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See by Michael R. Burch See how her hair has thinned: it doesn’t seem like hair at all, but like the airy moult of emus who outraced the wind and left soft plumage in their wake. See how her eyes are gentler now; see how each wrinkle laughs, and deepens on itself, as though mirth took some comfort there, then burrowed deeply in, outlasting winter. See how very thin her features are—that time has made more spare, so that each bone shows, elegant and rare. For life remains undimmed in her grave eyes, and courage in her still-delighted looks: each face presented like a picture book’s. Bemused, she blows us undismayed goodbyes. Published by The Eclectic Muse, Love Me Knots (an anthology of contemporary love poems), Nutty Stories (South Africa), Black Medina, The New Formalist, Better Than Starbucks, Potcake Chapbooks, Strange Roads, Sonnetto Poesia, Litera (UK), Poems About, Poetry Life & Times, MahMag (in a Farsi translation by Dr. Mahnaz Badihian), Somewhere Along The Beaten Path (anthology), Freshet, Life & Legends, Famous Poets & Poems Deliver Us ... by Michael R. Burch for my mother, Christine Ena Burch The night is dark and scary— under your bed, or upon it. That blazing light might be a star ... or maybe the Final Comet. But two things are sure: your mother’s love and your puppy’s kisses, doggonit! Sonnet: Duet (II) by Michael R. Burch If love is just an impulse meant to bring two tiny hearts together, skittering like hamsters from their Quonsets late at night in search of lust’s productive exercise . . . If love is the mutation of some gene made radiant—an accident of bliss played out by two small actors on a screen of silver mesh, who never even kiss . . . If love is evolution, nature’s way of sorting out its DNA in pairs, of matching, mating, sculpting flesh’s clay . . . why does my wrinkled hamster climb his stairs to set his wheel revolving, then descend and stagger off . . . to make hers fly again? Originally published by Bewildering Stories Dark Twin by Michael R. Burch You come to me out of the sun— my dark twin, unreal... And you are always near although I cannot touch you; although I trample you, you cannot feel... And we cannot be parted, nor can we ever meet except at the feet. The Echoless Green by Michael R. Burch for and after William Blake 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 vows they swore. By twilight, their cries had subsided to sighs. Now night reigns supreme on the echoless green. dark matter(s) by Michael R. Burch for and after William Blake 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? NOTE: Rod Steiger is best known for his portrayals of weirdos, oddballs, mobsters, bandits, serial killers, and fascists like Mussolini and Napoleon. An Ecstasy of Fumbling by Michael R. Burch The poets believe everything resolves to metaphor— a distillation, a vapor beyond filtration, though perhaps not quite as volatile as before. The poets conceive of death in the trenches as the price of art, not war, fumbling with their masque-like dissertations to describe the Hollywood-like gore as something beyond belief, abstracting concrete bunkers to Achaemenid bas-relief. Excerpts from “Travels with Einstein” by Michael R. Burch for Trump I went to Berlin to learn wisdom from Adolph. The wild spittle flew as he screamed at me, with great conviction: “Please despise me! I look like a Jew!” So I flew off to ’Nam to learn wisdom from tall Yankees who cursed “yellow” foes. “If we lose this small square,” they informed me, earth’s nations will fall, dominoes!” I then sat at Christ’s feet to learn wisdom, but his Book, from its genesis to close, said: “Men can enslave their own brothers!” (I soon noticed he lacked any clothes.) So I traveled to bright Tel Aviv where great scholars with lofty IQs informed me that (since I’m an Arab) I’m unfit to lick dirt from their shoes. At last, done with learning, I stumbled to a well where the waters seemed sweet: the mirage of American “justice.” There I wept a real sea, in defeat. Originally published by Café Dissensus The Not-So-Heroic Stoic, or, A la Cartesian i think, therefore i question if, who and what i am. -michael r. burch i think, therefore i guess who the hell i am on this hellish quest. -michael r. burch i think, therefore i postulate: Fate ain’t so great. -michael r. burch i think, therefore i am confused and unenthused. -michael r. burch i think, therefore i am not a fan of THE MAN. -michael r. burch i think, therefore i am puzzled addled frazzled befuddled. -michael r. burch i thunk THEREFORE i am sunk ... like a frog in a bog, KERPLUNK! -michael r. burch The greatest philosophers are better known for their questions, doubts and mistakes than for what they actually knew. Thus lesser thinkers may want to avoid the hubris of certainty. - Michael R. Burch Eras Poetica II by Michael R. Burch Poetry is the art of words: beautiful words. So that we who are destitute of all other beauties exist in worlds of our own making; where, if we persist, the unicorns gather in phantomlike herds, whinnying to see us; where dark flocks of birds, hooting, screeching and cawing, all madly insist: “We too are wild migrants lost in this pale mist which strangeness allows us, which beauty affords!” We stormproof our windows with duct tape and boards. We stockpile provisions. We cull the small list of possessions worth keeping. Our listless lips, kissed, mouth pointless enigmas. Time’s bare pantry hoards dust motes of past grandeurs. Yet here Mars’s sword lies shattered on the anvil of the enduring Word. Keywords/Tags: age, elderly, end of life, death, aging, parting, goodbye, loss, time, women, William Blake

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See by Michael R. Burch See how her hair has thinned: it doesn’t seem like hair at all, but like the airy moult of emus who outraced the wind and left soft plumage in their wake. See how her eyes are gentler now; see how each wrinkle laughs, and deepens on itself, as though mirth took some comfort there, then burrowed deeply in, outlasting winter. See how very thin her features are—that time has made more spare, so that each bone shows, elegant and rare. For life remains undimmed in her grave eyes, and courage in her still-delighted looks: each face presented like a picture book’s. Bemused, she blows us undismayed goodbyes. Published by The Eclectic Muse, Love Me Knots (an anthology of contemporary love poems), Nutty Stories (South Africa), Black Medina, The New Formalist, Better Than Starbucks, Potcake Chapbooks, Strange Roads, Sonnetto Poesia, Litera (UK), Poems About, Poetry Life & Times, MahMag (in a Farsi translation by Dr. Mahnaz Badihian), Somewhere Along The Beaten Path (anthology), Freshet, Life & Legends, Famous Poets & Poems Deliver Us ... by Michael R. Burch for my mother, Christine Ena Burch The night is dark and scary— under your bed, or upon it. That blazing light might be a star ... or maybe the Final Comet. But two things are sure: your mother’s love and your puppy’s kisses, doggonit! Sonnet: Duet (II) by Michael R. Burch If love is just an impulse meant to bring two tiny hearts together, skittering like hamsters from their Quonsets late at night in search of lust’s productive exercise . . . If love is the mutation of some gene made radiant—an accident of bliss played out by two small actors on a screen of silver mesh, who never even kiss . . . If love is evolution, nature’s way of sorting out its DNA in pairs, of matching, mating, sculpting flesh’s clay . . . why does my wrinkled hamster climb his stairs to set his wheel revolving, then descend and stagger off . . . to make hers fly again? Originally published by Bewildering Stories Dark Twin by Michael R. Burch You come to me out of the sun— my dark twin, unreal... And you are always near although I cannot touch you; although I trample you, you cannot feel... And we cannot be parted, nor can we ever meet except at the feet. The Echoless Green by Michael R. Burch for and after William Blake 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 vows they swore. By twilight, their cries had subsided to sighs. Now night reigns supreme on the echoless green. dark matter(s) by Michael R. Burch for and after William Blake 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? NOTE: Rod Steiger is best known for his portrayals of weirdos, oddballs, mobsters, bandits, serial killers, and fascists like Mussolini and Napoleon. An Ecstasy of Fumbling by Michael R. Burch The poets believe everything resolves to metaphor— a distillation, a vapor beyond filtration, though perhaps not quite as volatile as before. The poets conceive of death in the trenches as the price of art, not war, fumbling with their masque-like dissertations to describe the Hollywood-like gore as something beyond belief, abstracting concrete bunkers to Achaemenid bas-relief. Excerpts from “Travels with Einstein” by Michael R. Burch for Trump I went to Berlin to learn wisdom from Adolph. The wild spittle flew as he screamed at me, with great conviction: “Please despise me! I look like a Jew!” So I flew off to ’Nam to learn wisdom from tall Yankees who cursed “yellow” foes. “If we lose this small square,” they informed me, earth’s nations will fall, dominoes!” I then sat at Christ’s feet to learn wisdom, but his Book, from its genesis to close, said: “Men can enslave their own brothers!” (I soon noticed he lacked any clothes.) So I traveled to bright Tel Aviv where great scholars with lofty IQs informed me that (since I’m an Arab) I’m unfit to lick dirt from their shoes. At last, done with learning, I stumbled to a well where the waters seemed sweet: the mirage of American “justice.” There I wept a real sea, in defeat. Originally published by Café Dissensus The Not-So-Heroic Stoic, or, A la Cartesian i think, therefore i question if, who and what i am. -michael r. burch i think, therefore i guess who the hell i am on this hellish quest. -michael r. burch i think, therefore i postulate: Fate ain’t so great. -michael r. burch i think, therefore i am confused and unenthused. -michael r. burch i think, therefore i am not a fan of THE MAN. -michael r. burch i think, therefore i am puzzled addled frazzled befuddled. -michael r. burch i thunk THEREFORE i am sunk ... like a frog in a bog, KERPLUNK! -michael r. burch The greatest philosophers are better known for their questions, doubts and mistakes than for what they actually knew. Thus lesser thinkers may want to avoid the hubris of certainty. - Michael R. Burch Eras Poetica II by Michael R. Burch Poetry is the art of words: beautiful words. So that we who are destitute of all other beauties exist in worlds of our own making; where, if we persist, the unicorns gather in phantomlike herds, whinnying to see us; where dark flocks of birds, hooting, screeching and cawing, all madly insist: “We too are wild migrants lost in this pale mist which strangeness allows us, which beauty affords!” We stormproof our windows with duct tape and boards. We stockpile provisions. We cull the small list of possessions worth keeping. Our listless lips, kissed, mouth pointless enigmas. Time’s bare pantry hoards dust motes of past grandeurs. Yet here Mars’s sword lies shattered on the anvil of the enduring Word. Keywords/Tags: age, elderly, end of life, death, aging, parting, goodbye, loss, time, women, William Blake