Best Surfeit Poems
Here, there is a surfeit of spam,
Fed to us by government man,
Democracy's harrowing tale,
Setting us up to fail,
Pollies' synchronised team,
Is all this what it seems?
Total cant and hypocrisy,
A merit myth of futility,
Spam surfeit, no caring beyond duty......
A shirtfront full of tiny red tomatoes
That took the time it takes to eat a half dozen
Bursting on my teeth to drown my thirst
Stepping on both sides of a row of beets
Carefully avoiding the sharper leaves of eggplants
Flip flops crushing fallen fruit to reach the redder ripe
It took a walk past five humming bird feeders,
Five sun flower trees full of half plucked blossoms
Chirp, she loves me. Cheep, she loves me not.
A leaning row of escaping egyptian onions
Clusters catching on loose clothing
On stalks of sun seeking green
Summer has exploded around us once again
The kitchen is adorned with Nature's gifts
As am I with two legs full of poison ivy
Taunting me to scratch and spread it
A Surfeit of Light
by Michael R. Burch
There was always a surfeit of light in your presence.
You stood distinctly apart, not of the humdrum world—
a chariot of gold in a procession of plywood.
We were all pioneers of the modern expedient race,
raising the ante: Home Depot to Lowe’s.
Yours was an antique grace—Thrace’s or Mesopotamia’s.
We were never quite sure of your silver allure,
of your trillium-and-platinum diadem,
of your utter lack of flatware-like utility.
You told us that night—your wound would not scar.
The black moment passed, then you were no more.
The darker the sky, how much brighter the Star!
The day of your funeral, I ripped out the crown mold.
You were this fool’s gold.
Keywords/Tags: surfeit of light, death, death of a friend, funeral, eulogy, heartbreak, light, star, presence, world
Mayflies
by Michael R. Burch
These standing stones have stood the test of time
but who are you
and what are you
and why?
As brief as mist, as transient, as pale...
Inconsequential mayfly!
Perhaps the thought of love inspired hope?
Do midges love? Do stars bend down to see?
Do gods commend the kindnesses of ants
to aphids? Does one eel impress the sea?
Are mayflies missed by mountains? Do the stars
regret the glowworm’s stellar mimicry
the day it dies? Does not the world grind on
as if it’s no great matter, not to be?
Life, to be sure, is nothing much to lose.
And yet somehow you’re everything to me.
Advice to Young Poets
by Nicanor Parra Sandoval
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Youngsters,
write however you will
in your preferred style.
Too much blood flowed under the bridge
for me to believe
there’s just one acceptable path.
In poetry everything’s permitted.
Originally published by Setu
Serenades, his lies.
Soothing sweetness, it singes.
Stumped sorries, she sweeps.
Books
I went to the Frankfurt Book Fair the other day.
It was mind-boggling..Books!
There were fat books, thin books,
White books, black books, tawny books,
Paperbacks, hardbacks, beautifully bound books,
Pure books, lax books, learned books, lay books,
Plain books, books of many colours,
Books on every subject under the sun,
Not to mention other books on
Distant galaxies, pulsars, quasars, black holes,
Books on any theme you can think of,
Or on themes you can’t even pronounce, from:
Art to Arthropods,
Bees to Biochemistry,
Cats to Catastrophes
Drugs to Decadence,
Energy to Ergonomics,
French Cooking to Frescos,
Guns to Gout,
History to Hippopotami,
Internal Medicine to Icebergs'
Julius Caesar to Justification,
Kulturkampf to Kinetics,
Lace to Logogriphs,
Man to Manchuria,
Nietzsche to Nonsense Rhymes,
Opera to Ophthalmoscopes,
Poodles to Pollution,
Quantum Mechanics to Queen Victoria,
Russell to Rabbits,
Shaw to Shingles,
Tao to Torts,
Urdu to Ultimatums,
Virgil to Vivisection,
Whales to Witchcraft,
X-rays to Xylographs,
Yoga to Youth Hostels,
Zen to Zola,..
By closing-time my legs were giving out.
A voice, it seemed, was saying:
“Of more than is taught by these, my son, take care.
Of making many books there is no end,
And much study is weariness of the flesh.” 1
I don’t know about making them, I thought,
As I commenced my get-away from the Penguin stand,
But it takes something of an athlete just to glance at them.
On reaching the gates I felt crushed,
First by the crowds, and second,
Under the sheer weight of unfathomable ignorance.
1. Ecclesiastes 12.12
SURFEIT OF THE SENSUOUS
unbroken
an entirety
in a defined setting
toward&away
with resonance
& style
long
&vibrant
fidelity
isolated from tradition
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived