Michael Cook Poems

One may believe whatever he chooses, or not
Having only to chase great skill, or not, but why?
A few select learning, or music, the grandest or not
Truly and all, the mind rules all, only for those who try
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Tell me of hate...

Could fate possibly have a hand here?
But this reaction is a bitter cost
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Cherry red tongue now stained
In mirror of the dark boy's fame
Rhododendron, one with the dark leaf
The main course at Winter's Eve feast
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I have a dream and a number
Forever mine is my number
It is four, plus company, and one
The number of cosmic balance, my son
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I! Thy ever facilitating moment
That stands strong against the flow and current
Be thou highest of all my guiding cells
And manipulator of all that I am
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to St. Adrian I give thanks
the dead leader of dead Roman ranks
a silent prayer to the Roman man
that calm man like deadly white hands
...