Biography of Morgan Michaels
- Under Heavan -new-
- Harvest -new-
- Sandpiper, Sandpiper -new-
- from 'The Double' Ib -new-
- from 'The Double' I -new-
- from Toby: Getting There -new-
- from 'The Double, VIII, II -new-
- from 'The Double, VIII' -new-
- Quid dedicatum... -new-
- Icci beatus... -new-
- Mater saeva... -new-
- Ardivere, Lyce... -new-
Morgan Michaels Poems
The Ideal City
Consider this marvel of Renaissance wit: The Ideal City, by Lucian Laurana- See how the canny master contrived in it To lead the eye along the polished piazza
-You knew her? -Yes, we had lunch several times, and then, later, at the club....
Your grip upon the silken cord grows weak you pluck them something now like zither strings It must be strange with no employ of wings to hang between the moon and quiet lake.
My grip upon the silken cord grows weak I long as much to linger as to flee (as if my ruined wings would carry me) Have I been here a moment or a week?
Like a land-locked sea, slowly drying up from the edges in, till just a splash of its former self-your long dead relations the island survivors you knew them-
The shade of a bird flew through my head and like a needle pulling thread
A Japanese Haiku In Phonics With Transla...
Tokyo toyota mitsubishi kyoto teriyake sake.
A Fairy Tale
It was like in Cinderella- A bag-lady became a fairy godmother A yellow cab became a white, stretch limo A coke became a split of champagne
Starry assembly why do some see a dolphin motoring the sky while others see
This morning on the train a mouth so troublingly wide
In The Museum
Quite something it was to see how in the museum, around the famous image by Monet, the poet of waters, running and still, the Master of Givenchy, painter of green-running rivers,
I Wish I Were Young, Again
I wish I were young again with lotteries to win when it was always early morning and I could smell the fumes of gas
I'm goin' to Chicago I'm goin' back that way, someday I'm headin' back to Chicago.
You too, rich enabler, have slid into the gray of memory
with no captions and no forwarding address
convincing us that most lives lived before the fall of such
are mere decorations of themselves and therefore waste;
that only in life lived 'round the corner, in vacuity,
is truth, (always what we define it) makeable, so valid,
anyway, and truly affordable.
Still and all, of legacies chary, we've got to pay the bills.
We are well-worn trails, drinking small, Dutch beers from