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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Cowpoke by Michael R. Burch, circa age 16 Sleep, old man... your day has long since passed. The endless plains, cool midnight rains and changeless ragged cows alone remain of what once was. You cannot know just how the Change will rape the windswept plains that you so loved... and so sleep now, O yes, sleep now... before you see just how the Change will come. Sleep, old man... your dreams are not our dreams. The Rio Grande, stark silver sand and every obscure brand of steed and cow are sure to pass away as you do now. I believe this poem was written around age 16 or thereabouts. The Song of Roland by Michael R. Burch, circa age 16-17 "for spring in retreat" Rain down, strange murmurous water... no, summer is not yet nigh. Cease your complaining, for May is, calling December a lie, still rocking the high white sky. Sleep now, summer hours... too soon your time shall come. Softly straining, the raining spring begs, "Let me run one more hour beneath the sun, for soon I shall be gone." Lie down, weary Roland, for summer is not yet nigh. Remember a pyre of stars blazing higher upon night’s immense dark sky unsettling as her eyes, twinkling, even as you died... Lie down, weary Roland, for summer is not yet nigh. I believe I wrote “The Song of Roland” around age 16-17. Chixiao (“The Owl”) by Duke Zhou loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Owl! You've stolen my offspring, Don't shatter my nest! When with labors of love I nurtured my fledglings. Before the skies darkened And the dark rains fell, I gathered mulberry twigs To thatch my nest, Yet scoundrels now dare Impugn my enterprise. With fingers chafed rough By the reeds I plucked And the straw I threshed, I now write these words, Too hoarse to speak: I am homeless! My wings are withered, My tail torn away, My home toppled And tossed into the rain, My cry a distressed peep. Untitled Epigrams The LIV is LIVid: livid with blood, and full of egos larger than continents. —Michael R. Burch Evil is as evil does. Evil never needs a cause. Evil loves amoral “laws,” laughs and licks its blood-red claws while kids are patched together with gauze. — Michael R. Burch Poets laud Justice’s high principles. Trump just gropes her raw genitals. —Michael R. Burch Keywords/Tags: poetry, poet, poems, west, western, cowpoke, cowboy, cows, plains, range, Roland, horn, bugle, Oliver, light verse, humor, life, death, love, Duke Zhou, Owl, home, homeless, evil, Donald Trump, USA, justice, war
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