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Enter Poem or Quote (Required) Poems about Poets VII Gallant Knight by Michael R. Burch for Alfred Dorn and Anita Dorn Till you rest with your beautiful Anita, rouse yourself, Poet; rouse and write. The world is not ready for your departure, Gallant Knight. Teach us to sing in the ringing cathedrals of your Verse, as you outduel the Night. Give us new eyes to see Love's bright Vision robed in Light. Teach us to pray, that the true Word may conquer, that the slaves may be freed, the blind have Sight. Write the word LOVE with a burning finger. I shall recite. O, bless us again with your chivalrous pen, Gallant Knight! It was my honor and good fortune to have been able to publish the poetry of Dr. Alfred Dorn and his wife Anita Dorn. I cannot claim to have known them well, but I feel that I did know them?to some extent?through their poetry. And everyone who knew them spoke of them with the highest regard. To Please The Poet by Michael R. Burch for poets who still write musical verse To please the poet, words must dance— staccato, brisk, a two-step: so! Or waltz in elegance to time of music—mild, adagio. To please the poet, words must chance emotion in catharsis— flame. Or splash into salt seas, descend in sheets of silver-shining rain. To please the poet, words must prance and gallop, gambol, revel, rail. Or muse upon a moment—mute, obscure, unsure, imperfect, pale. To please the poet, words must sing, or croak, wart-tongued, imagining. Originally published by The Lyric a poem in which i a-coos Coo & Co. of being unfairly lovable Coo & Co. are unfairly lovable! their poems are entirely too huggable! for what hope have we po’-its, we intellectual know-its, or no-wits, when ours are so drubabble? While not written in German, Italian, French, Latin, Greek, Sanskrit and hieroglyphics like T.S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land,” but merely in less-than-the-Queen’s-English, this poem may also require copious footnotes. The “unfairly lovable” poems I had in mind were, particularly, “Learning Barn” and “Grebe barcarolle,” but also other adorable Coo & Co. poems reminiscent of Lear, Carroll, A. A. Milne, “The House on Pooh Corner” and “Yellow Submarine.” The contraction “po’-its” stands for “poor its,” as in destitute non-entities, which we other poets are in danger of becoming when compared to the adorability of Coo & Co. How can we possibly hope to compete? The coinage “drubabble” means “someone in need of a drubbing for babbling on when they should be reading Coo & Co.” With which I must lapse into silence ... aka "His Last Confession" by Michael R. Burch (I have narrowed down the authorship of the the poems of Coo & Co. to either an Einsteinian colombine named Coo or a mysterious poetess who goes by the names F.F. Teague, Felicity Teague, Fliss Teague and FT.) we did not Dye in vain! by Michael R. Burch from “songs of the sea snails” though i’m just a slimy crawler, my lineage is proud: my forebears gave their lives (oh, let the trumps blare loud!) so purple-mantled Royals might stand out in a crowd. i salute you, fellow loyals, who labor without scruple as your incomes fall while deficits quadruple to swaddle unjust Lords in bright imperial purple! Tea Party Madness by Michael R. Burch for Connor Kelly Since we agree, let’s have a nice tea with our bats in the belfry. a peom in supsport of a dsylexci peot by michael r. burch, allso a peot for ken d williams pay no hede to the saynayers, the asburd wordslayers, the splayers and sprayers, the heartless diecriers, the liers! what the hell due ur criticks no? let them bellow below! ur every peom has a good haert and culd allso seerv as an ichart! There are a number of puns, including ur (my term for original/ancient/first), no/know, pay/due, the critic as both absurd and an as(s)-burd who is he(artless), and the poet as the (seer)v of an (i)-chart for all. Here is an encoded version: (pay) k(no)w hede to the say(nay)ers, the as(s)bird word(s*)layers, the s*(players) and s*(prayers), the he(artless) (die)(cry)ers, the (lie)rs! what the hell (due) ur (cry)(ticks) k(no)w? let them (be)l(low) below! (ur) every peom has a good haert and culd (all)so (seer)ve as an (i)chart! Alien Nation by Michael R. Burch for J. S. S., a "Christian" poet On a lonely outpost on Mars the astronaut practices “speech” as alien to primates below as mute stars winking high, out of reach. And his words fall as bright and as chill as ice crystals on Kilimanjaro — far colder than Jesus’s words over the “fortunate” sparrow. And I understand how gentle Emily felt, when all comfort had flown, gazing into those inhuman eyes, feeling zero at the bone. Oh, how can I grok his arctic thought? For if he is human, I am not. Keywords/Tags: Alfred Dorn, Anita Dorn, poet, poets, poetry, write, writing, lyric, Christian, dance, music, adagio
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