David McLansky

Veteran Poet - 1,557 Points [David McLansky] (5/24/1944 / New York City)

David McLansky Poems

561. The Cloak 11/22/2012
562. The Comfort Of A Third Wife 12/18/2013
563. The Condemned 4/14/2013
564. The Corp (A Riff)) 1/12/2013
565. The Crossing Guards Of Life 2/19/2014
566. The Dangers Of Being Old 5/7/2013
567. The Deer Ate My Tulip Tops 9/13/2013
568. The Devil 6/27/2014
569. The Evil 9/16/2013
570. The Evil Have No Sense Of Guilt 3/9/2014
571. The Ex-Wife On My Birthday 5/7/2013
572. The Game 3/21/2014
573. The Gift 2/22/2013
574. The Importance Of Wearing A Raincoat 6/25/2013
575. The Irish In Decline (A Riff) 12/17/2012
576. The Last Party 12/16/2012
577. The Local Elite 5/31/2014
578. The Memory Of Joyce Stirs The Trees At Night 4/13/2014
579. The Mirror 4/21/2014
580. The Narrow Soul 2/21/2014
581. The Need Of God 5/16/2014
582. The Not Yet Dead 2/19/2013
583. The Oaten Bride (2) 9/19/2013
584. The Oaten Bride (1) 9/18/2013
585. The Oaten Bride (3) 9/20/2013
586. The Oaten Bride (4) 9/21/2013
587. The Oaten Bride (6) 9/25/2013
588. The Oaten Bride (7) 9/26/2013
589. The Oaten Bride Ii 4/5/2014
590. The Oaten Bride Iii 4/5/2014
591. The Oaten Bride Iv 4/5/2014
592. The Oaten Bride Ix 4/5/2014
593. The Oaten Bride V 4/5/2014
594. The Oaten Bride Vi 4/5/2014
595. The Oaten Bride Vii 4/5/2014
596. The Oaten Bride Viii 4/5/2014
597. The Oaten Bride X 4/5/2014
598. The Oaten Bride(5) 9/25/2013
599. The Old Clochard 9/8/2013
600. The Old Farmer 3000 B.C. 3/7/2014
Best Poem of David McLansky

After My Death

No stillness filled the air,
The Nation didn't pause
Speechless with despair;
No limousine procession
Slowly snaked the road,
Winding to the crowded hill
And my last abode;
No local politicians
Recalled the City's loss
No Abbot of the Diocese
Softly kissed his Cross;
No Mayor of the Village
Called me Mankind's Friend,
No speeches intoned over me
Recalling Life at end;
At my empty grave site
Two weeping children stood,
Summarizing all I'd done
And all I ever would.

Read the full of After My Death

Galatea (A Riff)

What perfection in eye and cheek,
She shifts her body, I cannot speak,
Her back's soft light of muscled bone
That I would frame in marble stone;

What arrogance in handheld tool
That I could take what's learned in school
And reproduce her subtle beauty
Oh Pygmalion, you fail in duty.

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