Juvenilia: Early Poems Xiii

Juvenilia: Early Poems XIII Davenport Tomorrow by Michael R. Burch Davenport tomorrow ... all the trees stand stark-naked in the sun. Now it is always summer and the bees buzz in cesspools, adapted to a new life. There are no flowers, but the weeds, being hardier, have survived. The small town has become a city of millions; there is no longer a sea, only a huge sewer, but the children don't mind. They still study rocks and stars, but biology is a forgotten science ... after all, what is life? Davenport tomorrow ... all the children murmur through vein-streaked gills whispered wonders of long-ago. Be that Rock by Michael R. Burch for my grandfather George Edwin Hurt Sr. When I was a child I never considered man’s impermanence, for you were a mountain of adamant stone: a man steadfast, immense, and your words rang. And when you were gone, I still heard your voice, which never betrayed, "Be strong and of a good courage, neither be afraid ..." as the angels sang. And, O!, I believed for your words were my truth, and I tried to be brave though the years slipped away with so little to save of that talk. Now I'm a man— a man ... and yet Grandpa ... I'm still the same child who sat at your feet and learned as you smiled. Be that rock. I wrote this poem around age 18. The verse quoted is from an old, well-worn King James Bible my grandfather gave me after his only visit to the United States, as he prepared to return to England with my grandmother. I was around eight at the time and didn't know if I would ever see my grandparents again, so I was heartbroken – destitute, really. Describing You by Michael R. Burch How can I describe you? The fragrance of morning rain mingled with dew reminds me of you; the warmth of sunlight stealing through a windowpane brings you back to me again. This is an early poem of mine, written as a teenager, possibly age 16 due to the romantic style and sentiments. 130 Refuted by Michael R. Burch My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips' red ... — Shakespeare, Sonnet 130 Seas that sparkle in the sun without its light would have no beauty; but the light within your eyes is theirs alone; it owes no duty. And that flame, not half as bright, is meant for me, and brings delight. Coral formed beneath the sea, though scarlet-tendriled, cannot warm me; while your lips, not half so red, just touching mine, at once inflame me. And the searing flames your lips arouse fathomless oceans fail to douse. Bright roses’ brief affairs, declared when winter comes, will wither quickly. Your cheeks, though paler when compared with them?—more lasting, never prickly. And your cheeks, so dear and warm, far vaster treasures, need no thorns. Originally published by Romantics Quarterly I believe I wrote this poem as a college freshman; if not as a freshman, then definitely by my sophomore year. I composed my refutation in my head as I walked back to my dorm from an English class where I had read Shakespeare’s “Sonnet 130.” This was my first attempt at a sonnet, but I dispensed with the rules, as has always been my wont. Keywords/Tags: early, early poems, juvenilia, child, childhood, boy, boyhood, teen, teenage, teenager, student, high school, college, poem, poems, poetry