Rose Hyperbole Poems

I open my eyes to a dream-like paradise
An utopia my heart can't fathom
An abyss I wish to fall into
But now I get to watch it...

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I don't know that poetry
needs be anything but poetry,

while myself realizing
that definition greatly varies –

but I have seen acrobatic
words that flop like
wingless birds, 

and predictable...

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Poetry often starts outside
of one's self – on a distant hill or near
greenhouse shelf; our-cultivations
as the consideration of a grafted rose
goes; the meandering, dripping of...

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My eyes and heart are falling alike so 
The stars tonight may even fall like leaves
Sprinkles of raindrops are falling
The sunset fell and darkness falls 
A waterfall...

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hey pete
by Michael R. Burch
 
hey pete,
it's baseball season
and the sun ascends the sky,
encouraging a schoolboy's dreams
of winter whizzing by;
go out, go out and catch...

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I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.
Edgar Allan Poe


The crowd approached the lens of the mega camera. Its gnawing rose up in the...

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You will walk on only green grass, with trees and lakes in the horizon,
On straight paths with flowers blooming on the side.
The Garden of Hesperidia...

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On the cusp of the gloaming,
frigid air turns crystal clear.
And the frosted window panes
assume an icy veneer.

The season slowly shifted
as warmer days slipped away.
And Sol's...

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She was gooey like maple syrup

     & marshmallow s'mores,

stronger than  a mountain lion

    protecting her cubs,

wore prescription...

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She meekly chased after
nonexistent moonbeams
  in rose fashioned pipe
       dreamt illusions, 
as visual stimuli to
   ...

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Poetically fractured retractions
   gnashing night prayers, 
scribbling braille,
     written sideways
 dipped amid holy water retention,
compromising statements
   ...

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The eye is such a braggart with its emerald this and hazel that.
Does no one dream about an ear or a nose?
(personally ... I find...

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I have no heart,
so in love I will never take part.
I have no feet,
So in sports I don’t compete.
I have no tongue.
From me, no songs...

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She whispers at lilies to go back on there track. She sees through Ghandis eyes she can remember being that. Her rose is a rose...

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