Long Darkly Poems

An icy chill descends on 13 Beaver Veil Cottage as sisters Ester and Ellie walk gingerly up the steps on this wet and windy night.
This once charming pied-a-terre was now in a final phase denouement.
The...

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n icy chill descends on 13 Beaver Veil Cottage as sisters Ester and Ellie walk gingerly up the steps on this wet and windy night.
This once charming pied-a-terre was now in a final phase denouement.
The...

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What fills your goals, son?

I told you!
Need to get my car rolling [life rolling, love rolling]
yesterday,
if not today...

If I may interrupt
to process mindful resilience
for a bit...

Let me ask again:
Noticing you are concerned about long-winded
and -winding
and...

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Some days and nights
I am terrorized by death,
cold silo ache-echoing fear,
claustrophobic breathless dark
barking inevitable factness and finality
of my decomposing mortality,
of history's posthumous demise,
post-humorous as hell.

What good is death
if it cannot at least invite eternal engagement?
Hopeful...

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It's peaceful here in my backyard.
The crows sound happy
with warm October sunlight.

I just read about a deadly gathering in Las Vegas.
Absence of sun-drenched peace.
Inconvenient this time of lost loss.
Death is always inconvenient,
even when invited.

A veteran,
about...

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Transparently robust private/public healers,
servants,
ego/ecotherapists,
investigate, with appreciation,
cooperative health insurance
for people,
healthy homes,
resilient transportation,
and cooperative tree and plant and children and elderly nursing
preserved through winter kitchens
and solar-fueled composting centers.

Health insurance assurance,
transubstantiating health/wealth reassurance,
investing in cooperatively-owned and eco-managing
therapeutic non-violent...

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Come Down
by Michael R. Burch

for Harold Bloom

Come down, O, come down
from your high mountain tower.
How coldly the wind blows,
how late this chill hour ...

and I cannot wait
for a meteor shower
to show you the time
must be...

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What Good Are Our Tears?
by Michael R. Burch

What good are our tears?
They will not spare the dying their anguish.
What good is our concern
to a child sick of living, waiting to perish?

What good, the warm benevolence...

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I melt into the plural sky
its rippling tableaus of tomorrow
underneath open light waves 
see-saws the labyrinth
like Delphi tendrils crossing channels 
all the changing faces played
automatic, embedded in misty consort 
with Hyde-Lees and Yeats 
love-crushed oracles
ghostwriting...

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I don't recall whose inspired idea it wasn't
to invite the math professor
into our Therapeutic Collaborative Laboratory.

I do recall when I first heard her speak
of cooperative polynomial qualities
for improving ego/eco-therapeutic communications.

She was, of course,
in the back...

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"Christmas in the Cathedral of the Forest Deep"




The silent heart is found 
embedded in the 
Cathedral of 
The Forest Deep

The lost jewel
shines in the dark
see the reflection of emerald eyes
endless hazel woods scried

On Christmas Eve
when...

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This foggy sky
darkly and relentlessly rains
especially for an early May morning.

He is not prepared for darkness
seeping through new-born leaves,
not yet full grown into this year's trunk-lacing dress,
soaking up from saturated soil,
slurping into his compassionately 
empathic...

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From that day on and forward,
I began to see the wretchedness my God had warned me of
He cursed the Lord wholeheartedly, for inflicting yet another agony on him,
In his well he called The Prison of...

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It's weird
and sometimes wild
living with a non-LeftBrain verbal dominant
aspiring child,
now young adult

I find myself waiting for him
to nonverbally connect
and correct me
about my patriarchal domineering
economic and political ableist sins
of felt omission from commercial value
and, perhaps worse,
my...

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Don't you think that this title is darkly divine?
But, of course, there will have to be weirdness that’s funny,
Though my nightmares are many and have complex arcs
There’s some risk here I might have to work...

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Borrowing from David Holmgren, Permaculture Principles and Pathways Beyond [Win-Elite v Lose-NonElite] Sustainability, 2002, p. 1

Health ethics are Beloved Community normative principles
used to guide action toward good and light and right outcomes
and away from degeneratively...

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Last night I dreamed.

I dream--

sometimes too athletically,
fertile regeneratively,
viral, positive and negatively 
and in-between sub-climax performing 
some wins and some perpetual losses 
more ambiguously back and forth, up and down, in and out,
and not nearly sensual...

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I dream into my Ta(0)ist
not-Universal Yang equals
not-Unitarian Yin
Sanctuary,
expecting to be greeted
by visions
of familiar spiritual apartheid.

But I am not.
Instead,
communion in this Sanctuary
looks and resounds,
feels and resonates
with multicultural communities outside,
tilting GoldenRule windmills,
bowing toward Eastern nondual rainbows,
surfing NewMoon...

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Understanding Nature

Part 1: What (I Think) God Wants You to Know!

Some people don’t understand Nature,
Feel death and pain prove there’s no God
Or if there is He is a monster,
His empathy for us a fraud.

They say...

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The Raven and the Bard
-Daniel Henry Rodgers

The Raven's quill drips shades of blackest night,
Its haunting words, a melody of fright.
The Bard's natural lines, like "Evangeline's" fair hair,
Shed history's warm light to chase away all care...

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Lusting Abyss, his Darkness.
.
Darkness is he, soulless totally
It's abyss he commands desiring what he sees

In front of him stands a virgin pure as the driven snow
For white he knows it is, upon she his darkness...

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Once within eternal time
of pre-LeftBrain domination,
I recall breathing in 
EarthMother's richly hued nutrition,
and this Other inhaling me,
purging lungs of misperceptions
that I was Her
any more or less than S/he was me.

We owned this communion together,
sacred breath...

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Darkness is he, soulless totally
It's abyss he commands, desiring what he sees

In front of him stands a virgin, pure as the driven snow
For white he knows it is, upon she his darkness will show

Long haired...

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There remains,
among cherished riff-raff,
old trope
tropical wet and warm
reproducing images,

Sadly resilient
and madly resonant,

About organic holes
and tumescent poles,
full-flowering 
young
green feminists
of feckless zero-empty wombs,
glacier valley lows
merely reflecting
volcanic mountain peaks

1's and 0's
blushing co-binaries 
of upright monotheistic YangPower
never
ever yielding to...

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“Ten Years, Somewhere in their Lost Neighbourhood”

Of course,
he said, like a god,
there is no course,
one must simply go with the flow
the penumbra stands waivering its existence,
a kind of deactivation, fuzzy borderline hanging, 
backing the art...

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