Long Fathomless Poems
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Covered with your mantle you spirited me away
that form held my emotion held me in its sway
herefore you could view me soul as clear as glass
wish do I its movements desire never it to pass
Vision upon vision opened mine eyes to see
need to build this life for all of humanity
I want to take your hand and lead you to the door
fill you with inspiration and lift you even more
I can build a ballroom much greater in my mind
dance upon marbled floors the room I did design
where the frames are gilded with silver and with gold
here the strings of harps the listeners ears enfold
I want to take every pain from you away
and when you wake tomorrow for nothing more to pray
want you to understand I wrote this just for you
ever seek your happiness where Love’s unbroken true
I never want you lingering in the house of vain
I want to see you dancing with joy in life’s refrain
to paint with every color and play with every hue
to wake with a song in heart and share the things you do
If I could but reach you and your spirit mend
shelter all your feelings your life would I defend
I would give you blue skies the mists of gentle rain
flowers in the springtime an earth that’s rich in grain
But someone has already given all these gifts
meant them for everyone and not as man permits
but you must keep seeking to fill yourself in kind
always to be generous in actions and in mind
To find a fluent master who can teach you the right way
examine all of learning apply it in every day
from a little seedling did the tree of knowledge grow
until you can reach for life and the beauty of it know
When you think your well is empty
and the depths within are dry
get up and seek the water
and to its sources fly
don’t linger in the darkness
and traditions that are blind
in life to be exalting
but you its paths must find
Life is a kind of music
and fathomless its array
it takes time and practice
to master the chords you’ll play
Take in life’s instruction
examine all in it that’s good
make your heart and mind the temple
and its teachings understood
COPYRIGHT © 2013 C Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC?
EARLY POEMS XIX
Bound
by Michael R. Burch
Now it is winter—the coldest night.
And as the light of the streetlamp casts strange shadows to the ground,
I have lost what I once found
in your arms.
Now it is winter—the coldest night.
And as the light of distant Venus fails to penetrate dark panes,
I have remade all my chains
and am bound.
Published as “Why Did I Go?” in my high school journal, The Lantern
130 Refuted
by Michael R. Burch
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red ...
— Shakespeare, Sonnet 130
Seas that sparkle in the sun
without its light would have no beauty;
but the light within your eyes
is theirs alone; it owes no duty.
And that flame, not half as bright,
is meant for me, and brings delight.
Coral formed beneath the sea,
though scarlet-tendriled, cannot warm me;
while your lips, not half so red,
just touching mine, at once inflame me.
And the searing flames your lips arouse
fathomless oceans fail to douse.
Bright roses’ brief affairs, declared
when winter comes, will wither quickly.
Your cheeks, though paler when compared
with them?—more lasting, never prickly.
And your cheeks, so dear and warm,
far vaster treasures, need no thorns.
I believe I wrote this poem as a college freshman, age 18.
With my daughter, by a waterfall
by Michael R. Burch
By a fountain that slowly shed
its rainbows of water, I led
my youngest daughter.
And the rhythm of the waves
that casually lazed
made her sleepy as I rocked her.
By that fountain I finally felt
fulfillment of which I had dreamt
feeling May’s warm breezes pelt
petals upon me.
And I held her close in the crook of my arm
as she slept, breathing harmony.
By a river that brazenly rolled,
my daughter and I strolled
toward the setting sun,
and the cadence of the cold,
chattering waters that flowed
reminded us both of an ancient song,
so we sang it together as we walked along
?unsure of the words, but sure of our love?
as a waterfall sighed and the sun died above.
This poem was published by my college literary journal, Homespun, in 1977. I believe I wrote around age 18.
Keywords/Tags: early, early poems, juvenilia, sun, red, lips, seas, light, flame, fire, oceans, roses, thorns, winter, cheeks, waterfall, daughter, rose, roses are red
(On My Shock at the Sad News of Dr Fatemi’s Decease)
Dressed in mourning in a photo I came across at daybreak,
You broke the rueful, bitter news and struck me with shock and ache.
Would that I were dead and knew not of this loss of a great sage
Who was far greater than his peers, kept up to his ripe old age
Calm and smiling, pleased with the world, strong in body and in mind,
Sympathetic, benevolent, pure-hearted, merciful, kind.
The son of a brave lioness (a Zeinab of her own time),
Had surely to keep reticent about the inhuman crime
Of the Shah’s rogues and ruffians who blinded one of his eyes
And stabbed his mother who shielded her brother from savage guys.
In dark days of royal era, when your colleagues passed him by
Hardly with a briefest greeting lest they be seen by a spy
I noticed who he truly was and how lowly they were all:
Basest creatures of short stature fearful of their meanest fall!
By the stairways he spoke to me as a father, scholar, friend,
Athlete, author, and a statesman and his time he would thus spend
Till your classes ended at last and as an innocent boy
He concluded what he had said, left me, and neared you in joy.
When he used to shake hands with me, how he raised me from the ground
A foot and a half, oh my God! How athletic, robust, sound!
The first book in Greco-Roman mythology in Iran
Was his which both in my studies and my life I came upon.
He, and you, dearest professor, did not spend a single dime
Of what you received for teaching, unlike beggars of the time —
Gave all away to the needy as once some waiters told me.
You had not taken your degrees to make money, I could see.
I well know how he has once stopped his car in a busy street
To reach and save an old woman, one disabled in the feet.
Finding out that her eyesight is also impaired, he takes her
To doctors, has her eyes treated, and chooses then to transfer
The old woman to the country. Such a hero to the core
Deserves the immortality of all the heroes of yore.
We mortals or rank and file foam just for a very short while,
Like waves, and then into boundless and fathomless seas we pile.*
We die with the fire we kindle in a lover’s inflamed breast;
He is an ever-shining sun that neither sets nor knows west!
12.27.’19
* See Matthew Arnold's "Rugby Chapel", lines 58-72.
No comments, please!
"The Winter's Lullaby"
Choking noble light held by the hands of Fate
As deceived Persephone enters Hades gate
The burning suns falling through the universe.
Despairing and alone not a coppers worth
A bitter cold blankets Gaia's tears in a frozen sea of glass
While the stupefied intoxicated serpent drowned with a laugh.
Undulating sands barricades into immovable glacier,
Infectious prison walls destroyed the strength of redeeming savior.
Chariot of the flame plunges into the water’s bed
Fate’s tepid scarlet scissor hands sever the music thread
Astaea’s darkened soaked mural melts with eternal dread
Seeing red, alluring sirens sang as the music bled
Unfathomable lamented shrieks surged as the music tore
Obsidian tributaries erodes the forbidden door
Eros scorned wound feeds the ravished horde of succubi
Remote hollow temple bell wailed the closing cry
Captured in the dance of loves and hates tempest cyclone
Drums of madness orchestrates into the perfect tone
The infernal flame explodes from the mouth of Tartarus
Driven oblivion crescendos for the pending chorus
The stentorian cracks of nefarious shots being fired
Frantically gasping for the final breath of faith hope and desire
Tragic petrified tears from soundless screams of the choir
Condemned whisper of the drum crucified on barbed wire
Cold candle rests under the gaze of the vastness
No kiss or love to awake the entombed princess
Crimson emaciated curtains descend upon the floor
Fathomless, eviscerated, veiled; the music is no more
Form:
No ... there would be no happy end to this story ...
No shining horizon or shimmering visions of tomorrow,
No joyous rhapsody of angels to greet us at the end of THIS tunnel.
The Big Apple was behind us now, fallen to the horrors of the epidemic ...
A gestation period of merely thirty seconds,
Which meant half the globe - half of humanity -
Could be firmly in its grip within 48 hours ...
Just two days! (And that was an optimistic estimate).
I worked for the CDC, but was on vacation with my family ...
My wife, two daughters, one son,
In Manhattan to see "Hamilton" on Broadway.
We were headed back to The Plaza when it happened -
When the first infected folks started to turn.
Whatever it was, it increased metabolism in the host,
As though giving people super powers,
Making them faster, stronger, more erratic, more deadly ...
One bite to the skin, and within half a minute, the person would change ...
Transform, into these ... monsters, crazy eyes and gnashing teeth,
With only one drive and purpose - to bite flesh and spread contagion,
(And the possibilities of mutations were nearly fathomless).
Nature always protects itself ... always finds a way,
And diseases and microorganisms are PART of nature.
Like good bacteria, viruses seek out highly beneficial environments,
And this one had selected the most deadly and formidable of hosts - humans.
On the other end of this long tunnel under the Hudson, was New Jersey ...
We were headed south to Atlanta and CDC headquarters,
But that was an eternity from where we were,
With untold dangers and obstacles ahead,
And in the midst of this horrifying and virulent plague.
The tunnel was empty, thankfully, and dark,
But with a tension-filled quietus that seemed ready to explode.
Our one blessing? It was very early Sunday morning,
And there was little traffic on the highway.
Still, there would be surprises coming, we knew not what ...
Surprises and trials, at the end of this long underpass AND beyond.
We could see the light of the entrance as it drew closer,
We could envision the stress and danger, and feel the cold breath ...
Of doom approaching.
~ 4th Place ~ in the "Tunnel Vision" Poetry Contest, Kai Michael Neumann, Sponsor.
Anytime is good for loving .
It is a good time to love
now with the mountain peak
bulging forward steely
and the late afternoon sun
piebalding out a pink
like a body flushed
It is a time good for love
spread out over a table
tomatoes red-cheeked
against aubergines
knobbed purple
with the sizzle of unions,
garlic and a trace of cloves
cornering the giddy secret
of detergent
somewhere
Love would be good
as the garden- corner darkens
around the rose`s virginal white
and the fathomless mouths
of the hibiscus trumpets
simply red
Timely would good love come
with the gibbous head
of the moon bulbing
over the mount
over the still mouth of the rose
rooting in the dark flesh
of the brooding black earth...
Surely ...
It`s a good time for love
like any other.
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You know me as a poet, and writer of poems sad,
I take poetic license, violating rules and conventions;
telling a story using figurative language, I share,
my life's journey and sorrows in beautiful words.
Few beyond this safe harbor have read my poetry,
I write with raw emotion and I lay my soul bare;
my poems are my treasures and I keep them hidden,
oh, fathomless is the pain.
My view on life is somewhat sadly fatalism,
my destiny foretold, it is already written;
there are many facets to me that I share with few,
oh, classical music moves me to write my poetry and words;
I love Chopin, poet of the piano, Mozart, oh that lyrical charmer.
And I am a lover of art, going to the art gallery weekly,
I love Van Gogh, Degas, Pissario, Bernini and Botticello;
Leonardo and of course, Michelangio, I could go on and on.
I am also fascinated in the architecture in my city.
Often, I just walk the streets looking for beauty,
admiring Gothic revival with its arches and vaults;
and I love the Victorian building where I reside,
with my cat.
I have a small garden, created with a love for nature,
a tribute to my mother's great fondness of flowers.
the things you may not imagine about me are many, for example
I adore vintage jewelry and clothes, and antique anything;
and I am a collector of books, reference, dictionaries, all in a clutter.
And one last thing that I find so very odd and strange,
is that although since childhood I have walked with death;
and death haunts me- I am quite happy, although quite internal,
and I do love and absolutely need my silence.
_________________________________
July 30, 2015
Poetry/Verse/All That I Am
Copyright Protected, ID 30-695-897-30
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Submitted to Standard Contest # 260,
sponsor, Brian Strand
Fifth Place
_____________________________
Submitted to Standard contest, 100 In A Row #1,
sponsor, Poet Destroyer
Fifth Place
_______________________________
Submitted Premier to the contest, All That I Am
sponsor, C. Puddifoot,
Seventh Place
Am I smiling or accepting my sadness
Ignoring my pain or enjoying my madness
Am I not saying my words very clear
Maybe cause I have so many bullets in my ear
Let the blood flow out from my lips
Watch the hypnotising rhythm as the blood drips
From my grin the gore rains
Watch me laugh as I blow out my brains
My hands dig into my flesh
The stench smells so bitter and fresh
Ripping out my insides from me
Now my body and soul are both empty
I'm living in this timeless, mindless, self-blindness, conceded piece of ****
Watch me as I cut myself out of it
Searching my chest for a piece of me
Trying to find some humanity
Discovering I've always been heartless
It is beyond fathomless
Embrace the emotions that prove my existence
Clutch on to my suicidal persistence
Insanity can bring my comfort
Only seconds till my mind will convert
I’m living in this timeless, mindless, self-blindness, conceded piece of ****
Watch me as I cut myself out of it
Bite my lips so I taste my bitter sweet skin
I indulge in my sin
I will rip out my eyes and hold them facing my heart
I will watch myself fall apart
Prove to me that I am better off dead
Show me the beauty of dread
Let me hear the songs of anguish
I will make the light of day vanish
The void of my heart cradles my mind
A cold embrace from deep inside
Holding my hand through the road of lunacy
Guiding me to my new beautifully foul reality
To be lost is to be free
I'm lost in my mind, lost my sanity
Watch me break the remains of my body
The broken remains of me
I'm living in this timeless, mindless, self-blindness, conceded piece of ****
Watch me as I cut myself out of it
Watch as my hair bursts into flame
Observe my hands be eaten away from shame
Feel my legs as they crumble before me
Taste my exasperation sing from my bloody body
Watch my eyes roll back
Watch my body rot to black
Smell the malodorous presence that is my fading soul
Watch me smile as my body grows foul
Watch me smile, watch me burst with laughter
Watch me sing in my new body of ashes thereafter
Watch me dance in the breeze as my body fades away
Watch my hatred come back to bring the end of days
"recently scenes of early life have stolen into my mind, like breezes blown ..."
Quote by _Samuel Taylor Coleridge
We often say that time waits on none of us.
Getting on board life's bus is simply a must.
A most fathomless affair; this search for yesterday.
We say that time seems to take wings and flies.
It's vital that we learn to keep up with time and thrive.
When young, we look forward; when older, we look backward.
Before we reach our destiny or arrive at the end of the line,
Those long-ago memories, with tears, will lay hold of our minds.
We recall the love that embraced us; the security that protected us.
In our search for yesterday, we hope for the best,
But it is very painful when we find so much less.
So, if you pursue such a quest, be brave and strong.
We recall a piece of our life's puzzle that we desire to experience again.
Some pieces are forever hidden, and we cannot locate those that remain.
Some pieces, meant only for yesterday, will not fit for today or tomorrow.
Although we can go back to where we once lived in another time,
those things, places, and familiar faces, we are not likely to find.
Even the most familiar surroundings are often unrecognized.
We will often find sadness, strangers, and feelings of loneliness.
The feeling of love, security, and homeliness now feels like wilderness.
A most strange emotion, a sense of abandonment, often hovers over us.
Time is indeed our friend, but time cannot sit with us on the dock of the bay.
We search for yesterday, and anticipate tomorrow, but must go forward today.
Forward, because landmarks and every trace of yesterday are gone.
After realizing the only sameness was the open sky,
Deep inside the core of my heart, I utter a sigh,
I paused and stared for a while and then drove slowly away.
Some 50 years of time had left a most bitter pill;
And I shall long remember how 'Time' made me feel
The search for yesterday often leaves unpleasantries.
102222PSCtest, Writing Challenge - Past Memories - 'T' Forms.
Poem Form: Tail-Rhyme. Constance La France
Poetry Soup Gramma-Check
You are my beacon in the darkness
the bulwark and seawall which protect my shore
the lamp which pierces the stormy waters
that surround me
I navigate the deep with the course you set for me
your spirit moves the directions and maps
the destinations
Our cargo is precious and obtained
from many nations whose purchase was
a kings priceless ransom .
You calm the tempests with your orders
our counselor and captain of our salvation
you have lifted us from deep waters
rescued us from from the windstorms and squalls
guided us to warm beaches and the coastlines
filled with pleasant fruit
sheltered us from the ravages of dark natures
covered us richly from all your storehouses.
You have smoothed the surface of the great seas
for a passage through them
I exalt in your wisdom and radiance
Your presence and advice is always true
You take measure and correct our crossings
Your observations conduct the setting of our sails
and conveyed our bearing and carriages .
My soul rejoices in all your orders
for they are the buttress and stronghold
for all that you have delivered to us .
You are resplendent in all your ways
unsurpassed in your excellence
and worthy to receive the honors
and devotions of all those loving you .
You are the air that fills our sails
the brightest star in our nights
the Son which illuminates our days .
I magnify your name oh Lord
above all those known to men .
amen come Captain of Salvation
Your Word is fathomless
an anchor to our souls
Is 9:6
For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and
the government will be on his shoulders. And he will
be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Acts 4:12
Salvation is found in no one else, for there is
no other name under heaven given to
mankind by which we must be saved.”
Heb 1:3
The Son is the radiance of God’s glory and the exact
representation of his being, sustaining all things
by his powerful word. After he had provided purification
for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty in heaven.
COPYRIGHT © 2015
PoetryofProvidence
C Michael Miller?