Best Archivists Poems

No Mark
by Michael R. Burch

A wave implodes, 
impaled upon
impassive rocks...

this evening
the thunder of the sea
is a wild music filling my ear...

you are leaving
and the ungrieving
winds...

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Poems about Poems (II)

Kin
by Michael R. Burch

for Richard Moore

1.
Shrill gulls,
how like my thoughts
you, struggling, rise
to distant bliss?
the weightless blue of skies
that are not blue
in any...

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Words reside alone in time and space;
Only sentient minds their roots trace.
Etymologists bring accents, forms to the surface;
Lexicographers establish a chronological base.
In dark, library basements,...

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An ephemeral
loyalty of unity
divides faded pride.

Cosmopolitan
this block upon block monument
shaded by white clouds
enclaved in stains switched
mundane tirades to acclaim
that spades lisp sunk hate.

To the fortunate
the...

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MODERN SONNETS I

I prefer the original definition of the sonnet as a “little song” of indeterminate form and length. These modern sonnets vary from more-or-less...

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The Making of a Poet
by Michael R. Burch

While I don’t consider “Poetry” to be my best poem—I wrote the first version in my teens—it’s a...

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Sonnets XVII-XXIV

Discrimination
by Michael R. Burch

The meter I had sought to find, perplexed,
was ripped from books of "verse" that read like prose.
I found it in sheet...

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The State of the Art (I)
by Michael R. Burch

Has rhyme lost all its reason
and rhythm, renascence?
Are sonnets out of season
and poems but poor pretense?

Are poets...

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feeling his vitamin injection a new adventure begins
a slapstick epic of unfathomable implication here unfolds
as the rat gnawed curtain rises at Ye Bone and Gristle
among...

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truth is in fact an unreality
and unattainable
often outrageous and will
 make you or your self image crazy
if turned into a fetish
the object being in every...

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Discrimination
by Michael R. Burch

The meter I had sought to find, perplexed,
was ripped from books of "verse" that read like prose.
I found it in sheet music,...

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Some parts have regenerated
not backwards, local history
cannot be expunged with a backhoe and eraser.
There are facilities, collection plants,
distributions centers, storage units.
Where once summer sky’s grazed
there...

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We, 
with the geometry and evening 
balance of our midcentury hands—gently 
lower the cloche over the day between us. It is a 
nightly ritual, gravity-driven,...

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Poems about Poets VI

beMused
Michael R Burch

Perhaps at three
you'll come to tea,
to have a cuppa here?

You'll just stop in
to sip dry gin?
I only have a beer.

To...

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