You Never Listened

You Never Listened by Michael R. Burch You never listened, though each night the rain wove its patterns again and trembled and glistened... You were not watching, though each night the stars shone, brightening the tears in her eyes palely fetching... You paid love no notice, though she lay in my arms as the stars rose in swarms like a legion of poets, as the lightning recited its opus before us, and the hills boomed the chorus, all strangely delighted... Habeas Corpus by Michael R. Burch from “Songs of the Antinatalist” I have the results of your DNA analysis. If you want to have children, this may induce paralysis. I wish I had good news, but how can I lie? Any offspring you have are guaranteed to die. It wouldn’t be fair—I’m sure you’ll agree— to sentence kids to death, so I’ll waive my fee. Bittersight by Michael R. Burch for Abu al-Ala Al-Ma'arri, an ancient antinatalist poet To be plagued with sight in the Land of the Blind, —to know birth is death and that Death is kind— is to be flogged like Eve (stripped, sentenced and fined) because evil is “good” as some “god” has defined. veni, vidi, etc. by Michael R. Burch the last will and testament of a preemie, from “Songs of the Antinatalist” i came, i saw, i figured it was better to be transfigured, so rather than cross my Rubicon i fled to the Great Beyond. i bequeath my remains, so small, to Brutus, et al. Paradoxical Ode to Antinatalism by Michael R. Burch from “Songs of the Antinatalist” A stay on love would end death’s hateful sway, someday. A stay on love would thus be love, I say. Be true to love and thus end death’s fell sway! Lighten your tread: The ground beneath your feet is composed of the dead. Walk slowly here and always take great pains Not to trample some departed saint's remains. And happiest here is the hermit with no hand In making sons, who dies a childless man. Abu al-Ala Al-Ma'arri (973-1057), antinatalist Shyari loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch There were antinatalist notes in Homer, around 3,000 years ago ... For the gods have decreed that unfortunate mortals must suffer, while they remain sorrowless. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch It is best not to be born or, having been born, to pass on as swiftly as possible.—attributed to Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch One of the first great voices to directly question whether human being should give birth was that of Sophocles, around 2,500 years ago ... Not to have been born is best, and blessed beyond the ability of words to express. —Sophocles, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch It’s a hundred times better not be born; but if we cannot avoid the light, the path of least harm is swiftly to return to death’s eternal night! —Sophocles, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Keywords/Tags: Habeas Corpus, coronavirus, plague, birth, control, procreation, childbearing, child abuse, children, prognosis, suffering, pain, despair, death, climate change, extinction, antinatalist, antinatalism, contraception, contraceptives The Love Song Of Shu-Sin loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Darling of my heart, my belovéd, your enticements are sweet, sweeter than honey. Darling of my heart, my belovéd, your enticements are sweet, sweeter than honey. You have captivated me; I stand trembling before you. Darling, lead me swiftly into the bedroom! You have captivated me; I stand trembling before you. Darling, lead me swiftly into the bedroom! Sweetheart, let me do the sweetest things to you! My precocious caress is far sweeter than honey! In the bedchamber, dripping love's honey, let us enjoy life's sweetest thing. Sweetheart, let me do the sweetest things to you! My precocious caress is much sweeter than honey! Bridegroom, you will have your pleasure with me! Speak to my mother and she will reward you; speak to my father and he will give you gifts. I know how to give your body pleasure— then sleep, my darling, till the sun rises. To prove that you love me, give me your caresses, my Lord God, my guardian Angel and protector, my Shu-Sin, who gladdens Enlil's heart, give me your caresses! My place like sticky honey, touch it with your hand! Place your hand over it like a honey-pot lid! Cup your hand over it like a honey cup! gimME that ol’ time religion! by michael r. burch fiddle-dee-dum, fiddle-dee-dee, jesus loves and understands ME! safe in his grace, I’LL damn them to hell— the strumpet, the harlot, the wild jezebel, the alky, the druggie, all queers short and tall! let them drink ashes and wormwood and gall, ’cause fiddle-dee-DUMB, fiddle-dee-WEEEEEEEEEee... jesus loves and understands ME! My Epitaph by Michael R. Burch Do not weep for me, when I am gone. I lived, and ate my fill, and gorged on life. You will not find beneath this glossy stone the man who sowed and reaped and gathered days like flowers, undismayed they would not keep. Go lightly then, and leave me to my sleep. Having Touched You by Michael R. Burch What I have lost is not less than what I have gained. And for each moment passed like the sun to the west, another remained, suspended in memory like a flower in crystal so that eternity is but an hour, and fall is no longer a season but a state of mind. I have no reason to wait; the wind does not pause for remembrance or regret because there is only fate and chance. And so then, forget... Forget we were utterly happy a day. That day was my lifetime. Before that day I was empty and the sky was grey. You were the sunshine, the sunshine that gave me life. I took root and I grew. Now the touch of death is like a terrible knife, and yet I can bear it, having touched you. I wrote this poem as a teen. Shattered by Vera Pavlova translation by Michael R. Burch I shattered your heart; now I limp through the shards barefoot.