Michael Angelo Poetry


Author: Michael Angelo

  • Library Staff

    Library Staff

    The library staff changed
    and my heart grew a little colder.

    Not bitterly cold—just room temperature water
    pooled when crying in the tub for too long.

    The library staff changed,
    just when I wanted to share a crazy idea:
    that maybe my poetry had a place
    there among the authors.

    I knew a guy, a bigshot library guy—
    thought I’d make him my messiah, but
    the library staff changed,
    and I witnessed an interview.

    I could tell from the prospect’s face
    that she knew about the change,
    and that it was coming again soon,
    and that home

    was a crazy idea.

  • Train

    Train

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  • Angel

    Angel

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  • Love Song

    Love Song

    The beauty of the World
    unclothes herself in the waters of a river.
    Admire her rippling surface,
    the depth of her turning body,
    the way the crystal scales of her fishes turn
    and catch a bit of sunlight—
        and then the moment goes.

    Beauty, she is there along the stones.
    She covers their damp surfaces with emerald foam.

    Fix your gaze
    to see her moss, how the stardust of the land
    emulates the form of the ancestors shimmering above.

    She is everywhere,
    within spirals-within-spirals
    of repeating patterns,
    yet she is a singular awe.

    This is her shimmering beauty,
    the loving face, shining through the World
    as it is cradled in her infinite night.

    Listen
    as a choir of crickets offers
    their prayers.