Poetry Forum Areas

Introduce Yourself

New to PoetrySoup? Introduce yourself here. Tell us something about yourself.

Looking for a Poem

Can't find a poem you've read before? Looking for a poem for a special person or an occasion? Ask other member for help.

Writing Poetry

Ways to improve your poetry. Post your techniques, tips, and creative ideas how to write better.

High Critique

For poets who want unrestricted constructive criticism. This is NOT a vanity workshop. If you do not want your poem seriously critiqued, do not post here. Constructive criticism only. PLEASE Only Post One Poem a Day!!!

How do I...?

Ask PoetrySoup Members how to do something or find something on PoetrySoup.



You have an ad blocker! We understand, but...

PoetrySoup is a small privately owned website. Our means of support comes from advertising revenue. We want to keep PoetrySoup alive, make it better, and keep it free. Please support us by disabling your ad blocker on PoetrySoup. See how to enable ads while keeping your ad blocker active. Also, did you know you can become a PoetrySoup Lifetime Premium Member and block ads forever...while getting many more great features. Take a look! Thank you!
Get Your Premium Membership


Best Famous Michael Donaghy Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Michael Donaghy poems. This is a select list of the best famous Michael Donaghy poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Michael Donaghy poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Michael Donaghy poems.

Search for the best famous Michael Donaghy poems, articles about Michael Donaghy poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Michael Donaghy poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:

Poems are below...


Written by Michael Donaghy | Create an image from this poem

Machines

 Dearest, note how these two are alike:
This harpsicord pavane by Purcell
And the racer's twelve-speed bike.
The machinery of grace is always simple.
This chrome trapezoid, one wheel connected To another of concentric gears, Which Ptolemy dreamt of and Schwinn perfected, Is gone.
The cyclist, not the cycle, steers.
And in the playing, Purcell's chords are played away.
So this talk, or touch if I were there, Should work its effortless gadgetry of love, Like Dante's heaven, and melt into the air.
If it doesn't, of course, I've fallen.
So much is chance, So much agility, desire, and feverish care, As bicyclists and harpsicordists prove Who only by moving can balance, Only by balancing move.