Biography of Morgan Michaels
- A Family History II -new-
- A Family History -new-
- from Delilah Supreme Creator V -new-
- from 'Delilah Supreme Creator IV' -new-
- Spring -new-
- from Delilah Supreme-Creator III -new-
- from Delilah Supreme-Creator II -new-
- from Delilah Supreme-Creator -new-
- A Goliard
- Rimbaud In Africa
- MRI III
- MRI II
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....
The shade of a bird flew through my head and like a needle pulling thread
Clouds under heaven fly Winds over meadow hie Through kept field and forest wild Rambles my motherless child.
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
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-
Nature's intentions are the incidents of dream. Nature, dream,
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 early morning and I could smell the fumes of gas
Aunt Fritzi I
What she was is not exactly clear
but as often shown resting in an armchair reading the Times,
a journalist, perhaps? the way she looked
she could have been an ex-rockette.
It is natural and understandable
that she kept so firm a rein on Nancy,
her ward, troublesome child,
who lived with her for reasons