Long Clapboard Poems

Currents
by Michael R. Burch

How can I write and not be true
to the rhythm that wells within?
How can the ocean not be blue,
not buck with the clapboard slap of tide,
the clockwork shock of wave on rock,
the...

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Poems about Poems (I)



What the Poet Sees
by Michael R. Burch

What the poet sees,
he sees as a swimmer
~~~underwater~~~
watching the shoreline blur
sees through his breath’s weightless bubbles...
Both worlds grow obscure.



Muse/Goddess
by Michael R. Burch

“What will you conceive in...

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Salvation of a Formalist, an Ode to Entropy
by Michael R. Burch

Entropy?
God's universal decree
That I get to be
Disorderly?
Suddenly
My erstwhile boxed-in verse is free?
Wheeeeee!



Eternal Currents
by Michael R. Burch

How can I write and not be true
to the rhythm...

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The Making of a Poet
by Michael R. Burch

While I don’t consider “Poetry” to be my best poem—I wrote the first version in my teens—it’s a poem that holds special meaning for me; I call it...

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The State of the Art (I)
by Michael R. Burch

Has rhyme lost all its reason
and rhythm, renascence?
Are sonnets out of season
and poems but poor pretense?

Are poets lacking fire,
their words too trite and forced?
What happened to desire?
Has...

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The Gospel according to The Bluesman
Gianni watched the clouds move in
Closed his window for the rain
It was spring and that meant
That it was gonna storm again

He looked out at the street outside
He saw a man...

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A country church nestled in a peaceful valley,
Against a glorious backdrop of tall mountains,
That were fashioned before Eden’s retched  malady,
That beset the human soul and rich surroundings.

Beautiful dog-wood trees with blossoms snowy white,
Bounded by...

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In the small town that I grew up as a child, streets were neat and prim.
Trees lined up in rows of green statuesque figures. Children playing, riding bicycles, roller skating in the warm summer breeze....

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It stood there
looking empty and old,
neglected and sad
with windows shuttered,
covered in shadow 
both day and night,
hovered over 
by trees whose branches
disguised the house
and made it seem 
a part of the 
overgrown landscape, 
completely surrounding it,
keeping...

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"Sometimes preservation is the surest road to ruin."

I took a walk along the ocean down by the sea, 
I prefer them both together I’m sure that you’ll agree. 
      ...

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Urges ushered Est’bel out of her abode –
a cottage cobbled together from cobwebs and clapboard – 
and she scuttled forth,
her nesty hair tousled
by a leaf-laced breeze

In her bony hands she clutched
dregs of a nightmeg broth
in...

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What you don’t see: I do
A derelict house lumbered down the street
— it had enough of sitting still.
The prickly weeds and spiderwebs spawned ghosts and shards of glass.

People stared and pointed out; aghast they turned...

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Jeb was a veteran of the War of all wars,
When brother fought brother and families closed doors.
Wounded in battle in the year of sixty-one;
Four years before Gettysburg, fore' it just begun.

Jeb got a Medal of...

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The escape commenced.
The endless drive from middleclass suburbia
ala Levittown; across hill and dale,
packed in a 1947 black beauty
of a Lincoln Continental; to the land of Peyton Place 
and Steven King; Maine.

Lemon up and tangerine down,...

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Sweet Southern Security
 
Sprawling shady oak trees, tall slender 

pine trees with jutting needles, and broad whispering 

magnolia trees towering above as the bright moonlight 

filters through their waving restless limbs and leaves,

mirroring the silvery...

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Soul progress
     back field in motion
The guff
     Chose, chose, live grow leave!  GO!

Leapt from heaven's gold
Jump started into a human mold

    White clapboard...

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Winter Cabin Reality
            by Odin Roark

The storm door
Improperly closed
Bangs violently
The clapboard shedding
White paint chips
Wounds without first aid
Flecks of age
Mixing with the drifting snow

Walls shudder...

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We had moved six times in my seven years
Always some apprehension on my part
At this new school, red-necked bullies to fear
Only I did not know about their art

Oh! I was soon to find out what...

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Billowing taupe clouds, hunker down and hem in the Peninsula,
The morning rips open
A glimpse of sun shone; a lemon curd slivers between slits of of silver illumination
The first hint of light glances up frothing crests...

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Bought at an antiques store for a song:
unframed print #225 of 750, signed by the artist
Number III of the family name, all painters,
(presumably) Those forbears hard to discard--
"Stay Awhile" its title, hospitably captioned by
a country...

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I had run out of it i'm out of it
mind you my mind that ran away
first by feet then by train
paxil was her name a rotundish
hard skinned pink pill of a pimp
so sleeping a tossing...

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A young Shepardflees fascist Italy,
in a boat crossing a tereachorous sea.
His rudimentary education,
ending sheep in Abruzzi, Italy.
His venture, to seek a life of freedom,
on the cold gold ground of La'mere-rr-ika.

He walked out of the pasture...

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FAREWELL   TO    NOVA    SCOTIA


A net of cables stretching overhead  in the mist to Dartmouth Bay:
Our boat slips under Angus McDonald bridge out into the Atlantic greys,
Leaving...

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"It is a sad man indeed who understands his dreams."

If ere the rack of clickity clack should ever clutter down,
And moisten reams of clapboard streams then I shall surely drown.
 
For hammered tops and candle...

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One day I'll drive there.
On the way
I'll tell my wife about the Modoc woman,
who lived outside the city
above a sea lion rookery.

She taught me a Klamath-Modoc prayer:

“I want you animals to know, Open your eyes.
A...

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