Best Flocculent Poems

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,
not buck with the clapboard slap of tide,
the clockwork shock of wave on rock,
the motion creation stirs within?

Originally published by The Lyric. Keywords/Tags: poetry,...

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Vacuum
by Michael R. Burch

Over hushed quadrants
forever landlocked in snow,
time’s senseless winds blow...

leaving odd relics of lives half-revealed,
if still mostly concealed...
such are the things we are unable to know

that once intrigued us so.

Come then, let us quickly repent
of whatever truths we’d once determined to learn:
for whatever...

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Snowflakes falling,
 
	gently landing- draping

		bare, outstretched
 
tree branches awaiting

	scintillating, flocculent,
 
		white ermine boas.

Exquisite silhouettes

	against winter's sky-

		glistening beneath 

full moon resplendence.


Sandra M. Haight

~7th Place~
Contest: A Succinct Treat
Sponsor: Michelle Faulkner
Judged: 12/20/2018

~3rd Place~
Contest: Minimalist - White Night
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Judged: 10/21/2017

...

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State of the Art (IV)

These are my "ars poetica" poems about the art and craft of writing poetry. 



Hearthside
by Michael R. Burch

“When you are old and grey and full of sleep...”  — W.  B.  Yeats

For all that we professed of love, we...

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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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Cocooned and tucked away
In a chrysalis 
Snowman melts
Sooty are his tears

Outside a lacustrine beauty
His nose is the first casualty
It falls on the ground 
Bang

He was a freeman
Once the snowman
Stood mighty and high 
On this very lake
Brilliant white.
Kept sentinel over both fish and sharks 
His woolen...

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Finally to Burn: Icarus, Resurrected
by Michael R. Burch

Athena takes me
sometimes by the hand

and we go levitating
through strange Dreamlands

where Apollo sleeps
in his dark forgetting

and Passion seems
like a wise bloodletting

and all I remember
upon awaking

is: to Love sometimes
is like forsaking

one’s Being—to drift
heroically beyond thought,

forsaking the here
for the There...

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Postcard 1
by Miklós Radnóti
written August 30, 1944
translated by Michael R. Burch
 
Out of Bulgaria, the great wild roar of the artillery thunders,
resounds on the mountain ridges, rebounds, then ebbs into silence
while here men, beasts, wagons and imagination all steadily increase;
the road whinnies and bucks, neighing;...

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Whilst a medley of us lied upon the flocculent canvas
An ever so comely sound had been shaped of the void
‘Twas the sharp sound of supremacy coming to pass



Though honored am I to speak
Upon the sweltering passion
‘Twas an invitation like none before
Scourging these bones of the...

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Good Heart

I cannot support but stop and look at the caring, lost love.
Are you upset by how affectionate it is?
Does it break you apart to see the lost love so compassionate?

I cannot help but stop and admire the tenacious, civic courage.
Are you upset by how...

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My most popular poems on the Internet (III)

A number of my poems and translations have gone viral, according to Google, and some have been copied onto hundreds to thousands of web pages. That’s a lot of cutting and pasting! The poems below are based on...

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World War II Poems and Holocaust Poems - III - Miklos Radnoti

Miklos Radnoti was one of the greatest of the Jewish Holocaust poets. He died on a Nazi death march, shot to death in cold blood, and the poems below were found on his body...

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Flocculent clouds suck the life from bel-esprit
She misses going out and warm springtime sun
She desires one verdant leaf upon a tree

Sharing feelings with the menagerie what fun
But this deafening silence lends to deep thought,
Deep relaxation, a need that's number one

Maybe our faith in God will...

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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...

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Athena takes me
sometimes by both hands

and we go levitating
through strange Dreamlands

where Apollo sleeps
in his dark forgetting

and Passion seems
like a wise bloodletting

and all I remember
,upon awaking,

is: to Love sometimes
is like forsaking

one’s Being—to drift
far beyond any thought,

forsaking the here
for the There and the Not.

*

O, finally to Burn,
gravity...

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