Dust

Apr. 21st, 2017 02:47 pm
mmerriam: (Default)
We talk about memory.
We talk about remembrance.

In photographs
survivors rush from the wreckage
fleeing smoke flames death
covered in the dust of destruction
rags over mouths.

Concrete, rebar, insulation,
paint, drywall, fertilizer —

You

Vaporized.

I breathe you in.
I hold you inside, nestled in
my lungs my blood my body,
I carry you forward
and I remember.
I remember.

(For those who were killed, those who survived, and those who were changed forever by the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building bombing in Oklahoma city on April 19th, 1995.)
mmerriam: (Pen)
How softly
decay sets in
making their love
a quiet thing –
longed for touches
glances over coffee.

The years have made them
wise.

Familiar selves and routine
days replace the burning agony
of passionate youth.

Now, they wish
to turn to each other
weeping, clinging –
desperate to hold
to keep the chill
away.

How true the decades
have made them
how together
the years have let them
become.

Originally posted at michaelmerriam.net. You can comment here or there.
mmerriam: (Pen)
Ask me no more, for fear I should reply;
Others have held their tongues, and so can I;
Hundreds have died, and told no tale before:
Ask me no more, for fear I should reply --

How one was true and one was clean of stain
And one was braver than the heavens are high,
And one was fond of me: and all are slain.
Ask me no more, for fear I should reply.

--A. E. Housman

Originally posted at michaelmerriam.net. You can comment here or there.
mmerriam: (Pen)
In a Disused Graveyard
By Robert Frost

The living come with grassy tread
To read the gravestones on the hill;
The graveyard draws the living still,
But never anymore the dead.
The verses in it say and say:
"The ones who living come today
To read the stones and go away
Tomorrow dead will come to stay."
So sure of death the marbles rhyme,
Yet can't help marking all the time
How no one dead will seem to come.
What is it men are shrinking from?
It would be easy to be clever
And tell the stones: Men hate to die
And have stopped dying now forever.
I think they would believe the lie.

Originally posted at michaelmerriam.net. You can comment here or there.
mmerriam: (Pen)
The Guardian Angel
by Stephen Dunn

Afloat between lives and stale truths,
he realizes
he's never truly protected one soul,
they all die anyway, and what good
is solace,
solace is cheap. The signs are clear:
the drooping wings, the shameless thinking
about utility
and self. It's time to stop.
The guardian angel lives for a month
with other angels,
sings the angelic songs, is reminded
that he doesn't have a human choice.
The angel of love
lies down with him, and loving
restores him his pure heart.
Yet how hard it is
to descend into sadness once more.
When the poor are evicted, he stands
between them
and the bank, but the bank sees nothing
in it's way. When the meek are overpowered
he's there, the thin air
through which they fall. Without effect
he keeps getting in the way of insults.
He keeps wrapping
his wings around those in the cold.
Even his lamentations are unheard,
though now,
in for the long haul, trying to live
beyond despair, he believes, he needs
to believe
everything he does takes root, hums
beneath the surfaces of the world.

Originally posted at michaelmerriam.net. You can comment here or there.
mmerriam: (Default)
It is that time of year, time to start nominating your favorite speculative fiction poems for the Rhysling Awards, sponsored by the Science Fiction Poetry Association.

If you are an SFPA member and are interested, I have one short form piece eligible this year: "Susan Responds," which appeared in the autumn 2009 issue of Illumen.

I would be willing to email a copy of these to anyone interested. You can reach me at mmerriamATgmailDOTcom.
mmerriam: (Default)
It is that time of year, time to start nominating your favorite speculative fiction poems for the Rhysling Awards, sponsored by the Science Fiction Poetry Association.

If you are an SFPA member and are interested, I have one short form piece eligible this year: "Susan Responds," which appeared in the autumn 2009 issue of Illumen.

I would be willing to email a copy of these to anyone interested. You can reach me at mmerriamATgmailDOTcom.
mmerriam: (Default)
The street sounds to the soldiers' tread,
     And out we troop to see:
A single redcoat turns his head,
     He turns and looks at me.

My man, from sky to sky's so far,
    We never crossed before;
Such leagues apart the world's ends are,
    We're like to meet no more;

What thoughts at heart have you and I
    We cannot stop to tell;
But dead or living, drunk or dry,
    Soldier, I wish you well.

-- A. E. Housman
mmerriam: (Stories)
[livejournal.com profile] ysabetwordsmith wrote this poem for International Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Day, and hey, it's poetry month as well!. Your job, if you like it, is to repost it on your blog / lj / dw / whatever, with credit and a link back to her

The Free Poem

The bard sat beneath
the blue awning of her market stall,
dressed in breeches of blue leather
and a tunic of blue silk.

Beside her sat silver cages
full of brightly colored birds,
singing and reciting poetry.
Now and then, she would put one
into a wicker basket for a shopper,
in exchange for coins or jewels
or, once, a side of venison.

Then the noon bell rang,
and the bard took out a little bird
with golden wings and scarlet face.
She tossed it into the air
and watched it flutter away into the market,
trailing a poem in its wake.

The juggler in the next booth,
who was new,
dropped his balls in surprise.
“What did you do that for?” he said.

The bard laughed.
“Because,” she explained,
“when people see it, they wonder
where they can buy one of their very own!”
mmerriam: (Death)
The street sounds to the soldiers' tread,
     And out we troop to see:
A single redcoat turns his head,
     He turns and looks at me.

My man, from sky to sky's so far,
    We never crossed before;
Such leagues apart the world's ends are,
    We're like to meet no more;

What thoughts at heart have you and I
    We cannot stop to tell;
But dead or living, drunk or dry,
    Soldier, I wish you well.

-- A. E. Housman
mmerriam: (Death)
The street sounds to the soldiers' tread,
     And out we troop to see:
A single redcoat turns his head,
     He turns and looks at me.

My man, from sky to sky's so far,
    We never crossed before;
Such leagues apart the world's ends are,
    We're like to meet no more;

What thoughts at heart have you and I
    We cannot stop to tell;
But dead or living, drunk or dry,
    Soldier, I wish you well.

-- A. E. Housman

Sale!

Nov. 7th, 2008 11:27 am
mmerriam: (Default)
My short poem, "Susan Responds" will appear in an upcoming issue of Illumen.

Sale!

Nov. 7th, 2008 11:27 am
mmerriam: (Default)
My short poem, "Susan Responds" will appear in an upcoming issue of Illumen.
mmerriam: (Default)
I'm really smoking along on the novella this morning, so I don't want to step away for it for too long, but I do want to let you guys know that Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine #36, which includes a poem by me, is available.



Not only am I in it, but a number of people on my flist are in some way involved with this issue as well, whether it is stories from [livejournal.com profile] lisamantchev and [livejournal.com profile] maggiedr, internal artwork by [livejournal.com profile] tiny_wings or [livejournal.com profile] asimmum on the editorial and production end.

Really, it's filled with goodness and you should buy it!

Untitled Weird West Steampunk Novella
mmerriam: (Default)
I'm really smoking along on the novella this morning, so I don't want to step away for it for too long, but I do want to let you guys know that Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine #36, which includes a poem by me, is available.



Not only am I in it, but a number of people on my flist are in some way involved with this issue as well, whether it is stories from [livejournal.com profile] lisamantchev and [livejournal.com profile] maggiedr, internal artwork by [livejournal.com profile] tiny_wings or [livejournal.com profile] asimmum on the editorial and production end.

Really, it's filled with goodness and you should buy it!

Untitled Weird West Steampunk Novella
mmerriam: (Coffee)
I was planning to work on Dark Water Blues first thing this morning. Instead I wrote a short SF poem and then slapped down this:

Extremely Rough Snippet )

There I go, writing about broken people again. *grin* And Dear Gods and Little Fishies, it looks like I'm about to actually write science fiction romance.

And then I wrote three pages on the novel as well. It's nice to have a little creative outburst! I followed it up by sending out a couple of submissions.

Now I am off to the Twin Cities Speculative Fiction Network meeting in Uptown. Lois McMaster Bujold is come to talk with us and answer questions over lunch and coffee.
mmerriam: (Coffee)
I was planning to work on Dark Water Blues first thing this morning. Instead I wrote a short SF poem and then slapped down this:

Extremely Rough Snippet )

There I go, writing about broken people again. *grin* And Dear Gods and Little Fishies, it looks like I'm about to actually write science fiction romance.

And then I wrote three pages on the novel as well. It's nice to have a little creative outburst! I followed it up by sending out a couple of submissions.

Now I am off to the Twin Cities Speculative Fiction Network meeting in Uptown. Lois McMaster Bujold is come to talk with us and answer questions over lunch and coffee.
mmerriam: (Fantasy Sale)
...Gryphonwood Fantasy Magazine Online publishes my poem, "The Sixth Son."

This is my little riff on - and poke at - secondary world fantasy tropes.

http://gryphonwood.blogspot.com/2008/04/sixth-son-by-michael-merriam.html
mmerriam: (Fantasy Sale)
...Gryphonwood Fantasy Magazine Online publishes my poem, "The Sixth Son."

This is my little riff on - and poke at - secondary world fantasy tropes.

http://gryphonwood.blogspot.com/2008/04/sixth-son-by-michael-merriam.html
mmerriam: (Default)
and because I'm actually getting some writing done this morning, here is one of my favorite poems to keep you amused until I can write a real post.

O Karma, Dharma, pudding and pie,
gimme a break before I die:
grant me wisdom, will, & wit,
purity, probity, pluck, & grit.
Trustworthy, loyal, helpful, kind,
gimme great abs & a steel-trap mind,
and forgive, Ye Gods, some humble advice —
these little blessings would suffice
to beget an earthly paradise:
make the bad people good —
and the good people nice;
and before our world goes over the brink
teach the believers how to think.

— Philip Appleman

April 2017

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