Best Hymned Poems

Within the frame a sepia scene
a dusty porch   a rickety chair   
the fabric of your dusky face creased
with ceaseless sunbaked woes
your old pair of getaway feet gives 
a different walk of life 
to an old pair of thrown-away shoes
two sizes too...

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Winter
by Michael R. Burch

The rose of love's bright promise
lies torn by her own thorn;
her scent was sweet
but at her feet
the pallid aphids mourn.

The lilac of devotion
has felt the winter hoar
and shed her dress;
companionless,
she shivers—nude, forlorn.

Published by Songs of Innocence, The Aurorean, Contemporary Rhyme



Roses for a...

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Jane Merchant (2)

Invalid of flesh (but not of soul),
She saw Creation whole,
And hymned the seasons come to pass
Beyond her bedroom window-glass—
December trees—and April rain-wet grass.

                    ...

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Earth has grown old
Angels veiled the sky
And night has gotten cold 
To put to sleep the stars on high

Wise men saw a star
And found a treasure of I Am
Shepherds heard a voice from a far
And found their lamb

Wise men came from the east
In search of...

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“The heaventree of stars” (in Ulysses as said Joyce)
“hung with humid nightblue fruit” (ah that Bloomian voice)
could evoke a masterpiece the world has come to know,
The Starry Night, so treasured now, by Vincent van Gogh…

In Vincent’s time that painting left even him bemused,
since a ‘failure’...

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Lady’s Favor
by Michael R. Burch

May
spring
fling
her riotous petals
devil-
may-care
into the air,
ignoring the lethal
nettles
and may
May
cry gleeful-
ly Hooray!
as the abundance
settles,
till a sudden June
swoon
leave us out of tune,
torn,
when the last rose is left
inconsolably bereft,
rudely shorn
of every device but her thorn.


The Harvest of Roses
by Michael R. Burch

I have not come for...

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Sonnets LII-LX

The Endeavors of Lips
by Michael R. Burch

How sweet the endeavors of lips: to speak
of the heights of those pleasures which left us weak
in love’s strangely lit beds, where the cold springs creak:
for there is no illusion like love...

Grown childlike, we wish for those storied...

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1.	Shall I narrate you a tale or may be a thousand stories,
Of a lost love and fervent devotion?
Or chronicles of longing and separation? 
Mayhap I, relate both as you wish, open your eyes and give me your ears. 

2.	For I hear no serenade and diversion...

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A Vain Word
by Michael R. Burch
 
Oleanders at dawn preen extravagant whorls
as I read in leaves’ Sanskrit brief moments remaining
till sunset implodes, till the moon strands grey pearls
under moss-stubbled oaks, full of whispers, complaining
to the darkening autumn, how swiftly life goes
as I fled before love...

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Gazing at an abandoned silhouette, sitting amongst polite stars throughout the night
Striking hair carelessly blowing amid cool zephyrs, curiosity climbed crevices of my spine to 
witness such a mesmerizing sight
Interest reached its summit, I couldn’t resist to share the silhouettes’ zephyrs and intent
A nervous stride...

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LOVE POEMS V

These are love poems by Michael R. Burch, about life, the dream of love, virtue, a first kiss, a first crush, the birth of a first relationship, the joy of a first love and a last love, the aching and longing of real...

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There were skies onyx at night... moons by day...
lakes pale as her eyes... breathless winds
undressing tall elms; ... she would say
that we loved, but some book said we'd sinned.
 
Soon impatiens too fiery to stay
sagged; the crocus bells drooped, golden-limned; 
things of brightness, rinsed out,...

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Woe betide lower men who fickle facades embrace
And wit’s hard-won gold for shifting dross exchange; 
Dubbing avarice-sired glosses exquisite gems pure,
With obscuring eyes decimating solid worth's range.

With their own ears they cannot first-hand hear,
And gauge if wild grapevines solid realities say;
There's always standard hearsay in...

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Forgive me if I ask how long before we converge again around the bonfire in the wee hours to douse this chilly dust-laden winds of the season.
It was a misery, but it should happen again.
That subtle terror of ancient times has reincarnated somewhere around the...

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Methinks all antediluvian Love was
Whiter than snows atop higher tors;
And with more troth dudes did kiss
Purer maidens for pleasanter bliss.

I deem Art shortly after Noah’s Ark
To have been of better-spun spark; 
And bards of far more sublime quill
Did indite with stouter metered skill.

Niftier lines which...

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