Chanticleer has a big problem, clearly
Now that so many folks work remotely
He crows and he crows
But at heart he knows
You sleep late ~ bye-bye job security
In Praise of Meter
by Michael R. Burch
The earth is full of rhythms so precise
the octave of the crystal can produce
a trillion oscillations, yet not lose
a second's beat. The ear needs no device
to hear the unsprung rhythms of the couch
drown out the mouth's; the lips can be debauched
by kisses, should the heart put back its watch
and find the pulse of love, and sing, devout.
If moons and tides in interlocking dance
obey their numbers, what's been left to chance?
Should poets be more lax—their circumstance
as humble as it is?—or readers wince
to see their ragged numbers thin, to hear
the moans of drones drown out the Chanticleer?
Published by Poetry Porch/Sonnet Scroll, The Eclectic Muse, The Best of the Eclectic Muse 1989-2003, Famous Poets & Poems, Poetry Renewal Magazine, Mindful of Poetry, Sonnetto Poesia, Trinacria and Poetry Life & Times
Keywords/Tags: write, writing, words, word play, poetry, poems, poets, sonnet, meter, rhythm, rhythms, pulse, beat, rhyme, dance, numbers, ear, mouth, lips, voice,
Matilda the peregrine Chanticleer
Has taken up residence
Along the 18th Fairway
Chicken-walking pizzicato- pecking
Rearranging the leaf pile
Clawing with sharpened talons
Making herself at home
Laying her eggs randomly
Amongst golfers’ errant balls
Indistinguishable from a distance
Her plaintive egg song
Like the golfers’ call
Lost in the Wind
Oh no, I can’t do it here!
And my feathers are a mess!
Can’t a clucker have a little privacy?
I don’t know about the rest of you
but I can’t just pop out egg after egg
like I’m a plastic PEZ dispenser!
And certainly not in front of that pushy
crower, Chanticleer.
Cock-a-doodle-doo, Cock-a-doodle-SHOO!
There’s not even enough straw in here
to fashion a two-bit bedroom.
And the walls are crate paper thin!
You’d think this was a hen party!
I haven’t heard this much cackling
since the Chippendales came through!
No, changes WILL be made if they ever
want to taste my omelet!
I am so very tired
I think you'll never know
How much of me I spend following
Chasing where you go
My thoughts wander to you
I construct a world of rights
I try to make myself someone
That maybe you could like
My old self dies a little more
With every breath I breathe
And with every step I take
My heart is wounded, bleeds
Every stroke I make in wroth
A rage I direct for you
Might be wasted each one
A years-long folie-a-deux*
Sometimes I look into the future
And there I see a light
But mostly I feel numb inside
I feel there's only night
So very tired of faking cheer
As I glide through this life here
I reminisce on when dreams were mere
The sunrise of Chanticleer*
*Folie-a-deux - Pronounced "folly-ah-do" - French, "a
madness shared by two"
Chanticleer - Pronounced "Shawn-tih-clear" - Rooster in
old French fables, literal translation "Clear song"
Sometimes we fail to see our faults
because of pride and haughty flaws
which tends to shut all friendship doors
even as chanticleer the bird recalls
A certain season with no remorse
he had to act a gross of chores
as a means to heal his sores
he gave his best to best the course
and all went well as a cause
so be jocund and prudent in tours
learn from chanticleer and get no curse
for pride goeth before the falls.
Oh, how's this work, how to reFrame?
The s p i n I'm in
"I hear your Name and I'm aFlame!..."
In Portraits to arabesques in Castles in Spain
And belles letteres of A. Nin
Oh, how's this work, how to reFrame?
Perhaps a chanticleer, puffed jactate, abreast of whether, vained
For thy meadowLin
"I hear your Name and I'm aFlame!..."
ReSown seeds, reap our grain
Grapes to wine, nary raisin'?
Oh, how's this work, how to reFrame?
A burning untamed
Unassuaged by Verse, unlessen'
"I hear your Name and I'm aFlame!..."
Will girasoles thrive arranged
Or Lilies' parure Daffodils akin?
Oh, how's this work, how to reFrame?
"I hear your Name and I'm aFlame!..."
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