ARMENIAN POETRY PROJECT

Common speech is what we hear when we do not listen. Common words are what we use when we do not think. Everything else is poetry — the rest...

Some mornings the silence in this house is so profound, I wonder if my mother will ever wake again. Will I be the one who finally opens her ...

These soft, newborn leaves remember the sunlight that warmed my mother’s face, they bear the scent of soap and sweat and meals rising from h...

William Michaelian’s newest release is The Painting of You, the first volume in his Author’s Press Series. He is the author of two poetry co...

Poet. n. 1. A rare bird, distinguished by its ability to sing after death. 2. A term often used humorously to designate a person who rejoi...

Kiss each other in the shade after you’ve eaten a juicy ripe peach. No shade, imagine the tree. No peach, imagine the taste. No one, no one ...

The old man told me he himself had died a long, long time ago. He pointed to a distant plain, a tide of earth that once bled mountains of th...

Inside the flower, down the stem, into the roots — a dark hum: that’s where we learn about desire, that’s where the sun can’t hear what we’r...

“Seeds” is one of three short poems* by William Michaelian translated into Greek by poet Vassilis Zambaras . The translation first appeared ...

To be an autumn leaf pressed between the pages of a lover’s notebook and hear her say “He must be gray by now.”

I was going to write this letter a century ago, but I wasn’t born yet, so I didn’t. I had to wait instead. Finally, when my impatience got t...

August days are a recipe for longing: they bring scented dust and dew, the first nocturnal kiss upon veined leaves that are beginning to res...

The first rose — so red even the light is surprised and you are humming as I follow you through the room. April 30, 2008 William Michaelian

For the past three years, poet-principal Shahe Mankerian and his eighth grade students at St. Gregory A. & M. Hovsepian School in Pasade...

Click here to listen to the audio clip I can imagine read by the author William Michaelian. I can imagine waking up one morning to fin...

Thank you. Thank you very much. This is truly an honor. I don't know what to say, except that I would still like to learn photography so...

Simplicity, Sincerity, Sonority: A New Voice in American Poetry The following excerpt is from an excellent review of William Michaelian'...

Forty years ago, when we went roaring down that San Francisco hill in our cousin's little Volvo, Willie and Archie had Death laughing so...

Someday I think I’d like to wear it in Ireland, And maybe even be buried in it there. I could fall asleep while leaning on its sturdy Unfade...

Click here for the audio segment The Fall of the Ten Thousand read by Lola Koundakjian. The fig tree wears ten thousand yellowed leaves, ea...