Early Poems Xvi

Early Poems XVI The Beautiful People by Michael R. Burch They are the beautiful people, and their shadows dance through the valleys of the moon to the listless strains of an ancient tune. Oh, no ... please don't touch them, for their smiles might fade. Don’t go ... don’t approach them as they promenade, for they waltz through a vacuum and dream they're not made of the dust and gross dankness to which men degrade. They are the beautiful people, and their spirits sighed in their mothers’ wombs as the distant echoings of unearthly tunes. Winds do not blow there and storms do not rise, and each hair has its place and each gown has its price. And they whirl through the darkness untouched by our cares as we watch them and long for a "life" such as theirs. I believe I wrote this poem around age 18. Impotent by Michael R. Burch Tonight my pen is barren of passion, spent of poetry. I hear your name upon the rain and yet it cannot comfort me. I feel the pain of dreams that wane, of poems that falter, losing force. I write again words without end, but I cannot control their course . . . Tonight my pen is sullen and wants no more of poetry. I hear your voice as if a choice, but how can I respond, or flee? I feel a flame I cannot name that sends me searching for a word, but there is none not over-done, unless it's one I never heard. I believe this poem was written in my late teens or early twenties. Gentry by Michael R. Burch The men shined their shoes and the ladies chose their clothes; the rifle stocks were varnished till they were untarnished by a speck of dust. The men trimmed their beards; the ladies rouged their lips; the horses were groomed until the time loomed for them to ride. The men mounted their horses, the ladies did the same; then in search of game they went, a pleasant time they spent, and killed the fox. This poem was published in my college literary journal, Homespun. I believe I wrote the poem around age 18. I Am Lonely by Michael R. Burch Oh God, I am lonely; I am weak and sore afraid. Now, just who am I to turn to when my heart is torn in two? Oh God, I am lonely and I cannot find a mate. Now, just who am I to turn to when the best friend that I’ve made remains myself? This poem appeared in my high school journal the Lantern. I believe it was written circa age 16. Keywords/Tags: 12th grade, boy, child, childhood, high school, early poems, juvenilia, impotent, impotence, God, prayer, lonely, loneliness