Cowpoke
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
Copyright © Michael Burch | Year Posted 2024
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