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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.
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