Heir on Fire

Heir on Fire by Michael R. Burch I wanted to be Shelley’s heir, Just fourteen years old, and consumed by desire. Why wouldn’t my Muse play fair? I went to work—pale, laden with care: why wouldn’t the words do as I aspired, when I wanted to Keats’s heir? My verse seemed neither here nor there. How the hell did Sappho tune her lyre? And why wouldn’t my Muse play fair? The journals laughed at my childish fare. Had I bitten off more than eagles dare when I wanted to be Byron’s heir? My words lacked Rimbaud’s savoir faire. My prospects were looking quite dire! Why wouldn’t my Muse play fair? At fifteen I committed my poems to the fire, calling each goddess a liar. I just wanted to be Shakespeare’s heir. Why wouldn’t my Muse play fair? Lullaby by Michael R. Burch, age 25 Frail bit of elfin magic with eyes of brightest blue, sleep now lines your lashes, the sandman beckons you … please don't fight— it's all right. My newborn son, cease sighing, softly, slowly close your eyes, purse your tiny lips and kiss the crisp, cool night a warm goodbye. Fierce yet gentle fragment, the better part of me, why don't you dream a dream deep as eternity, until sunrise? Frail bit of elfin magic with eyes of brightest blue, sleep now lines your lashes, the sandman beckons you … please don't fight — it's all right. My Doctir’s Excus by Michael R. Burch, age 8 I can eggsplain why Im sick. Sick as a brick and my stule is thick. I came to school and I caught it from Rick. Now I’m sick as a brick and my stule is thick. I cant do my homework becus Im sick. I cant take tests becus Im a mess. Blame Rick, the prick! —signed, my doctir Ann Onimus PS, Thurd grade is hard enuff on kids nervs and bad graids make my simptoms worse! Liten up, doctir’s orders! Keywords/Tags: Heir, fire, Muse, Shelley, Keats, Sappho, Byron, Rimbaud, Shakespeare, student, sick, school, homework, desire, work, words, verse, poems