Byron Poems

Sharon

Sharon
by Michael R. Burch, circa age 15

apologies to Byron

I.

Flamingo-minted, pink, pink cheeks,
dark hair streaked with a lisp of dawnlight;
I have seen your shadow creep
through eerie webs spun out of twilight...

And I have longed to kiss your lips,
as sweet as the honeysuckle blooms,
and to hold your pale albescent body,
more curvaceous than the moon...

II.


Black-haired beauty, like the

Epigrams V

Epigrams V

Are mayflies missed by mountains? Do stars
applaud the glowworm’s stellar mimicry?
—Michael R. Burch



Teach me to love:
to fly beyond sterile Mars
to percolating Venus. 
—Michael R. Burch



Byron
was not a shy one,
as peacocks run.
—Michael R. Burch

When I visited Lord Byron's residence at Newstead Abbey, there were peacocks running around the grounds, which I thought appropriate. 



Less Heroic

Byron, Your Poetry Sings To Our Wanting Hearts

Byron, Your Poetry Sings To Our Wanting Hearts

He gave us images, the raving beauty far within
and romantic dancing words that ate up the eager page
he met the world head on and absorbs into his white skin
Ahh but, a great calamity he dies at a young age.

In dreams I see him, singing great poems all dressed

Of Byron

Rockstar status known decades ago,
Imagined greatness you alone,
Infused lines to inspire yet unordained,
Dark recesses breathing life unexplained,
A lord born of chance to pursue chosen prose,
Wound about poisonous flesh the desire,
Youth requitted and melancholic haunts,
Playing redemption to political jaunts,
Life bright burning a fever too extreme...

Cleriihew Byron

Lord Byron aka George Gordon
a privileged Baron's son
In poetry found instant fame
wine,women & words  daily game

Lord Byron Valentine

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er

Clerihew Byron

Lord Byron poet extraordinaire
lived life& loved sans a care
His daughter Augusta Ada King
programming Babbage Engines  was her thing

Anacreonte Byron Moore

Who reads Tomas Moore
reads much more of Lord byron
    as Anacreonte

Goodbye By Byron Juno

My way is not that far
my path is not that black tar
my bicycle is deflated
but your heart is inflated
i go in peace and war the way i came
all i see in my eye is a blank game
your yellow pale face
turning shifts like a phase
the crescent waits for me
as the horizon sinks deep in the tree
roses

Of Byron, Keats and Shelley, a Few Words

From my Blog:
Of Byron, Keats And Shelley, A Few Words

(1.)

Of Byron And A Visit I Once Had

Alas! Youth and its joy away has flown
I wake at the break of day with a groan
the smooth mirror no lies dares to tell
truth seen by these eyes rings loud sorrow's bell
vanity's praise to break illusion's spell
embedding with red-hot

In Love, Our Romance Flows In Kissing Streams Poets Tribute Series, Fourth Poet, Lord Byron

In Love, Our Romance Flows In Kissing Streams,
Poets Tribute Series, fourth poet, Lord Byron

Claim I, thy wondrous heart into sweet dreams,
And in that soft glowing realm we slow dance;
In Love, our romance flows in kissing streams,
As Cupid's well-shot arrows took no chance.
From this teeming earth we dwell in pleasures,
While life lays golden bounty at our

Beattitudes

One dark and stormy night, when half my life lay behind me ?I wandered from the straight and narrow path too far.
And took my heart for a  ship’s compass
All through the darkness, I followed no course, no path but my own.  ?
With only unlimited darkness before me
Above that darkness, there was no guiding

George Gordon Byron Ballad Ukrainian Adaptive Translation

I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name;
There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame;
But the tear that now burns on my cheek may impart
The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.
Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace,
Were those hours - can their

Byron and Dickinson Fire

She was created of earth's lusty marrow,
 lived amidst chimera and heather fields
  breathing Byron essence & Dickinson fire,
there was madness in the poetry of her life
   an atmosphere favorably self-aware 
      mundane was ne'er her cup of fancy

In death, she was found to be quite lucid
'tween

George Gordon Lord Byron

While browsing in a second hand book store
The blue cover of your book caught my eye. 
Your first edition then guided my path 
Into reading your wondrous words of love.

Quite new to the engagement of your works 
I stood reading as near an hour flew by. 
I became enthralled and mesmerized too.
Your classic speech bared

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