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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required These are peace poems, prayer poems, hymns and lullabies I have written for family, friends and the world over the years ... Peace Prayer by Michael R. Burch for Jim Dunlap Be calm. Be still. Be silent, content. Be one with the buffalo cropping the grass to a safer height. Seek the composure of the great depths, barely moved by exterior storms. Lift your face to the dawning light; feel how it warms. And be calm. Be still. Be silent, content. I Pray Tonight by Michael R. Burch I pray tonight the starry Light might surround you. I pray by day that, come what may, no dark thing confound you. I pray ere the morrow an end to your sorrow. May angels' white chorales sing, and astound you. Prayer Before Flight by Michael R. Burch for Jeremy They will teach you to scoff at love from the highest, windiest precipice of reason. Do not believe them. There is no place safe for you to fall save into the arms of love. Love’s Extreme Unction by Michael R. Burch Lines composed during Jeremy’s first high school football game (he played tuba), while I watched Beth watch him. Within the intimate chapels of her eyes— devotions, meditations, reverence. I find in them Love’s very residence and hearing the ardent rapture of her sighs I prophesy beatitudes to come, when Love like hers commands us, “All be One!” Love is her Belief and her Commandment by Michael R. Burch for Beth Love is her belief and her commandment; in restless dreams at night, she dreams of Love; and Love is her desire and her purpose; and everywhere she goes, she sings of Love. There is a tomb in Palestine: for others the chance to stake their claims (the Chosen Ones), but in her eyes, it’s Love’s most hallowed chancel where Love was resurrected, where one comes in wondering awe to dream of resurrection to blissful realms, where Love reigns over all with tenderness, with infinite affection. While some may mock her faith, still others wonder because they see the rare state of her soul, and there are rumors: when she prays the heavens illume more brightly, as if saints concur who keep a constant vigil over her. And once she prayed beside a dying woman: the heavens opened and the angels came in the form of long-departed friends and loved ones, to comfort and encourage. I believe not in her God, but always in her Love. Ave Maria by Michael R. Burch Ave Maria, Maiden mild, Listen to my earnest prayer. Listen, O, and be beguiled. Ave Maria. Ave Maria, Maiden mild, Be Mother now to every child Beset by earth’s thorned briars wild. Ave Maria. Ave Maria, Maiden mild, Embrace us with your Love and Grace. Let us look upon your Face. Ave Maria. Ave Maria, Maiden mild, Please attend to our earnest call— When will Love be All in All? Ave Maria. Final Lullaby by Michael R. Burch for my mother, Christine Ena Burch Sleep peacefully—for now your suffering’s over. Sleep peacefully—immune to all distress, like pebbles unaware of raging waves. Sleep peacefully—like fields of fragrant clover unmoved by any motion of the wind. Sleep peacefully—like clouds untouched by earthquakes. Sleep peacefully—like stars that never blink and have no thoughts at all, nor need to think. Sleep peacefully—in your eternal vault, immaculate, past perfect, without fault. Amen Lullaby by Michael R. Burch for Jeremy Cherubic laugh; sly, impish grin; Angelic face; wild chimp within. It does not matter; sleep awhile As soft mirth tickles forth a smile. Gray moths will hum a lullaby Of feathery wings, then you and I Will wake together, by and by. * Life’s not long; those days are best Spent snuggled to a loving breast. The earth will wait; a sun-filled sky Will bronze lean muscle, by and by. Soon you will sing, and I will sigh, But sleep here, now, for you and I Know nothing but this lullaby. Keywords/Tags: peace, prayer, benediction, meditation, hymn, lullaby, lullabies, ohm, calm, calmness, silent, silence, still, stillness, quiet, serene, serenity, composed, composure, warmth, tranquility, Native American The People Loved What They Had Loved Before by Michael R. Burch We did not worship at the shrine of tears; we knew not to believe, not to confess. And so, ahemming victors, to false cheers, we wrote off love, we gave a stern address to things that we disapproved of, things of yore. And the people loved what they had loved before. We did not build stone monuments to stand six hundred years and grow more strong and arch like bridges from the people to the Land beyond their reach. Instead, we played a march, pale Neros, sparking flames from door to door. And the people loved what they had loved before. We could not pipe of cheer, or even woe. We played a minor air of Ire (in E). The sheep chose to ignore us, even though, long destitute, we plied our songs for free. We wrote, rewrote and warbled one same score. And the people loved what they had loved before. At last outlandish wailing, we confess, ensued, because no listeners were left. We built a shrine to tears: our goddess less divine than man, and, like us, long bereft. We stooped to love too late, too Learned to whore. And the people loved what they had loved before. Keywords/Tags: traditional, poetry, meter, rhyme, reason, music, song, form, love, loved, monuments, bridges, unpaid, free, verse, score, classic, classical, Romantic Performing Art by Michael R. Burch Who teaches the wren in its drab existence to explode into song? What parodies of irony does the jay espouse with its sharp-edged tongue? What instinctual memories lend stunning brightness to the strange dreams of the dull gray slug —spinning its chrysalis, gluing rough seams— abiding in darkness its transformation, till, waving damp wings, it applauds its performance? I am done with irony. Life itself sings. Keywords/Tags: performing, art, poetry, song, singing, music, irony, cynicism, parodies, dreams, imagination, chrysalis, butterfly, transformation, natural, performance
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