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Certainty and the Death of Mystery
We live in a time that no longer seeks wonder. That may sound like an overstatement, but I don’t think it is. We haven’t lost curiosity, we’ve lost the concept of encounter. We don’t stand before things anymore. We process…
A Moral Outcast
Michael Vakian is a poet and storyteller whose work moves between quiet reflection and mythic imagination. He writes poems of rain, moonlight, ruins, and restless cities—from the cobblestones of Europe to the haunted edge of myth. Alongside his own writing, he works with writers and storytellers to help shape voice, clarity, and narrative intent. His words—and his practice—belong to outcasts, dreamers, and wanderers, written in the smoke of Paris nights and the silence of rain-soaked windows.
Author’s Thoughts
That Old CD Case
So, I got a new iPhone 17 recently. Yes, I am sure they are 5 time zones ahead already, but its new to me. What I will say, it has changed the way I listen to music… for the better. Not because of anything the iphone doesk, it doesn’t have some magical improvement in sound quality, that I know of at least.
What it does have, is a different audio jack from that within my car. So, no (I almost said iTunes) Spotify, no music tracks from my phone. Also, the radio with its unwieldy amount of advertisement, gets really old. So I did something brave, maybe even bold. I dug out my old compact disc collection, and prayed that the CD player still functioned in my car.
Don’t worry, it worked. Back to the cd case, its one of those big, blue and black, zippered monstrosities that hold about 100 cds. Its the sort of object that somehow magically lived in your car, and you prayed every night that no would steal it. Nostalgia, sure. What I found, gold. There was Dave Matthews, Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, the Fugees, Artie Shaw, Billy Bragg, Bing Crosby, Pearl Jam, even the world famous Tenacious D. That’s when I remembered… God, I love music. Why do I never listen to any of this stuff anymore.
I do have spotify, literally almost any song I want to listen to with a quick search. Hell, it will even try and tell me what my favorite music is. Its wrong. That old, black and blue CD case. That’s my favorite. Its not organized into by album or some clean little genre. But neither am I.
What I am, is thankful. Thankful that my audio cord doesn’t work anymore and that I have to think of what wonderful song I haven’t heard in a decade will be played. And also pray the CD isn’t scratched…
— Michael Vakian
Teacher. Writer. Believer in memory, dignity, and hope.
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Picasso in Blue Jeans
A sliver of a thoughtthe thought of a thoughtand it takes shape. Shape becomes reality,reality takes substance,substance fills the mindwith images. Images become desire,desire moves…
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Arguing About the Tune
(by Michael Vakian) There’s war in Iranand I’m torn. On one hand we have childrenbeing shot in carsbecause the people wantchange Young men executedfor waging…
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Shadows at Noon
The world seems large todayA mouse creeping under cupboards. The sun, high noon,casts shadows.Skitter about,listening to other people’s conversations,trying to avoid the cat, always worried,worried,worried,worried…
To My Readers
To those who’ve wandered these pages with me… thank you. You’ve taken time to pause among the words, to listen to the quiet between lines, to find in them perhaps a trace of something familiar. Each poem is a small reaching-out, a moment caught between light and shadow, and knowing that someone has met it halfway gives those moments meaning. Whether you’ve read one piece or many, whether you’ve lingered or passed through, your presence here is felt. It is the quiet company that keeps the work alive, and I am deeply grateful for it.
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Still
Crickets are chirping, the night is still. You left me today. My socks were in the wrong drawer, or so I thought. I couldn’t find a fork. I went for a walk, but couldn’t find the stars. The wind seemed…
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Devotion
Devotion When I was a small child,I was taughtwell, maybe I learnedwhat it is to love. I learned that devotion was a privilege,not an act:…
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Hello?
A young man picked up his phone after just one ring. He listened. Hello? There was no answer, just silence. Hello? Are you there? Is…
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Ani
by Michael Vakian Ani, tall, silent, with black hair falling like a memorywho is of a people who have endured what words cannot hold.You wouldn’t…
Poems and stories from the edges of light and shadow 