Best Cesspools Poems

Part One of Two

Mary Elizabeth Frye Dedication Poems, Seventh Poet Honored
Part One 

(1.)
Graveyard Visit, Seeing Death's Saddest Truth

Walking rows of silent tombstones that litter in my head
I see far more than just faces of buried ancient dead
I see epic battles some lost and long journeys...

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The glamour of their squalor is found
in specular highlights of crisp brown eyes
peering through mud-matted hair, crying.

Weeks of eating an abundance of whatever,
which consisted of scarcely more than bugs
fished from  non-potable cesspools.

A decade seems a long time, until singularly
it accounts for one’s whole life…and...

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Your Taj Mahal
Too many times you hoisted anchor
there isn't time but you should thank her,
for being such a goober for so long.
You have made her life a Taj Mahal
there she swims in waist deep indigo,
she's reflected in the cesspools of your morning sun.

An ivory tusk...

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Of The Greeks, Olympus, Blindness Of Modern Man

And the modern Gods laugh poisoning wells 
While their blinded throngs hide under sad stones
From the deepest pits come magical spells
To birth new sins from which we must atone
Blackness, its powers hold billions as slaves 
As this world...

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One particularly memorable critic referred to me as a neckbeard in a conversation with a friend this morning. Both of the twats were skinny, pencil-head net-dweebs, the types who frequent cesspools such as reddit.com or 4chan.org. I observed that both geeks were clad in t-shirts...

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Where Does the Butterfly Go?
by Michael R. Burch

for the children of the Holocaust and the Nakba

Where does the butterfly go
when lightning rails,
when thunder howls,
when hailstones scream,
when winter scowls,
when nights compound dark frosts with snow ...
Where does the butterfly go?

Where does the rose hide its bloom
when...

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Your breath could move mountains
The Himalayas used to be in France
Are you pregnant my sweet young filly
Or is that a watermelon in your pants

I've seen better legs on an orangutang
Nothing personal don't take offence
Turn your head sideways for a moment
Wow! Your nose is quite immense

Now...

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Poems of Recanted Bachelorhood

bachelorhoodwinked
by Michael R. Burch

u
are
charming
& disarming,
but mostly ALARMING
since my resolve
dissolved!

*

Disconcerted
by Michael R. Burch

Beth, my sweet,
fresh as a daisy,
when I’m with you
my heart beats like crazy
& my future gets hazy ...

*

What Goes Around, Comes
by Michael R. Burch

This is a poem about loss
so why do...

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Taj Mahal
Too many times you hoisted anchor
there isn't time but you should thank her,
for being such a goober for so long.
You have made her life a Taj Mahal
there she swims in waist deep indigo,
she's reflected in the cesspools of your morning sun.

An ivory tusk is...

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Killing me with your sexy
Yall killing me.
Contrived lust, mirrors with dust.
Love covered with smoke.
Flame of innocence choked.
Smothered in the womb,
Never to be born.
Deliberately sexy; too much.
Too messy.! The mother of harlots.

Vagaries leading nowhere, wandering
Into cesspools and ruts
Pure love invokes everlasting hope.
Wombs should yield...lovers with scope.
Stop...

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…to the dogs

He stared at the damp chilly night 
and marveled in frustration
seeing nothing at all -
except the black night

So many years ruined dancing to the same tune
days and night overlapping into an endless timeless space

Indigence, parched throats, empty ragged pockets…
guns persist as unflawed blood...

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Years P.M. (Pre-MacDonald's).
Woolworths.  Huge chain.  (Chains break with age.)
Elevated trains.  All over New York.
Five and Dimes.  That was what you paid.
Ceaserian birth.  In Rome?
10 cent comic books.
10 cent ice cream cones with sprinkles.
Big finned cars.
No such thing as a Pizzeria....

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How happy can one be?
Ofentimes, I wonder aloud,
Taking advantage of my creative licence.
Let me explain -
The filth I encounter in this city:
Stinking garbage hills along the sidewalks,
Bloody graffiti of betel-nut stains on walls and lampposts,
Jellying lumps of bronchial ejaculations
On carelessly laid pavements of crowded walkways
On...

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For Jeffers: On seeing Tor House and Hawk Tower
                   For the first time

The Tor stones have grown wistful 
Through time and absence since 
Your verses filled the...

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He trusted that writer’s block was just a lull and searched for his pen

Ink had dried for some time and his worn mind scratched for words

A lullaby or even a tristich would do if an epic eluded his triste drought


Anything to get words into motion...

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