Poems About Poets V

Poems about Poets V Edna St. Vincent Millay Has Her Way with a Vassar Professor by Michael R. Burch After a night of hard drinking and spreading her legs, Millay hits the dorm, where the Vassar don begs: “Please act more chastely, more discretely, more seemly!” (His name, let’s assume, was, er ... Percival Queemly.) “Expel me! Expel me!”—She flashes her eyes. “Oh! Please! No! I couldn’t! That wouldn’t be wise, for a great banished Shelley would tarnish my name ... Eek! My game will be lame if I can’t milque your fame!” “Continue to live here—carouse as you please!” the beleaguered don sighs as he sags to his knees. Millay grinds her crotch half an inch from his nose: “I can live in your hellhole, strange man, I suppose ... but the price is your firstborn, whom I’ll sacrifice to Moloch.” (Which explains what became of pale Percy’s son, Enoch.) Downdraft by Michael R. Burch for Dylan Thomas We feel rather than understand what he meant as he reveals a shattered firmament which before him never existed. Here, there are no images gnarled and twisted out of too many words, but only flocks of white birds wheeling and flying. Here, as Time spins, reeling and dying, the voice of a last gull or perhaps some spirit no longer whole, echoes its lonely madrigal and we feel its strange pull on the astonished soul. O My Prodigal! The vents of the sky, ripped asunder, echo this wild, primal thunder— now dying into undulations of vanishing wings . . . and this voice which in haggard bleak rapture still somehow downward sings. Why the Kid Gloves Came Off by Michael R. Burch for Lemuel Ibbotson It's hard to be a man of taste in such a waste: hence the lambaste. Keywords/Tags: poet, poets, poetry, poems, write, writing, muse, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Dylan Thomas, drink, drinking