Best Blurbs Poems

Upon rising, awakened by 
ripening scent teasing my nose, 
trilling my lips and tongue, – my taste buds opening
to bird-like songs as dawn's light breathes new life
and hope into my journey, so begins
a fresh flutter of time, an extending 
run of exclamatory chirps and wing-full
stretching...

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I write unto the blank papers stare

A ball point pen in hand without a flare

The words enscribed should be a future quote

As I am the best or at least so you denote



I listen to your comments out loud

And damn you make me feel so proud

I...

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Glory to thermodynamics in general...

and generation of heat in particular
cuz yours truly 
spoiled with trappings 
of Western Civilization.

How ideal I imagine 
to dwell in a self sufficient domicile,
where thrum of the central heater...
automatically activated 
upon advent of twilight,
or self adjusted/regulated 
based on outside temperature 
since...

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bluesy blurbs 
    of
brumal 
    blackness
      its 
  crawling 
clasps
   of 
silvery 
  gnawing
    below 
      shriveled 
    ...

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Smash it so you drag them in,
let them know where you have been.
Show them all a sparkled spin,
seed and feed the poets.

Love them with some luscious words,
don't forget some vibrant verbs.
A sonnet, ode or countless blurbs;
breed and lead the poets.

For here, the artists' cut-throat calls,
leaves...

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(Moon is My Muse)
Moon Musing

You lie beyond an obscure veil
Above the foggy city lights
Illuminating the night so pale
Giving darkness lights respite 

Elliptical loops around earth’s face
Wearing wane or increase smiles
Still quickening lover’s heart pace
Ever working your earthly wiles

Finding muses in your boldness
Poets stroke their papered...

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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 demur...

telling me
that nothing returns
as it was before...

here where you have left no mark
upon this dark
Heraclitean shore.

Heraclitus said we can't step...

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Love in your heart by Gideon Cecil 

Keep love in your heart
Hate rips your soul apart.
Life without love is
like a smiling flower
at dawn but dies at noon.
Let love grow in your
soul like a tree
without love we die
in sins of misery.
We greet people and part
so soon
Our...

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LIKE YOUR LORD, DYSLEXIA IS A FRAUD

I know her secret and no amount of money can mine lips be sealed
I am here for her secret for to be finally revealed
I know it all and I didn’t even have to see it being done
While her and...

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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 atmosphere,
but closest here...

2.
You seek an air
so clear,
so rarified
the effort leaves you famished;
earthly tides
soon call you back?
one long, descending glide...

3.
Disgruntledly you...

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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 traditional to free verse.


Maker, Fakir, Curer
by Michael R. Burch

A poem should be a wild, unearthly cry
against the thought of lying...

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There’s quite a sale in my garage,
A poet’s plethoran montage
Of metaphors and similes
And verses guaranteed to please.

A nest of nouns, a vat of verbs;
Some quotes quite perfect for your blurbs.
A carton filled with stale clichés,
Which budding writers can rephrase.

I’ve baskets filled with parts of speech
Left...

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and spoils of Western Civilization.

Thrum of the central heater...
manually activated upon advent of twilight
(since yours truly not resident within "smart home"),
nevertheless warm cockles and muscles
appreciate basking, and luxuriating,
within climate controlled environment,
whether bone chilling deep freeze of winter

sets indentured jaws chattering
or contrarily when sweltering
hazy, humid and...

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“Four dollars a shot,” 
marched from the bartender’s mouth - 
each syllable carried the clanks
of Herbie’s Rhodes – jutting like 
glacier crags in swells of desert-base. 
They carried the smoke curling like 
a silver chain draped around a neck,
and the bulges of slurred blurbs.

The words...

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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 lacking fire,
their words too trite and forced?
What happened to desire?
Has passion been coerced?

Shall poetry fade slowly,
like Latin, to past tense?
Are...

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