Long Balls Poems

It may have been the devil himself who prompted the kids in my schoolyard back in 1947 to chant "Patsy Foley's roly-poly from eating too much ravioli."

At first, no one could remember who started the...

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"Who Put Luebella down the Wych Elm?"

There are rumours
about me, some 
come seeking me
with their geiger counters
and ouji boards
with their heart 
shaped planchettes

unanswered questions
in the woods, crackling
within the sounds of leaves
invisible dead things speaking 
underfoot...

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Poems about Dogs

This Dog
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Each morning this dog,
who has become quite attached to me,
sits silently at my feet
until, gently caressing his head,
I acknowledge his company.

This simple recognition gives my...

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Limericks VI - Religion

Pell-Mell for Hell Mel
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a Baptist named Mel
who condemned all non-Christians to hell.
When he stood before God
he felt like a clod
to discover His Love couldn’t fail!



Why I...

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Doggerel II: Doggerel about Doggerel, or, More Nonsense Verse

The Board
by Michael R. Burch

Accessible rhyme is never good.
The penalty is understood:
soft titters from dark board rooms where
the businessmen paste on their hair
and, Walter Mitties, woo the...

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Dog Daze
by Michael R. Burch

Sweet Oz is a soulful snuggler;
he really is one of the best.
Sometimes in bed
he snuggles my head,
though he mostly just plops on my chest.

I think Oz was made to love
from the...

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I want to tell you the story of my life.  I was born in a barn at dawn.  There
were eight of us but I was the only one with spots.  I was...

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[Well, ShallowMan’s ne’er at a loss
for voicing shallow thoughts that gloss.
With trenchant wit he reaps the dross
when seeking sense in applesauce.

But to his aid flies FactoidMan
who always has a Fact at hand;
with him, who needs...

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The three little pigs came to the ball
Tried to blow the castle down
It didn’t work
It was made of solid gold
So they gave up and sat at their trough 
Ate noisily 
And snorted quite a lot

They...

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Being a “Poet” Can Be Painful!


I’ve likely told you, more than once, that poetry can be painful, and whined about the need for penning verse

That stems from deep inside my soul...fashions every word...and has become,...

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Where do we come in
					in medias res  not knowing nor caring when
doesn’t everybody pine being number one we leave behind our lives in pages  pictures  or else make for images of what...

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Hey…did I ever tell you ‘bout the greatest baseball game,
Or should I say…the one that gave “Ol' Babe” his famous name?

Like several other great ones, there were many hits that day, 
And if it hadn't...

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Here's the scoop, friends...
   This is, as indicated, the 1st THIRD of this fairly lengthy poem. The 2nd and 3rd parts had to be posted separately due to Poetry Soup's file-size limitations. No...

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from island corner, big Antrim lad
  to Belfast city, a tiny pad
  shattered windows, tilted clocks
  Goliath had lost his socks
  gargantuan giant going mad

  Armagh apple girl, any topic
...

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I stood at the top of our dirt driveway looking back at our two-story house. It's kind of a long house where, from our second-floor windows, you can see cars driving on the lane road...

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Here's the scoop, friends...
   This is, as indicated, the 1st HALF of this fairly lengthy poem. The 2nd half had to be posted separately due to Poetry Soup's file-size limitations. No other way...

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This is a totally true episode from our 40 years spent collecting antiques -  


You never know for sure what lays ahead in life, my friend…
And here’s a tale I love to tell, and...

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Each year as Christmas rolls around, as I buckle under the pressure and stress of shopping for gifts for people that already  have everything, I find myself remembering that Christmas of 1954.

Dad had joined...

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I’ve Been So Lucky in Life! (1&2)
(Only Raped 5 Times Metaphorically)

Poem’s Introduction
My poetry has always been about transparency. It’s about letting go of an effort to be liked by others, and allowing others to gravitate...

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"I am a painter and my eyes are the paint brushes I had if I look up with my open eye I see the Horizon I see the clouds to be continued
Oh shutter as I...

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                             Brahman Nemesis

    ...

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My Last Las Vegas C.E.S. (1)
(A Memorial Poem)
I long counted Steve Bristow a friend (1) and we'd fly off to lunch
some days (Steve would get 'hours in' he needed for license - small planes).
It was...

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My TransITion began there
right there
in my woodland playground,
when I first knew
something right feels wrong to others.

I was blind to curve-balls
hurled at me.
Being "It" is not why I grow
this TransIt mind and body!

Or, is it?

Could I...

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Translation of « On est les oubliés » (They/We are the neglected and forgotten lot)
by the songster-poet Gauvin SERS
(For the last two years, this young unassuming Frenchman, full of verve and disarming airs has been...

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When they came to a side hall Joulupukki stopped.
     “Do you feel the magic?”  He said to her.  She nodded.  He stepped around the corner, on the far...

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