Biography of Morgan Michaels
Morgan Michaels Poems
Clouds under heaven fly Winds over meadow hie Through kept field and forest wild Rambles my motherless child.
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....
The shade of a bird flew through my head and like a needle pulling thread
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.
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 champagne split
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-
Yin And Yang
Once I lived with Yin Nights, we sat by lamplight waiting for the commercial breaks on TV Her freshly pressed dress brushed my knee.
Seven Basic Machines
'First the pulley. With these window-washers haul themselves up to the tip-top or drop'. 'Yes', she said, with minimal interest. 'Next'.
I Wish I Were Young, Again
I wish I were young again with lotteries to win when it was always Spring and I could smell the exhaust
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