Best Eagled Poems

Drifting between love and hate
chained spread-eagled in a tug-of-war 
of extreme emotions pulling relentlessly;
her body aches ... her mind bubbling,
a boiling cauldron pleading for release.
In her parched throat a stifled scream
soundlessly quivers, then retreats
into the dark chasm deep within
cowering in the chilly dungeon
where her heart...

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Maurice the frog was q###r; of this he had no doubt and all the lady frogs just made him yawn.
He sat all day on his lily pad, flicking his tongue at passing flies, with never a thought of ever wanting to spawn.
At night the pond...

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What Good Are Our Tears?
by Michael R. Burch

What good are our tears?
They will not spare the dying their anguish.
What good is our concern
to a child sick of living, waiting to perish?

What good, the warm benevolence of tears
without action?
What help, the eloquence of prayers,
or a pleasant...

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The Champion

Controlled by remote desires  I trip the laurel fuse of longing ancestry
My Mom had been chosen to compete diving from the high platform of
Hitler’s mania for ‘Kraft’ ‘Freude’ living space terror raised arms and all in
guns blazing a misplaced childhood offered on the...

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half his age
and nearly twice his
height
pretty as a picture
but none too bright
 
he loves her open
arms (and legs) –
his “tart”
spread-eagled on his
sports-car’s bonnet
 
she likes him for
his open mind and
open heart
but most of all –
his open wallet
 
she intends to stick
with him through
thick and thicker
and...

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Sticks and stones, may break my bones,
but some words are like mountains that can swallow you in its depth,
overtake you in its splendor -
I've known caverns there that will wrap you in its arms
happy to take the brunt of a storm made of angry remarks.
Some...

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Salvation of a Formalist, an Ode to Entropy
by Michael R. Burch

Entropy?
God's universal decree
That I get to be
Disorderly?
Suddenly
My erstwhile boxed-in verse is free?
Wheeeeee!



Eternal Currents
by Michael R. Burch

How can I write and not be true
to the rhythm that wells within? 
How can the ocean not be blue,...

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My days in the streets of despair took me from scanty shanties
Intermittent through dreams drinking the syllables of books
Cast before my eyes, I was at the bottom of nooks and crannies
Hiding in barren valleys of bushes, and sometimes cast hooks
Angling the sea for food that...

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Sonnets XC-XCVII

Artificial Smile
by Michael R. Burch

I’m waiting for my artificial teeth
to stretch belief, to hollow out the cob
of zealous righteousness, to grasp life’s stub
between clenched molars, and yank out the grief.

Mine must be art-official?zenlike Art?
a disembodied, white-enameled grin
of Cheshire manufacture. Part by part,
the human smile...

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WALKING ON WATER
	
Saint of the Golden Gate Bridge
they called her, blessing the
crowd with her tears, performing

to the cheers of the enchanted,
flinging, first her pink raincoat,
her high heeled shoes, fluttering

down like doves, dancing, twisting
out of her red satin dress, a naked
Magdalene on her way to heaven.

The...

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Within the glass backed walls of the  squash courts, ....

Eager junior players are busy getting into their strides..
In small groups of 4 to 6, they are seeking to earn their stripes..
Religiously undergoing punishing  regimes while in training...
Perfecting skills and flair to better perform...

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hear others out there, just beyond my wall-wrapped sharing space
  they break on through, sneaking inside my head
  far above, front-nosed pilots point high-flying seated people tubes
  passengers squeezed in tight, some feeling dread

  as jet engines cloud-buffet, amplifying reverberations
 ...

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All appear denuded
When you set in;
Forests, hills, rivers, winds and
The nymphs.

Even the angels look disrobed, and
Seem lying spread-eagled on barren clouds,
Sans their birthrights;
The luminous crowns.

On one of your bare branches,
My poetry perches, reminiscing
Spring days, in a mirage of
Dewy images cringed by summer heat, and
Under your...

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Limericks III - Grab Bag

Being a peace activist, I once wrote a limerick in an attempt to stop needless wars:

Of Tetley’s and V-2's
(or "Why Not to Bomb the Brits")
by Michael R. Burch

The English are very hospitable,
but tea-less, alas, they grow pitiable ...
or pitiless, rather,
and quite...

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Southern Icarus
by Michael R. Burch

Windborne, lover of heights,
unspooled from the truck’s wildly lurching embrace,
you climb, skittish kite...

What do you know of the world’s despair,
gliding in vast solitariness there,
so that all that remains is to
fall?

Only a little longer the wind invests its sighs;
you
stall,
spread-eagled, as the canvas...

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