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Beckoning by Michael R. Burch Yesterday the wind whispered my name while the blazing locks of her rampant mane lay heavy on mine. And yesterday I saw the way the wind caressed tall pines in forests laced by glinting streams and thick with tangled vines. And though she reached for me in her sleep, the touch I felt was Time's. This is another one of my early poems, written during my Romantic period that began around age thirteen or fourteen and extended into my mid-twenties. ### Self Reflection by Michael R. Burch (for anyone struggling with self-image) She has a comely form and a smile that brightens her dorm ... but she's grossly unthin when seen from within; soon a griefstricken campus will mourn. Yet she'd never once criticize a friend for the size of her thighs. Do unto others— sisters and brothers? Yes, but also ourselves, likewise. ### The Aery Faery Princess by Michael R. Burch for Keira There once was a princess lighter than fluff made of such gossamer stuff— the down of a thistle, butterflies’ wings, the faintest high note the hummingbird sings, moonbeams on garlands, strands of bright hair ... I think she’s just you when you’re floating on air! ### Leave Taking by Michael R. Burch Brilliant leaves abandon battered limbs to waltz upon ecstatic winds until they die. But the barren and embittered trees, lament the frolic of the leaves and curse the bleak November sky ... Now, as I watch the leaves' high flight before the fading autumn light, I think that, perhaps, at last I may have learned what it means to say— goodbye. This poem started out as a stanza in a much longer poem, "Jessamyn's Song," that dates to around age 14 or 15. ### bachelorhoodwinked by Michael R. Burch u are charming & disarming, but mostly alarming since all my resolve dissolved! u are chic as a sheikh's harem girl in the sheets but my castle’s no longer my own and my kingdom's been overthrown! ### Defenses by Michael R. Burch Beyond the silhouettes of trees stark, naked and defenseless there stand long rows of sentinels: these pert white picket fences. Now whom they guard and how they guard, the good Lord only knows; but savages would have to laugh observing the tidy rows. ### Polish by Michael R. Burch Your fingers end in talons— the ones you trim to hide the predator inside. Ten thousand creatures sacrificed; but really, what’s the loss? Apply a splash of gloss. You picked the perfect color to mirror nature’s law: red, like tooth and claw. ### The Witch by Michael R. Burch her fingers draw into claws she cackles through rotting teeth ... u ask "are there witches?" pshaw! (yet she has my belief) ### grave request by michael r. burch come to ur doom in Tombstone; the stars stark and chill over Boot Hill care nothing for ur desire; still, imagine they wish u no ill, that u burn with the same antique fire; for there’s nothing to life but the thrill of living until u expire; so come, spend ur last hardearned bill on Tombstone. ### pretty pickle by Michael R. Burch u’d blaspheme if u could because ur God’s no good, but of course u cant: ur just a lowly ant (or so u were told by a Hierophant). ### and then i was made whole by Michael R. Burch ... and then i was made whole, but not a thing entire, glued to a perch in a gilded church, strung through with a silver wire ... singing a little of this and of that, warbling higher and higher: a thing wholly dead till I lifted my head and spat at the Lord and his choir. ### Album by Michael R. Burch I caress them—trapped in brittle cellophane— and I see how young they were, and how unwise; and I remember their first flight—an old prop plane, their blissful arc through alien blue skies ... And I touch them here through leaves which—tattered, frayed— are also wings, but wings that never flew: like insects’ wings—pinned, held. Here, time delayed, their features never changed, remaining two ... And Grief, which lurked unseen beyond the lens or in shadows where It crept on feral claws as It scratched Its way into their hearts, depends on sorrows such as theirs, and works Its jaws ... and slavers for Its meat—those young, unwise, who naively dare to dream, yet fail to see how, lumbering sunward, Hope, ungainly, flies, clutching to Her ruffled breast what must not be. ### Because You Came to Me by Michael R. Burch Because you came to me with sweet compassion and kissed my furrowed brow and smoothed my hair, I do not love you after any fashion, but wildly, in despair. Because you came to me in my black torment and kissed me fiercely, blazing like the sun upon parched desert dunes, till in dawn’s foment they melt, I am undone. Because I am undone, you have remade me as suns bring life, as brilliant rains endow the earth below with leaves, where you now shade me and bower me, somehow. ### Besieged by Michael R. Burch Life—the disintegration of the flesh before the fitful elevation of the soul upon improbable wings? Life—is this all we know, the travail one bright season brings? ... Now the fruit hangs, impendent, pregnant with death, as the hurricane builds and flings its white columns and banners of snow and the rout begins. ### Heroin or Heroine? by Michael R. Burch (for mothers battling addiction) serve the Addiction; worship the Beast; feed the foul Pythons your flesh, their fair feast ... or rise up, resist the huge many-headed hydra; for the sake of your Loved Ones decapitate medusa. ### Loose Knit by Michael R. Burch She blesses the needle, fetches fine red stitches, criss-crossing, embroidering dreams in the delicate fabric. And if her hand jerks and twitches in puppet-like fits, she tells herself reality is not as threadbare as it seems ... that a little more darning may gather loose seams. She weaves an unraveling tapestry of fatigue and remorse and pain; ... only the nervously pecking needle pricks her to motion, again and again.

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Beckoning

Beckoning by Michael R. Burch Yesterday the wind whispered my name while the blazing locks of her rampant mane lay heavy on mine. And yesterday I saw the way the wind caressed tall pines in forests laced by glinting streams and thick with tangled vines. And though she reached for me in her sleep, the touch I felt was Time's. This is another one of my early poems, written during my Romantic period that began around age thirteen or fourteen and extended into my mid-twenties. ### Self Reflection by Michael R. Burch (for anyone struggling with self-image) She has a comely form and a smile that brightens her dorm ... but she's grossly unthin when seen from within; soon a griefstricken campus will mourn. Yet she'd never once criticize a friend for the size of her thighs. Do unto others— sisters and brothers? Yes, but also ourselves, likewise. ### The Aery Faery Princess by Michael R. Burch for Keira There once was a princess lighter than fluff made of such gossamer stuff— the down of a thistle, butterflies’ wings, the faintest high note the hummingbird sings, moonbeams on garlands, strands of bright hair ... I think she’s just you when you’re floating on air! ### Leave Taking by Michael R. Burch Brilliant leaves abandon battered limbs to waltz upon ecstatic winds until they die. But the barren and embittered trees, lament the frolic of the leaves and curse the bleak November sky ... Now, as I watch the leaves' high flight before the fading autumn light, I think that, perhaps, at last I may have learned what it means to say— goodbye. This poem started out as a stanza in a much longer poem, "Jessamyn's Song," that dates to around age 14 or 15. ### bachelorhoodwinked by Michael R. Burch u are charming & disarming, but mostly alarming since all my resolve dissolved! u are chic as a sheikh's harem girl in the sheets but my castle’s no longer my own and my kingdom's been overthrown! ### Defenses by Michael R. Burch Beyond the silhouettes of trees stark, naked and defenseless there stand long rows of sentinels: these pert white picket fences. Now whom they guard and how they guard, the good Lord only knows; but savages would have to laugh observing the tidy rows. ### Polish by Michael R. Burch Your fingers end in talons— the ones you trim to hide the predator inside. Ten thousand creatures sacrificed; but really, what’s the loss? Apply a splash of gloss. You picked the perfect color to mirror nature’s law: red, like tooth and claw. ### The Witch by Michael R. Burch her fingers draw into claws she cackles through rotting teeth ... u ask "are there witches?" pshaw! (yet she has my belief) ### grave request by michael r. burch come to ur doom in Tombstone; the stars stark and chill over Boot Hill care nothing for ur desire; still, imagine they wish u no ill, that u burn with the same antique fire; for there’s nothing to life but the thrill of living until u expire; so come, spend ur last hardearned bill on Tombstone. ### pretty pickle by Michael R. Burch u’d blaspheme if u could because ur God’s no good, but of course u cant: ur just a lowly ant (or so u were told by a Hierophant). ### and then i was made whole by Michael R. Burch ... and then i was made whole, but not a thing entire, glued to a perch in a gilded church, strung through with a silver wire ... singing a little of this and of that, warbling higher and higher: a thing wholly dead till I lifted my head and spat at the Lord and his choir. ### Album by Michael R. Burch I caress them—trapped in brittle cellophane— and I see how young they were, and how unwise; and I remember their first flight—an old prop plane, their blissful arc through alien blue skies ... And I touch them here through leaves which—tattered, frayed— are also wings, but wings that never flew: like insects’ wings—pinned, held. Here, time delayed, their features never changed, remaining two ... And Grief, which lurked unseen beyond the lens or in shadows where It crept on feral claws as It scratched Its way into their hearts, depends on sorrows such as theirs, and works Its jaws ... and slavers for Its meat—those young, unwise, who naively dare to dream, yet fail to see how, lumbering sunward, Hope, ungainly, flies, clutching to Her ruffled breast what must not be. ### Because You Came to Me by Michael R. Burch Because you came to me with sweet compassion and kissed my furrowed brow and smoothed my hair, I do not love you after any fashion, but wildly, in despair. Because you came to me in my black torment and kissed me fiercely, blazing like the sun upon parched desert dunes, till in dawn’s foment they melt, I am undone. Because I am undone, you have remade me as suns bring life, as brilliant rains endow the earth below with leaves, where you now shade me and bower me, somehow. ### Besieged by Michael R. Burch Life—the disintegration of the flesh before the fitful elevation of the soul upon improbable wings? Life—is this all we know, the travail one bright season brings? ... Now the fruit hangs, impendent, pregnant with death, as the hurricane builds and flings its white columns and banners of snow and the rout begins. ### Heroin or Heroine? by Michael R. Burch (for mothers battling addiction) serve the Addiction; worship the Beast; feed the foul Pythons your flesh, their fair feast ... or rise up, resist the huge many-headed hydra; for the sake of your Loved Ones decapitate medusa. ### Loose Knit by Michael R. Burch She blesses the needle, fetches fine red stitches, criss-crossing, embroidering dreams in the delicate fabric. And if her hand jerks and twitches in puppet-like fits, she tells herself reality is not as threadbare as it seems ... that a little more darning may gather loose seams. She weaves an unraveling tapestry of fatigue and remorse and pain; ... only the nervously pecking needle pricks her to motion, again and again.