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dark matter(s)
by Michael R. Burch

the matter is dark, despairful, alarming:
ur Creator is hardly prince charming!

yes, ur “Great I Am”
created blake’s lamb

but He also created the tyger
and what about trump and rod steiger? 


The Echoless Green
by Michael R. Burch

At dawn, laughter rang
on the echoing green
as children at play
greeted the day.

At noon, smiles were seen
on the echoing green
as, children no more,
many fine oaths they swore.

By twilight, their cries
had subsided to sighs.
Now night reigns supreme
on the echoless green.


evol-u-shun
by michael r. burch

does GOD adore the Tyger
while it’s ripping ur lamb apart?

does GOD applaud the Plague
while it’s eating u à la carte?

does GOD admire ur brains
while ur claimng IT has a heart?

does GOD endorse the Bible
you blue-lighted at k-mart?


Mongrel Dreams
by Michael R. Burch

I squat in my Cherokee lodge, this crude wooden hutch of dry branches and leaf-thatch
as the embers smolder and burn,
hearing always the distant tom-toms of your rain dance.

I relax in my rustic shack on the heroned shores of Gwynedd,
slandering the English in the amulet gleam of the North Atlantic,
hearing your troubadour’s songs, remembering Dylan.

I stand in my rough woolen kilt in the tall highland heather
feeling the freezing winds through the trees leaning sideways,
hearing your bagpipes’ lament, dreaming of Burns.

I slave in my drab English hovel, tabulating rents
while dreaming of Blake and burning your poems like incense.

I abide in my pale mongrel flesh, writing in Nashville
as the thunderbolts flash and the spring rains spill,
till the quill gently bleeds and the white page fills,
dreaming of Whitman, calling you brother.


I Learned Too Late
by Michael R. Burch

I learned too late that poetry has rules,
although they may be rules for greater fools.

In any case, by dodging rules and schools,
I avoided useless duels. 

I learned too late that sentiment is bad—
that Blake and Keats and Plath had all been had. 

In any case, by following my heart,
I learned to walk apart. 

I learned too late that “telling” is a crime.
Did Shakespeare know? Is Milton doing time? 

In any case, by telling, I admit:
I think such rules are . 


tyger, lamb
by michael r. burch

the tiger’s a ferocious slayer.
he has no say in it.
hence, ur Creator’s a .

the lamb led to the slaughter
extends her neck to the block and bit. 
she has no say in it.

so don’t be a nitwit:
drink, carouse and revel!
why obey the Devil?
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