Greeting Card Maker | Poem Art Generator

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Vacuum by Michael R. Burch Over hushed quadrants forever landlocked in snow, time’s senseless winds blow... leaving odd relics of lives half-revealed, if still mostly concealed... such are the things we are unable to know that once intrigued us so. Come then, let us quickly repent of whatever truths we’d once determined to learn: for whatever is left, we are unable to discern. There’s nothing left of us; it’s time to go. Keywords/Tags: college, university, school, quadrant, quad, quads, dorm, winter, snow, distance, isolation, alienation, solitude, silence, vacuum In Praise of Meter by Michael R. Burch The earth is full of rhythms so precise the octave of the crystal can produce a trillion oscillations, yet not lose a second's beat. The ear needs no device to hear the unsprung rhythms of the couch drown out the mouth's; the lips can be debauched by kisses, should the heart put back its watch and find the pulse of love, and sing, devout. If moons and tides in interlocking dance obey their numbers, what's been left to chance? Should poets be more lax--their circumstance as humble as it is--or readers wince to see their ragged numbers thin, to hear the moans of drones drown out the Chanticleer? Originally published by The Eclectic Muse Finally to Burn (the Fall and Resurrection of Icarus) by Michael R. Burch Athena takes me sometimes by the hand and we go levitating through strange Dreamlands where Apollo sleeps in his dark forgetting and Passion seems like a wise bloodletting and all I remember ,upon awaking, is: to Love sometimes is like forsaking one’s Being--to glide heroically beyond thought, forsaking the here for the There and the Not. * O, finally to Burn, gravity beyond escaping! To plummet is Bliss when the blisters breaking rain down red scabs on the earth’s mudpuddle... Feathers and wax and the watchers huddle... Flocculent sheep, O, and innocent lambs!, I will rock me to sleep on the waves’ iambs. * To sleep's sweet relief from Love’s exhausting Dream, for the Night has Wings gentler than moonbeams; they will flit me to Life like a huge-eyed Phoenix fluttering off to quarry the Sphinx. * Riddlemethis, riddlemethat, Rynosseross, throw out the Welcome Mat. Quixotic, I seek Love amid the tarnished rusted-out steel when to live is varnish. To Dream--that’s the thing! Aye, that Genie I’ll rub, soak by the candle, aflame in the tub. * Riddlemethis, riddlemethat, Rynosseross, throw out the Welcome Mat. Somewhither, somewhither aglitter and strange, we must moult off all knowledge or perish caged. * I am reconciled to Life somewhere beyond thought-- I’ll Live the Elsewhere, I’ll Dream of the Naught. Methinks it no journey; to tarry’s a waste, so fatten the oxen; make a nice baste. I’m coming, Fool Tom, we have Somewhere to Go, though we injure noone, ourselves wildaglow. Published by The Lyric and The Ekphrastic Review Chit Chat: In the Poetry Chat Room by Michael R. Burch WHY SHULD I LERN TO SPELL? HELL, NO ONE REEDS WHAT I SAY ANYWAY!!! :( Sing for the cool night, whispers of constellations. Sing for the supple grass, the tall grass, gently whispering. Sing of infinities, multitudes, of all that lies beyond us now, whispers begetting whispers. And i am glad to also whisper... I WUS HURT IN LUV I’M DYIN’ FER TH’ TEARS I BEEN A-CRYIN’!!! i abide beyond serenities and realms of grace, above love’s misdirected earth, i lift my face. i am beyond finding now... I WAS IN, LOVE, AND HE SCREWED ME!!! THE JERK!!! TOTALLY!!! i loved her once, before, when i was mortal too, and sometimes i would listen and distinctly hear her laughter from the juniper, but did not go... I JUST DON’T GET POETRY, SOMETIMES. IT’S OKAY, I GUESS. I REALLY DON’T READ THAT MUCH AT ALL, I MUST CONFESS!!! ;-) Travail, inherent to all flesh, i do not know, nor how to feel. Although i sing them nighttimes still: the bitter woes, that do not heal... POETRY IS BORING. SEE, IT SUCKS!!!, I’M SNORING!!! ZZZZZZZ!!! The words like breath, i find them here, among the fragrant juniper, and conifers amid the snow, old loves imagined long ago... WHY DON’T YOU LIKE MY PERFICKT WORDS YOU USELESS UN-AMERIC’N TURDS?!!! What use is love, to me, or Thou? O Words, my awe, to fly so smooth above the anguished hearts of men to heights unknown, Thy bare remove... Desdemona by Michael R. Burch Though you possessed the moon and stars, you are bound to fate and wed to chance. Your lips deny they crave a kiss; your feet deny they ache to dance. Your heart imagines wild romance. Though you cupped fire in your hands and molded incandescent forms, you are barren now, and--spent of flame-- the ashes that remain are borne toward the sun upon a storm. You, who demanded more, have less, your heart within its cells of sighs held fast by chains of misery, confined till death for peddling lies-- imprisonment your sense denies. You, who collected hearts like leaves and pressed each once within your book, forgot. None--winsome, bright or rare-- not one was worth a second look. My heart, as others, you forsook. But I, though I loved you from afar through silent dawns, and gathered rue from gardens where your footsteps left cold paths among the asters, knew-- each moonless night the nettles grew and strangled hope, where love dies too. The Pictish Faeries by Michael R. Burch Smaller and darker than their closest kin, the faeries learned only too well never to dwell close to the villages of larger men. Only to dance in the starlight when the moon was full and men were afraid. Only to worship in the farthest glade, ever heeding the raven and the gull. Medusa by Michael R. Burch Friends, beware of her iniquitous hair: long, ravenblack & melancholy. Many suitors drowned there: lost, unaware of the length & extent of their folly. Shattered by Vera Pavlova loose translation by Michael R. Burch I shattered your heart; now I limp through the shards barefoot.
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