Michael Philips

Michael Philips Poems

41. Prison As Metaphor 4/16/2005
42. On The Outside 1/19/2005
43. Center Of The Story 5/31/2005
44. Rolling Around 2/11/2005
45. Naming The Boat 1/23/2005
46. The Best Dumplings In The World 10/14/2005
47. The Peace Train 10/9/2005
48. Go Ahead, Call Me A Pig, I’ve Heard Worse 11/17/2005
49. Birth Of Punk Rock 7/9/2005
50. Dartmouth Alumni Survey 4/23/2005
51. Normally I Hate Sports 10/11/2006
52. The Guys Who Win 6/5/2005
53. Hotel Evacuation Route 7/14/2005
54. No Hands Restaurant, Hanoi 11/28/2005
55. My Whole Family Is Dysfunctional 9/13/2005
56. Persistent Vegetative State 4/3/2005
57. Einstein’s Mistake 1/24/2006
58. The Lost Poems Of Fidel Castro 8/28/2007
59. Foreign Language 5/19/2005
60. Outdoor Concerts 3/10/2005
61. How My Neighbor Deals With Death 4/16/2005
62. Drum Lessons 10/20/2005
63. What To Say To Your Captor 1/17/2005
64. To Both Of My Wives 1/26/2005
65. Do Not Resuscitate 9/1/2005
66. Sun Tzu’s Art Of War (Newly Revised & Updated) 2/2/2005
67. Oh No! Not Another Love Poem 1/20/2005
68. Last Will 1/9/2005
69. Touchdown 12/1/2005
70. Pantoum For A Camping Trip 6/24/2005
71. One Day At The Flea Market 3/28/2005
72. Route 66 For President 7/31/2005
73. Getting It Wrong 4/20/2005
74. A Shitty Valentines Day 10/31/2005
75. Cat Lover 11/23/2005
76. No More Communists To Kick Around Anymore 5/3/2005
77. Bagging Kid Charlemagne 3/31/2005
78. Colleagues Who Die 1/7/2005
79. The One True Religion 3/11/2005
80. Aunt Rita 2/4/2005

Comments about Michael Philips

  • Mare Dylan (3/18/2012 7:04:00 PM)

    Wonderful stuff, keep writing.

    3 person liked.
    2 person did not like.
  • Lori Boulard (11/26/2006 9:15:00 PM)

    I could leave a comment on every one of your poems, Michael, I like them that much, but I'll spare the space and say so here. Your writing is original, tight, and just funny enough to remind me that poetry doesn't have to be dry and 'proper' to be good. Keep it up, my friend. Cheers, Lori

  • Max Reif (12/24/2005 5:52:00 PM)

    I tell you, Michael, I've enjoyed quite a few of your poems-'Route 66' is still my favorite-but just now, clicking through your pages to find your new one, I had more fun with your TITLES than most poems! I'll have to come back and read 'Song of the Peeping Tom', 'Song of the Porn Webmaster', 'Song of the Tabloid Hack', and all the rest.

  • ... ... (12/21/2005 1:12:00 PM)

    Rebirth, I'll Still Be Dead, Getting it Wrong, Cowboys...just some of the poems I've really enjoyed, not least for the playful tones and clever touches in the work...they are humorous, and, in essence i feel, life-affirming, in their own peculiar optimistic and individual way. But possibly the most entertaining thing is your refusal to resort to stock emotional responses.

  • Michael Gessner (4/23/2005 2:03:00 PM)

    Just beginning to look at your titles, 'Dartmouth Alumni Survey, ' 'Melody The Comptroller, ' 'My New Screenplay, ' et. al. & find them strikingly original, resonant-with humor that doubles as entertainment & the Cosmic Laughter of The Profound-as tho' I've stumble thought the door to a Gallery of Undiscovered Things-

  • Lare Austin (1/23/2005 11:49:00 AM)

    Hi Michael...I just read your poem, 'Naming The Boat'. Very well written story...like a good book...I couldn't put it down. Thank you for sharing...and perhaps you might think of putting together a book of poetry. It would do well...

    Lare Austin

Best Poem of Michael Philips

Bad Art

I set off a stink bomb
At the art opening of bad art.
It was funny how everyone started
Looking around as if they
Would somehow be able to see the smell.
People began fanning their faces
With their programs and an Asian
Woman actually held her nose.
When they discovered I was the culprit
They roughly escorted me out
Of the gallery and the owner told me what I
Did was adolescent and stupid.
I said the smell was only bad
In his subjective mind – who’s to say what’s
A good smell and what’s a bad smell? But
He had already gone
Back inside to help ...

Read the full of Bad Art


Our calendars were rivers
Swollen with wedding cakes.
We slept through tunes like All Of Me
Or “All The Cheese, ” our drummer smirked.
But I knew I could never walk.
Mrs. Wing my junior high music teacher
Would appear before me as an apparition,
Breaking her baton on my stand,
Demanding to know what I was doing

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