#michael lavers

[nomorechoirs]

“Coda” by Michael Lavers

[mythologyofblue]

The grass just has to wave, the birds just have to sing. The grapes don’t wonder what light is; the light just lights them, and the grapes grape back. The golden oaks just shed their summer dresses on the lawn—but you? You have to read Spinoza in the garden while the light is good. You have to keep your focus as the motorcycles scream out of the purple hills. You have to sweat, and laugh, and weatherproof the bedroom windows, and remember names and dates, the town where your parents met— Milk River or Swan Hills?—and when they died, you have to sweep the kitchen floor and then define the good, the true, the beautiful, or try, because azaleas can’t see themselves, the squirrels are busy, and the ferns have closed. The frost tattoos its sermon on the rose, but in a language only you can read; you have to know that all things pass and perish, and that what you’ve said is finite, but continue— as if grand exceptions might be made— raking the leaves, stacking the wood, hoping the child falls asleep against your chest, hoping the blizzard swerves, knowing the wreckage of the present will be gathered but not soon, and not by you, because you’re in it, there somewhere, under the sheet of snow.

-Michael  Lavers, “The Burden of Humans” +

[acasualcurator]

The grass just has to wave, the birds just have to sing. The grapes don’t wonder what light is; the light just lights them, and the grapes grape back. The golden oaks just shed their summer dresses on the lawn—but you? You have to read Spinoza in the garden while the light is good. You have to keep your focus as the motorcycles scream out of the purple hills. You have to sweat, and laugh, and weatherproof the bedroom windows, and remember names and dates, the town where your parents met— Milk River or Swan Hills?—and when they died, you have to sweep the kitchen floor and then define the good, the true, the beautiful, or try, because azaleas can’t see themselves, the squirrels are busy, and the ferns have closed. The frost tattoos its sermon on the rose, but in a language only you can read; you have to know that all things pass and perish, and that what you’ve said is finite, but continue— as if grand exceptions might be made— raking the leaves, stacking the wood, hoping the child falls asleep against your chest, hoping the blizzard swerves, knowing the wreckage of the present will be gathered but not soon, and not by you, because you’re in it, there somewhere, under the sheet of snow.

The Burden of Humans by Michael Lavers

[leopoldetbonaparte]

The grass just has to wave, the birds just have to sing. The grapes don’t wonder what light is; the light just lights them, and the grapes grape back. The golden oaks just shed their summer dresses on the lawn—but you? You have to read Spinoza in the garden while the light is good. You have to keep your focus as the motorcycles scream out of the purple hills. You have to sweat, and laugh, and weatherproof the bedroom windows, and remember names and dates, the town where your parents met— Milk River or Swan Hills?—and when they died, you have to sweep the kitchen floor and then define the good, the true, the beautiful, or try, because azaleas can’t see themselves, the squirrels are busy, and the ferns have closed. The frost tattoos its sermon on the rose, but in a language only you can read; you have to know that all things pass and perish, and that what you’ve said is finite, but continue— as if grand exceptions might be made— raking the leaves, stacking the wood, hoping the child falls asleep against your chest, hoping the blizzard swerves, knowing the wreckage of the present will be gathered but not soon, and not by you, because you’re in it, there somewhere, under the sheet of snow.

-Michael  Lavers, “The Burden of Humans”

[poem-today]

A poem by Michael Lavers

Coda

From the garden rose the sound of bees that lurched and wobbled through the peonies. We ate eggs, French toast, drank milk that warmed in minutes in the sun while fat drones swarmed and looped like drunkards in the purple field. On the porch we heard their bodies yield to wills their fuzzy minds don’t understand. They smelled the stains of syrup on your hand and one, in gold-encrusted drunken strut, smeared pollen from its mandibles and gut along your wrist. That morning you had tied your hair, and as you rose and ran inside, it gently bounced, and loosed, and then unfurled. If the next is better, I’ll still miss this world.

Michael Lavers

From Rattle #35, Summer 2011 Tribute to Canadian Poets

Listen to Michael Lavers read his poem (15:55)

[incorrigibletenderness]

The Burden of Humans by Michael Lavers

The grass just has to wave, the birds just have to sing. The grapes don’t wonder what light is; the light just lights them, and the grapes grape back. The golden oaks just shed their summer dresses on the lawn—but you? You have to read Spinoza in the garden while the light is good. You have to keep your focus as the motorcycles scream out of the purple hills. You have to sweat, and laugh, and weatherproof the bedroom windows, and remember names and dates, the town where your parents met— Milk River or Swan Hills?—and when they died, you have to sweep the kitchen floor and then define the good, the true, the beautiful, or try, because azaleas can’t see themselves, the squirrels are busy, and the ferns have closed. The frost tattoos its sermon on the rose, but in a language only you can read; you have to know that all things pass and perish, and that what you’ve said is finite, but continue— as if grand exceptions might be made— raking the leaves, stacking the wood, hoping the child falls asleep against your chest, hoping the blizzard swerves, knowing the wreckage of the present will be gathered but not soon, and not by you, because you’re in it, there somewhere, under the sheet of snow.

[alsmovingpicturereviews]

Exclusive Online Film Premiere: Joseph's Reel - Watch Now

Watch Exclusive Online Premier: Short Film 'Joseph's Reel' - Full Movie

  Movie Review: Joseph’s Reel (2015 Short Film) Running Time: 14 minutes Director: Michael Lavers Writer: Michael Lavers Cinematographer: Eben Bolter Cast: Robert Hardy, Alice Lowe, Oliver Tilney, Ella Road     Back in August 2015, I caught what instantly became one of the most heartfelt and accomplished short films I’d ever experienced.  To me, it redefined the possibilities of what a short film…

View On WordPress

[liveforfilms]

Joseph's Reel - Trailer for new short starring Robert Hardy

Joseph’s Reel – Trailer for new short starring Robert Hardy

This new short from director Michael Lavers and cinematographer Eben Bolter looks absolutely beautiful. It stars Alice Lowe (Sightseers) and Robert Hardy (All Creatures Great and Small, Harry Potter and so much more). A 1950s British summertime looks wonderful captured in anamorphic 35mm. The project was funded by Kickstarter.

Before passing away, an elderly man is given the chance to relive one…

View On WordPress