As Time Walked By

These are early poems of mine, written as a high school student in the 10th grade. as Time walked by by Michael R. Burch yesterday i dreamed of us again, when the air, like honey, trickled through cushioning grasses, softly flowing, pouring itself upon the masses of dreaming flowers... then the sly impish Hours were tentative, coy and shy while the sky swirled all its colors together, giving pleasure to the appreciative eye as Time walked by. sunbright, your smile could fill the darkest night with brilliant light or thrill the dullest day with ecstasy so long as Time did not impede our way... until It did, as It did. for soon the summer hid her sunny smile... the honeyed breaths of wind became cold, biting to the bone as Time sped on, fled from us to be gone Forevermore. this morning i awakened to the thought that u were near with honey hair and happy smile lying sweetly by my side, but then i remembered—u were gone, that u'd been toppled long ago like an orchid felled by snow as the bloom called “us” sank slowly down to die and Time roared by. This poem appeared in my high school literary journal and was probably written around age 15-16, or thereabouts. This was during my 'cummings period, ' which started after I/i discovered e.e. cummings in an English textbook. Have I been too long at the fair? by Michael R. Burch Have I been too long at the fair? The summer has faded, the leaves have turned brown; the Ferris wheel teeters ... not up, yet not down. Have I been too long at the fair? This is one of my early poems, written around age 15 and published in my high school literary journal. When last my love left me by Michael R. Burch The sun was a smoldering ember when last my love left me; the sunset cast curious shadows over green arcs of the sea; she spoke sad words, departing, and teardrops drenched the trees. This poem was published by my college literary journal, Homespun, issue 1976-1977. I believe I wrote the original version around age 16. Flight by Michael R. Burch Eagle, raven, blackbird, crow . . . What you are I do not know. Where you go I do not care. I’m unconcerned whose meal you bear. But as you mount the sun-splashed sky, I only wish that I could fly. I only wish that I could fly. Robin, hawk or whippoorwill . . . Should men care if you hunger still? I do not wish to see your home. I do not wonder where you roam. But as you scale the sky's bright stairs, I only wish that I were there. I only wish that I were there. Sparrow, lark or chickadee . . . Your markings I disdain to see. Where you fly concerns me not. I scarcely give your flight a thought. But as you wheel and arc and dive, I, too, would feel so much alive. I, too, would feel so much alive. I think this poem was written around age 16. Damp Days by Michael R. Burch These are damp days, and the earth is slick and vile with the smell of month-old mud. And yet it seldom rains; a never-ending drizzle drenches spring's bright buds till they droop as though in death. Now Time drags out His endless hours as though to bore to tears His fretting, edgy servants through the sheer length of His days and slow passage of His years. Damp days are His domain. Irritation grinds the ravaged nerves and grips tight the gorging brain which fills itself, through sense, with vast seas of soggy clay while the temples throb in pain at the thought of more damp days. I wrote the first version of this poem around age 16. Easter, in Jerusalem by Michael R. Burch The streets are hushed from fervent song, for strange lights fill the sky tonight. A slow mist creeps up and down the streets and a star has vanished that once burned bright. Oh Bethlehem, Bethlehem, who tends your flocks tonight? "Feed my sheep," "Feed my sheep," a Shepherd calls through the markets and the cattle stalls, but a fiery sentinel has passed from sight. Golgotha shudders uneasily, then wearily settles to sleep again, and I wonder how they dream who beat him till he screamed, "Father, forgive them!" Ah Nazareth, Nazareth, now sunken deep into dark sleep, do you heed His plea as demons flee, "Feed my sheep," "Feed my sheep . . ." The temple trembles violently, a veil lies ripped in two, and a good man lies on a mountainside whose heart was shattered too. Galilee, oh Galilee, do your waters pulse and froth? "Feed my sheep," "Feed my sheep," the waters creep to form a starlit cross. According to my notes, I wrote this poem around age 15-16. I Am Lonely by Michael R. Burch Oh God, I am lonely; I am weak and sore afraid. Now, just who am I to turn to when my heart is torn in two? Oh God, I am lonely and I cannot find a mate. Now, just who am I to turn to when the best friend that I’ve made remains myself? This poem appeared in my high school journal; I believe it was written around age 15-16. A midnight shade of blue by Michael R. Burch You thought you saw a shadow moving somewhere in the night— a lost and lonely stranger searching for a little light— so you told me to approach him, ask him if he'd like a room . . . how sweet of you to think of one alone out in the gloom, but he was only ... a midnight shade of blue. I thought I saw an answer shining somewhere in the night— a spark of truth irradiating wisdom sweet and bright— but when I sought to seize it, to bring it home to you . . . it fluttered through my fingers like a wispy curlicue, for it was only ... a midnight shade of blue. We thought that we had found true love together in the night— a love as fine and elegant as wine by candlelight— but when we woke this morning, we knew it wasn't true . . . the "love" we'd shared was less than love; I guess we owe it to emotion ... and a midnight shade of blue. I wrote this poem around age 16. Keywords/tags: early, early poem, juvenile, juvenalia, child, childhood, boy, boyhood, teen, teenage, student, study, studies, high school, freshman, sophomore, 10th grade, first love, time