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Fahr an' Ice by Michael R. Burch From what I know of death, I'll side with those who'd like to have a say in how it goes: just make mine cool, cool rocks (twice drowned in likker), and real fahr off, instead of quicker. Originally published by Light Quarterly. Keywords/Tags: humor, humorous, light verse, fun, death, drink, drinking, ice, fire, frost, Robert Frost, Ogden Nash, liquor, quicker Tillage by Michael R. Burch (a coronavirus poem about stasis and potential for recovery by reconnecting) What stirs within me is no great welling straining to flood forth, but an emptiness waiting to be filled. I am not an orchard ready to be harvested, but a field rough and barren waiting to be tilled. Water and Gold by Michael R. Burch You came to me as rain breaks on the desert when every flower springs to life at once, but joy's a wan illusion to the expert: the Bedouin has learned how not to want. You came to me as riches to a miser when all is gold, or so his heart believes, until he dies much thinner and much wiser, his gleaming bones hauled off by chortling thieves. You gave your heart too soon, too dear, too vastly; I could not take it in; it was too much. I pledged to meet your price, but promised rashly. I died of thirst, of your bright Midas touch. I dreamed you gave me water of your lips, then sealed my tomb with golden hieroglyphs. Originally published by The Lyric Sumer is icumen in a modern English translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch (this update of an ancient classic is dedicated to everyone who suffers with hay fever and other allergies) Sumer is icumen in Lhude sing achu! Groweth sed And bloweth hed And buyeth med? Cuccu! Originally published by Lighten Up Online (as Kim Cherub) I kept the medieval spellings of “sumer” (summer), “lhude” (loud), “sed” (seed) and “hed” (head). I then slipped in the modern slang term “med” for medication. The first line means something like “Summer’s a-comin’ in!” Stay With Me Tonight by Michael R. Burch Stay with me tonight; be gentle with me as the leaves are gentle falling to the earth. And whisper, O my love, how that every bright thing, though scattered afar, retains yet its worth. Stay with me tonight; be as a petal long-awaited blooming in my hand. Lift your face to mine and touch me with your lips till I feel the warm benevolence of your breath’s heady fragrance like wine. That which we had when pale and waning as the dying moon at dawn, outshone the sun. And so lead me back tonight through bright waterfalls of light to where we shine as one. Originally published by The Lyric Incompatibles by Michael R. Burch Reason’s treason! cries the Heart. Love’s insane, replies the Brain. Originally published by Light Grave Oversight by Michael R. Burch The dead are always with us, and yet they are naught! The Greatest of These by Michael R. Burch for my mother Christine Burch The hands that held me tremble. The arms that lifted fall. Angelic flesh, now parchment, is held together with gauze. But her undimmed eyes still embrace me; there infinity can be found. I can almost believe such unfathomable love will reach me, underground. Sweet Centerless Sixteen by Michael R. Burch Inconsolable as “love” had left your heart, you woke this morning eager to pursue warm lips again, or something “really cool” on which to press your lips and leave their mark. As breath upon a windowpane at dawn soon glows, a spreading halo full of sun, your thought of love blinks wildly ... on and on ... then fizzles at the center, and is gone. Thirty by Michael R. Burch Thirty crept upon me slowly with feline caution and a slowly-twitching tail; patiently she waited for the winds to shift; now, claws unsheathed, she lies seething to assail her helpless prey. The Toast by Michael R. Burch For longings warmed by tepid suns (brief lusts that animated clay), for passions wilted at the bud and skies grown desolate and gray, for stars that fell from tinseled heights and mountains bleak and scarred and lone, for seas reflecting distant suns and weeds that thrive where seeds were sown, for waltzes ending in a hush and rhymes that fade as pages close, for flames’ exhausted, graying ash, and petals falling from the rose, I raise my cup before I drink in reverence to a love long dead, and silently propose a toast— to passages, to time that fled. Originally published by Contemporary Rhyme Twice by Michael R. Burch Now twice she has left me and twice I have listened and taken her back, remembering days when love lay upon us and sparkled and glistened with the brightness of dew through a gathering haze. But twice she has left me to start my life over, and twice I have gathered up embers, to learn: rekindle a fire from ash, soot and cinder and softly it sputters, refusing to burn. Originally published by The Lyric Pale Though Her Eyes by Michael R. Burch Pale though her eyes, her lips are scarlet from drinking of blood, this child, this harlot born of the night and her heart, of darkness, evil incarnate to dance so reckless, dreaming of blood, her fangs?white?baring, revealing her lust, and her eyes, pale, staring ... Vampires by Michael R. Burch Vampires are such fragile creatures; we dread the dark, but the light destroys them ... sunlight, or a stake, or a cross—such common things. Still, late at night, when the bat-like vampire sings, we shrink from his voice. Centuries have taught us: in shadows danger lurks for those who stray, and there the vampire bares his yellow fangs and feels the ancient soul-tormenting pangs. He has no choice. We are his prey, plump and fragrant, and if we pray to avoid him, the more he prays to find us ... prays to some despotic hooded God whose benediction is the humid blood he lusts to taste. The Vampire's Spa Day Dream by Michael R. Burch O, to swim in vats of blood! I wish I could, I wish I could! O, 'twould be so heavenly to swim in lovely vats of blood!

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Fahr An' Ice

Fahr an' Ice by Michael R. Burch From what I know of death, I'll side with those who'd like to have a say in how it goes: just make mine cool, cool rocks (twice drowned in likker), and real fahr off, instead of quicker. Originally published by Light Quarterly. Keywords/Tags: humor, humorous, light verse, fun, death, drink, drinking, ice, fire, frost, Robert Frost, Ogden Nash, liquor, quicker Tillage by Michael R. Burch (a coronavirus poem about stasis and potential for recovery by reconnecting) What stirs within me is no great welling straining to flood forth, but an emptiness waiting to be filled. I am not an orchard ready to be harvested, but a field rough and barren waiting to be tilled. Water and Gold by Michael R. Burch You came to me as rain breaks on the desert when every flower springs to life at once, but joy's a wan illusion to the expert: the Bedouin has learned how not to want. You came to me as riches to a miser when all is gold, or so his heart believes, until he dies much thinner and much wiser, his gleaming bones hauled off by chortling thieves. You gave your heart too soon, too dear, too vastly; I could not take it in; it was too much. I pledged to meet your price, but promised rashly. I died of thirst, of your bright Midas touch. I dreamed you gave me water of your lips, then sealed my tomb with golden hieroglyphs. Originally published by The Lyric Sumer is icumen in a modern English translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch (this update of an ancient classic is dedicated to everyone who suffers with hay fever and other allergies) Sumer is icumen in Lhude sing achu! Groweth sed And bloweth hed And buyeth med? Cuccu! Originally published by Lighten Up Online (as Kim Cherub) I kept the medieval spellings of “sumer” (summer), “lhude” (loud), “sed” (seed) and “hed” (head). I then slipped in the modern slang term “med” for medication. The first line means something like “Summer’s a-comin’ in!” Stay With Me Tonight by Michael R. Burch Stay with me tonight; be gentle with me as the leaves are gentle falling to the earth. And whisper, O my love, how that every bright thing, though scattered afar, retains yet its worth. Stay with me tonight; be as a petal long-awaited blooming in my hand. Lift your face to mine and touch me with your lips till I feel the warm benevolence of your breath’s heady fragrance like wine. That which we had when pale and waning as the dying moon at dawn, outshone the sun. And so lead me back tonight through bright waterfalls of light to where we shine as one. Originally published by The Lyric Incompatibles by Michael R. Burch Reason’s treason! cries the Heart. Love’s insane, replies the Brain. Originally published by Light Grave Oversight by Michael R. Burch The dead are always with us, and yet they are naught! The Greatest of These by Michael R. Burch for my mother Christine Burch The hands that held me tremble. The arms that lifted fall. Angelic flesh, now parchment, is held together with gauze. But her undimmed eyes still embrace me; there infinity can be found. I can almost believe such unfathomable love will reach me, underground. Sweet Centerless Sixteen by Michael R. Burch Inconsolable as “love” had left your heart, you woke this morning eager to pursue warm lips again, or something “really cool” on which to press your lips and leave their mark. As breath upon a windowpane at dawn soon glows, a spreading halo full of sun, your thought of love blinks wildly ... on and on ... then fizzles at the center, and is gone. Thirty by Michael R. Burch Thirty crept upon me slowly with feline caution and a slowly-twitching tail; patiently she waited for the winds to shift; now, claws unsheathed, she lies seething to assail her helpless prey. The Toast by Michael R. Burch For longings warmed by tepid suns (brief lusts that animated clay), for passions wilted at the bud and skies grown desolate and gray, for stars that fell from tinseled heights and mountains bleak and scarred and lone, for seas reflecting distant suns and weeds that thrive where seeds were sown, for waltzes ending in a hush and rhymes that fade as pages close, for flames’ exhausted, graying ash, and petals falling from the rose, I raise my cup before I drink in reverence to a love long dead, and silently propose a toast— to passages, to time that fled. Originally published by Contemporary Rhyme Twice by Michael R. Burch Now twice she has left me and twice I have listened and taken her back, remembering days when love lay upon us and sparkled and glistened with the brightness of dew through a gathering haze. But twice she has left me to start my life over, and twice I have gathered up embers, to learn: rekindle a fire from ash, soot and cinder and softly it sputters, refusing to burn. Originally published by The Lyric Pale Though Her Eyes by Michael R. Burch Pale though her eyes, her lips are scarlet from drinking of blood, this child, this harlot born of the night and her heart, of darkness, evil incarnate to dance so reckless, dreaming of blood, her fangs?white?baring, revealing her lust, and her eyes, pale, staring ... Vampires by Michael R. Burch Vampires are such fragile creatures; we dread the dark, but the light destroys them ... sunlight, or a stake, or a cross—such common things. Still, late at night, when the bat-like vampire sings, we shrink from his voice. Centuries have taught us: in shadows danger lurks for those who stray, and there the vampire bares his yellow fangs and feels the ancient soul-tormenting pangs. He has no choice. We are his prey, plump and fragrant, and if we pray to avoid him, the more he prays to find us ... prays to some despotic hooded God whose benediction is the humid blood he lusts to taste. The Vampire's Spa Day Dream by Michael R. Burch O, to swim in vats of blood! I wish I could, I wish I could! O, 'twould be so heavenly to swim in lovely vats of blood!