fervency of finality.
In the name of the Muse,
I sing to you […]
A Poet’s Pledge In the name of the Muse, I pledge to you, with the resonacy of reality, with the fervency of finality. In the name of the Muse, I sing to you, of the warmth you give from your brilliance cast unseen, of the values you hold dear within that celestial sheen. In the name of the Muse I pledge to you my joie de vivre, my joy re: yugen, In the name of the Muse I sing to you the passion of survival, of the sun-rise creating and the sun-god defining, of the freedom gained from contemplating how star began and why hearts must end. In the name of the Muse I pledge to you my drive for your smile, that spark, my push for your strength, that fire I know is real. In the name of the Muse I sing to you of reasons to never surrender of lights at the end of dark tunnels. In the name of the Muse I sing to you in the way your smile sounds, in the way your laughter responds. In the name of the Muse I pledge to you only everything I ever want in return. M. L. Michael 06/14/13
I saw Nostalgia tonight.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Nostalgia.
Beaconing, with the tug of a spotlight,
Beaming, with the warmth of sunlight,
I saw Nostalgia radiating in half-life. […]
More than a twinge (I saw Nostalgia tonight) I saw Nostalgia tonight. From the corner of my eye, I saw Nostalgia. Beaconing, with the tug of a spotlight, Beaming, with the warmth of sunlight, I saw Nostalgia radiating in half-life. I overheard Nostalgia sing, through speaking, hinting, never hitting, at guarded chords, soothing, while still stinging, steeping, while still soaring. I overheard Nostalgia, forever, that belle ringing. … I drew in Nostalgia tonight. And with a soulful, with a sighful, breath, I inhaled the perfume of Yesterday, of Yesteryear. I inhaled the memories that I fought to exhale. M. L. Michael 05/23/13
Every Breath Poetic 