Morgan Michaels Poems

Hit Title Date Added
251.
Sunflowers

252.
Call

253.
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254.
From 'The Double' Iv

'Ouch', yelped Langley, smacking a mosquito. 'Where are we'?
Steadily, the trees closed overhead into an arcade, screening out the light. The way became darker.
'You said you wanted to see the real Cuba' laughed Miggi, over his shoulder.
'I don't want to break my neck. Or, get eaten alive'.
...

255.
Mri Ii

'Move up, down, ho! , too far- up a bit more'!
Into the narrow tube I slide, eyes closed, a loaf of dough.
White becomes sheathed in darkness. 'Keep your eyes shut
I self-council, yes, that's the trick, for sure,
...

256.
Harvest

Sorrow, be calm, don't tremble so.
The night, the night is nearly here
Darkness, falls over Paris now
Bringing solace to Care.
...

257.
From 'the Double 1c

258.
Bug

There is a bug in my PC
I'm not lying
or seeing things-
an actual green
...

259.
Toby- A Prose Poem: Next

260.
From Toby, A Prose Poem: Next Ii

Mademoiselle Jeanette was trembly-nervous. She rose early, washed her face and carefully tied up her silver-blond hair. Then, she buttoned on a collar that looked like a doily, and over the whole drew a green velvet cloak that came from Paris. She must look good- people were expecting she wouldn't. Shivering, she walked through the pre-dawn gloom to the mess tent, a pair of shoulders, a diminutive figure, nimbly skirting the ruts. Her face was smudged, in spite of its washing, because she hadn't slept much. She took her seat at the table but couldn't eat. People stopped and kissed her as they edged by. The usual raillery was gone. The tent had a funereal, dreamy-dreary atmosphere. Everything was changed. Heaped with yellow eggs, her plate soon became choked with feathery tufts, torn from her napkin with shaky fingers.

'C'est la vie', she sighed, suppressing her tears. There was no changing what happened. Poor Ajax.
...

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