Halloween Poems Iv
the Horror
by Michael R. Burch
the Horror lurks inside our closets
the Horror hides beneath our beds
the Horror hisses ancient curses
the Horror whispers in our heads
the Horror tells us Death is coming
the Horror tells us there’s no hope
the Horror tells us “life” is futile
the Horror beckons, “there’s the Rope!”
Horror
by Michael R. Burch
What I ache to say is beyond saying?
no words for the horror
of not loving enough,
like a mummy half-wrapped in its moldering casements
holding a lily aloft.
No, there are no words for the horror
as a tormented wind howls through the teetering floes
and the cold freezes down to my clawed hairy toes ...
What use to me, now, if the stars appear?
As I moan
the moon finds me,
fangs goring the deer.
Strange Corps(e)
by Michael R. Burch
We are all dying, haunted by life?
dying, but the living will not let us go.
We are perishing zombies, haunted by the moonglow.
Love, ah! serene ghost
by Michael R. Burch
Love, ah! serene ghost,
haunts my retelling of her,
or stands atop despairing stairs
with such pale, severe eyes,
I become another pallid specter.
But what I feel
most profoundly is this:
the absolute lack of her kiss,
the absence of her wild,
unwarranted laughter.
So that,
like a candle deprived of oxygen,
I become mere wick and tallow again.
Here and hereafter ...
gone with her now, in the darkest of nights, the flame!
I lie, pallid vision of man?the same
wan ghost of her palpitations’ claim
on my heart
that I was before.
I love her beyond and despite even shame.
Eden
by Michael R. Burch
Then earth was heaven too, a perfect garden.
Apples burgeoned and shone?unplucked on sagging boughs.
What, then, would the children eat?
Fruit indecently sweet,
redolent as incense, with a tempting aroma ...
Outcasts
by Michael R. Burch
There was a rose, a prescient shade of crimson,
the very color of blood,
that bloomed in that garden.
The most dazzling of all the Earth’s flowers,
men have forgotten it now,
with their fanciful tales of apples and serpents.
Beasts with lips called the goreflower “Love.”
The scribes have the story all wrong: four were there,
four horrid dark creatures?chattering, bickering.
Aduhm placed one red petal in Ehve’s matted hair;
he was lost in her arms
till dawn sullen and golden
imperceptibly streaked the musk-fragrant air.
Two flared nostrils quivered, two eyes remained open.
Kahyn sought me that evening, his bloodless lips curled
in a grimacelike smile. Sunken-cheeked, he approached me
in the Caverns of Similitudes, eerie Barzakh.
“We are outcasts, my brother!, God quickly deserts us.”
As though his anguish conceived in insight’s first blush
might not pale next to mine in Sheol’s gray realm.
“Shining Creature!” he named me and called me divine
as he lavished damp kisses upon my bright scales.
“Help me find me one rare gift to put Love’s gift to shame.”
“There is a dark rose with a bittersweet fragrance
as pungent as cloves: only man knows its name.
Clinging and cloying, it destroys all it touches . . .”
“But red is Ehve’s preference; while Envy is green.”
He was downcast a moment, a moment, a moment . . .
“Ah, but red is the color of blood!”
Disagreeable child, far too clever for his own good.
Temptation
by Michael R. Burch
Jesus was always misunderstood . . .
we have that, at least, in common.
And it’s true that I found him,
shriveled with hunger,
shivering in the desert,
skeletal, emaciate,
not an ounce of fat
to warm his bones
once the bright sun set.
And it’s true, I believe,
that I offered him something to eat?
a fig, perhaps, a pomegranate, or a peach.
Hardly the great “temptation”
of which I’m accused.
He was a likeable chap, really,
and we spent a pleasant hour
discussing God?
how hard He is to know,
and impossible to please.
I left him there, the pale supplicant,
all skin and bone, at the mouth of his cave,
imploring his “Master” on callused knees.
Role Reversal
by Michael R. Burch
The fluted lips of statues
mock the bronze gaze
of the dying sun . . .
We are nonplused, they say,
smacking their wet lips,
jubilant . . .
We are always refreshed, always undying,
always young, forever unapologetic,
forever gay, smiling,
and though it seems man has made us,
on his last day, we will see him unmade?
we will watch him decay
as if he were clay,
and we had assumed his flesh,
hissing our disappointment.
Excelsior
by Michael R. Burch
I lift my eyes and laugh, Excelsior . . .
Why do you come, wan spirit, heaven-gowned,
complaining that I am no longer “pure?”
I threw myself before you, and you frowned,
so full of noble chastity, renowned
for leaving maidens maidens. In the dark
I sought love’s bright enchantment, but your lips
were stone; my fiery metal drew no spark
to light the cold dominions of your heart.
What realms were ours? What leasehold? And what claim
upon these territories, cold and dark,
do you seek now, pale phantom? Would you light
my heart in death and leave me ashen-white,
as you are white, extinguished by the Night?
Liar
by Michael R. Burch
Chiller than a winter day,
quieter than the murmur of the sea in her dreams,
eyes wilder than the crystal spray
of silver streams,
you fill my dying thoughts.
In moments drugged with sleep
I have heard your earnest voice
leaving me no choice
save heed your hushed demands
and meet you in the sands
of an ageless arctic world.
There I kiss your lifeless lips
as we quiver in the shoals
of a sea that endlessly rolls
to meet the shattered shore.
Wild waves weep, "Nevermore,"
as you bend to stroke my hair.
That land is harsh and drear,
and that sea is bleak and wild;
only your lips are mild
as you kiss my weary eyes,
whispering lovely lies
of what awaits us there
in a land so stark and bare,
beyond all hope ... and care.
This is one of my early poems, written as a teen.
Keywords/Tags: Halloween, horror, death, curses, mummy, zombies, ghost, ghosts, specter, specters, phantom, phantoms, spirit, spirits, dark, supernatural, evil
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