Roses and Lilacs

Winter by Michael R. Burch The rose of love's bright promise lies torn by her own thorn; her scent was sweet but at her feet the pallid aphids mourn. The lilac of devotion has felt the winter hoar and shed her dress; companionless, she shivers—nude, forlorn. Published by Songs of Innocence, The Aurorean, Contemporary Rhyme Roses for a Lover, Idealized by Michael R. Burch When you have become to me as roses bloom, in memory, exquisite, each sharp thorn forgot, will I recall—yours made me bleed? When winter makes me think of you: whorls petrified in frozen dew, bright promises blithe spring forsook, will I recall your words—barbed, cruel? Published by The Lyric, La Luce Che Non Moure (Italy), The Chained Muse The Donald Trumps the White House Roses by Michael R. Burch Roses are red, Daffodils are yellow, But not half as daffy As that taffy-colored fellow. Isolde's Song by Michael R. Burch Isolde and Tristram/Tristan were lovers who died, were buried close to each other, then reunited in the form of a rose emerging from Isolde's grave and a vine from Tristram's. Through our long years of dreaming to be one we grew toward an enigmatic light that gently warmed our tendrils. Was it sun? We had no eyes to tell; we loved despite the lack of all sensation—all but one: we felt the night's deep chill, the air so bright at dawn we quivered limply, overcome. To touch was all we knew, and how to bask. We knew to touch; we grew to touch; we felt spring's urgency, midsummer's heat, fall's lash, wild winter's ice and thaw and fervent melt. We felt returning light and could not ask its meaning, or if something was withheld more glorious. To touch seemed life's great task. At last the petal of me learned: unfold and you were there, surrounding me. We touched. The curious golden pollens! Ah, we touched, and learned to cling and, finally, to hold. Originally published by The Raintown Review and nominated for the Pushcart Prize; also published by Ancient Heart Magazine (Australia), The Eclectic Muse (Canada), Boston Poetry Magazine, The New Formalist and Trinacria Will There Be Starlight by Michael R. Burch Will there be starlight tonight while she gathers damask and lilac and sweet-scented heathers? And will she find flowers, or will she find thorns guarding the petals of roses unborn? Will there be starlight tonight while she gathers seashells and mussels and albatross feathers? And will she find treasure or will she find pain at the end of this rainbow of moonlight on rain? Published by TALESetc, The Word (UK) She Gathered Lilacs by Michael R. Burch for Beth She gathered lilacs and arrayed them in her hair; tonight, she taught the wind to be free. She kept her secrets in a silver locket; her companions were starlight and mystery. She danced all night to the beat of her heart; with her tears she imbued the sea. She hid her despair in a crystal jar, and never revealed it to me. She kept her distance as though it were armor; gauntlet thorns guard her heart like the rose. Love! Awaken, awaken to see what you've taken is still less than the due my heart owes! Published by The Eclectic Muse (Canada), Shabestaneh (Iran), Anthology of Contemporary American Poetry Auschwitz Rose by Michael R. Burch There is a Rose at Auschwitz, in the briar, a rose like Sharon's, lovely as her name. The world forgot her, and is not the same. I still love her and extend this sacred fire to keep her memory exalted flame unmolested by the thistles and the nettles. On Auschwitz now the reddening sunset settles! They sleep alike—diminutive and tall, the innocent, the "surgeons." Sleeping, all. Red oxides of her blood, bright crimson petals, if accidents of coloration, gall my heart no less. Amid thick weeds and muck there lies a rose man's crackling lightning struck: the only Rose I ever longed to pluck. Soon I'll bed there and bid the world "Good Luck." Step Into Starlight by Michael R. Burch Step into starlight, lovely and wild, lonely and longing, a woman, a child... Throw back drawn curtains, enter the night, dream of his kiss as a comet ignites... Then fall to your knees in a wind-fumbled cloud and shudder to hear oak hocks groaning aloud. Flee down the dark path to where the snaking vine bends and withers and writhes as winter descends... And learn that each season ends one vanished day, that each pregnant moon holds no spent tides in its sway... For, as suns seek horizons— boys fall, men decline. As the grape sags with its burden, remember—the wine! Chloe by Michael R. Burch There were skies onyx at night ... moons by day ... lakes pale as her eyes ... breathless winds undressing tall elms; ... she would say that we loved, but I figured we’d sinned. Soon impatiens too fiery to stay sagged; the crocus bells drooped, golden-limned; things of brightness, rinsed out, ran to gray ... all the light of that world softly dimmed. Where our feet were inclined, we would stray; there were paths where dead weeds stood untrimmed, distant mountains that loomed in our way, thunder booming down valleys dark-hymned. What I found, I found lost in her face while yielding all my virtue to her grace. You Never Listened by Michael R. Burch You never listened, though each night the rain wove its patterns again and trembled and glistened... You were not watching, though each night the stars shone, brightening the tears in her eyes palely fetching... You paid love no notice, though she lay in my arms as the stars rose in swarms like a legion of poets, as the lightning recited its opus before us, and the hills boomed the chorus, all strangely delighted... don’t forget by Michael R. Burch for Beth don’t forget to remember that Space is curved (like your Heart) and that even Light is bent by your Gravity. Keywords/Tags: rose, roses, roses are red, thorn, thorns, lilac, lilacs, nature, love, longing, desire, passion, romance, romantic, spring, summer, fall, winter, seasons