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.
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'.
I Wish I Were Young, Again
I wish I were young again with lotteries to win when it was always Spring and I could smell the exhaust
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