Artificial Smile
by Michael R. Burch
I’m waiting for my artificial teeth
to stretch belief, to hollow out the cob
of zealous righteousness, to grasp life’s stub
between clenched molars, and yank out the grief.
Mine must be art-official—zenlike Art—
a disembodied, white-enameled grin
of Cheshire manufacture. Part by part,
the human smile becomes mock porcelain.
Till in the end, the smile alone remains:
titanium-based alloys undestroyed
with graves’ worm-eaten contents, all the pains
of bridgework unrecalled, and what annoyed
us most about the corpses rectified
to quaintest dust. The Smile winks, deified.
and then i was made whole
by michael r. burch
... and then i was made whole,
but not a thing entire,
glued to a perch
in a gilded church,
strung through with a silver wire ...
singing a little of this and of that,
warbling higher and higher:
a thing wholly dead
till I lifted my head
and spat at the Lord and his choir.
Published by The Neovictorian/Cochlea and Poetry Life & Times
I know one
Who is most poised
And enameled with the
Likes of patience so rare.
For the longest time,
Pain has been her companion.
But she stands calm and still,
Refusing to allow pain to define her.
Through the blinding fog of mishaps;
Through the dark clouds of misfortune;
Through the many storms of adversities;
I see no shouts of 'Why me?", but a smile.
I am arrested and captured
By her enduring spirit
And deeply inspired
By her seasoned faith.
Like lions lay lurking for their prey,
Back injuries and vehicular accidents
Have tried to put her away. But come
What may, the faithful Christian lady stands.
"Woe to those who . . ." Isaiah 5:20
Many say that it is white,
And that alone makes it right.
His entire attire is pleasing to the site,
Even when the light isn't very bright.
Still, others claim it to be black,
And it blends well with his slacks.
To me, it's plain to see that it's grey.
He lurks with deeds of evil whether
It be by night or by day.
But too few are brave enough to say,
That he smiles with his pleasing looking eyes,
But a listen to his lips says he clearly lies.
He contributes heavily to every campaign.
He's enameled with looks of confidence,
come sunshine or rain; and he stands
Every chance to gain.
To him, life is just a stage for games;
And his purpose is to only cause pain.
At the same time, no one makes a sound,
And the deciever is no where to be found.
But let it be known that woe awaits him.
May my adversity
be enameled with civility
May my diversity
be filled with commonality
May my best move
always be 'Common Sense'
Exquisite blonde egg
Pale blue veins
Inspired by Faberge’
A Russian goldsmith
She opens up into pure loveliness
daring others to desire a peek
Jeweled and enameled esoteric creation
Marvelously artistic secretive blonde egg
In a vase, sitting stunningly on our kitchen table,
And singing to my children's mother, are my
favorites among flowers.
These roses must be the the prime of
The pick, because they have clearly been
Divinely touched and enameled with beauty
By their Master and mine.
Nine red blossoms are singing their song;
And 12 more which presently are budding,
will soon break forth in staggering beauty.
At my request, these roses, like a symphony,
Are playing and singing their song for the mother
of my children, entitled, "Happy Mother's Day".
It was during the early 80s when I struck gold in California.
I saw 'fool's gold' on the banks of The American River,
but my first citing of genuine California gold, the kind that
is forever treasured and never spent, was discovered on
the streets of San Francisco.
It took a while before I recognized it as gold. A closer look
and more frequent encounters were required before I saw
the gold because it was enameled with much dirt and Drin.
His name was Reuben, a harmless, homeless, and hungry man.
My next 'find' of pure gold was a 'real mother lode'
in the person of a beautiful lady named Estelle.
Estelle was the shield that God provided as
we sought shelter from one of life's storms.
Just thinking about her draws tears of love.
And then, there were the saintly trio.
Ron, Ester, and her sister Peggy. This
trio was my fuel in flight; my inspiration.
These five human 'pearls of great price'
were among the choicest, rarest,
and most precious of souls.
Real California gold.
As I approached the political poll,
a fellow countryman spoke a word
of wisdom to my soul. He told me that
I should consider 'voting' as a task that never
grows old. He related this short story to me:
"For 55 years, I have exercised this right to have my say.
Sometimes in tears, I have cast my ballot on very cloudy days
in many of those years. There were times when I could not clearly
see my way. Every step seemed to unveil the colors of grey.
There were times that I did not know who to vote for and just like you,
I didn't know what to do. But I learned early on that 'doing nothing'
was not an option.
As I look back over time
and space, I notice a pattern imprinted in the sands of time on the
human race. I see people of many opinions and persuasions coming
and going, but what appears most clearly and revealing is not 'great
people' but rather 'great and eternal principles."
After he departed, I was left with such a pleasing reality staring at me.
I was determined to be embraced with a mindset that casts a ballot
so much bigger than one enameled with a personality, but rather
with one rooted with great and enduring principles.
There is a sense of trespass
on this frost enameled morning
as I leave my footprints graffitied
across the white grass,
sending the noise of every step
to crunch my presence
into a wide, frozen silence.
I stop, marooned in the middle
of a crystalline surround
that seems so brittle that if I take
one more step I will cause
this fragile world to shatter.
It is so delicate, exquisitely beautiful
balanced on the edge of melt.
Even my taken breath seems
to send a threatening shudder through
its chambers. It would be good
to stay here, to be taken out of time
and become part of what is distilled
just below the quiet
of this blessed freeze.
But the sun now is coming through
the trees casting its rays across
the crusted ice. A thin, steamy mist
is rising. This lovely world is beginning
to melt and another is getting ready
to emerge. Birdwings brush the air.
My footprints are dissolving into grass.
The large, enameled sink
eats her red knuckles.
Mum bent to
her silent threadbare work.
I have new long pants,
I worship their long-ness,
how they stretch my young body
into an imaginary manhood.
Mum threatens to wash them soon,
I back away as her laboring ribs
speak.
My lips
make the shocked shape of 'why'!
Her hands keep thrashing suds.
Find a place here
in the half light
of a morning where,
still damp with dew
and enameled in ice,
there is calm curled
under trees and dreams
linger in the mist.
There will be a sense
that the morning
has made room for you.
Stop here.
Feel the world pause
in this place of in-between,
before the real intrudes
and sends the day off
shackled to its clock.
Here, there is nothing
to be done
but to listen, let play
a dance of images
to move across your mind,
to feel that gorgeous ache
for something
that is waiting here
for you,
just out of reach,
yet within a breath
of becoming known.
Sadly, all too soon,
crows will appear
dragging their black ribbons
of unholy noise,
bringing with them,
the anesthesia of time.
Atop a walnut table with ebonised legs
Sat a Victorian brooch, white and red.
She wore diamonds and rubies brilliant and bright,
That sparkled within all sources of light.
Bejeweled little butterfly trimmed in gold,
A wonder you are for the eye to behold.
"Am I not beautiful?" inquired the dragonfly,
from its perch on an occasional table nearby.
Dressed in diamonds, rubies, and mounted on gold,
With enameled wing and tail, a dazzling bouton pearl...
It too was a wonder for the eye to behold.
"What about me!" shouted a diamond pendant watch.
"And me!" shouted a brooch with a white paste heart.
"What about me?" inquired a flower, art nouveau...
"Enough! shouted a disgruntled Cameo,
dressed in pearls, diamonds, rubies, and gold.
"We all are wonders to behold!"
Fashioned in enameled vacancy,
the gentry’s veil was pierced
Exposed unclean, all vices seen,
through fury sharp and fierce
The folly of their blasphemy,
whose cover all but blown
With blood to flow from ramparts high
—once driven from the throne
(Dreamsleep: December, 2021)
This rainy season, I wish it would rain.
I wish that deep freezes would refrain.
Whether the ground hog stays in or comes out,
May the Winter weather allow us to get about.
Please, let there be no repeats of the Texas freeze.
People faced threats to their lives that's hard to believe.
May the earth take a long and gentle break and not quake.
Give peace a chance, love flowing like rivers, for Christ's sake.
Let us be fraught with wintry thoughts that heal;
Not thoughts and schemes enameled with chills,
Nor hearts and minds set on plans to hate and kill;
But thoughts permeated with feelings of warmth that thrills.
May politicians of all persuasions wish each other a Merry Christmas.
We are all on the Titanic needing life boats, because we are sinking fast.
There is still hope if we cease the wayward spiral and build a better world in which to live. May our world of greed, pain, and shame bow down to its loving creator who showed His love by giving and giving.
120121PSCtest, Winter Wishes, Chantelle Anne Cooke
Political expedience at the fork of the road is best 'not taken'.
Often, such a choice is enameled with deceit and self-interest.
Wars, especially civil wars, do not settle the causes of the conflict.
Divisions and conflicting ideologies persist like a simmering powder keg.
Every effort should be exhausted in order to disallow each volatile situation.
Reckless disregard for history is a breathing ground for chaos and confusion.
Keeping the Peace, though never cheap, is far more cost effective than war.
Elections in some places are believed to be fraught with fraudulent returns.
Generations prior, through trust in God and proven principles, found a way for political civility.
063021PSCtest, This Or That, Vol 4, Edward Ibeh. HM
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