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 shade of a bird flew through my head and like a needle pulling thread
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.
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-
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
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.
The Green Flash
'There is also the pink flash and the blue flash', explained Tom. They were sitting in the Santa Fe, at a table covered with red-checked oil cloth. Before each stood a drink in different stages of consumption. As usual, Tom nursed a dark green bottle of Heineken; Billy drank punch; Mat, something gin-based, Cal, rum and coke. From time to time a young French waiter came by to see if everything was alright. After an afternoon at the beach they'd showered the sand and sun-screen down the drain and now felt tired in a good way and very relaxed.
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?
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'.
The next few days passed slowly but agreeably.
Irrigated by a tributary, his cousin's land lay beyond sight of the river traffic for which the city was famous. It also lay beyond sight of the town itself, so the farm was unphased by urban hustle and bustle- even at a distance. It wasn't so different from home, Ramon decided. He came to think of the famous city of Sevilla as a backwater and after a week felt the farm compared unfavorably with his father's, at home. He yearned for the novelty