Long Foghorns Poems

Poems about Poems (II)

Kin
by Michael R. Burch

for Richard Moore

1.
Shrill gulls,
how like my thoughts
you, struggling, rise
to distant bliss?
the weightless blue of skies
that are not blue
in any atmosphere,
but closest here...

2.
You seek an air
so clear,
so rarified
the effort leaves...

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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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Poems about Poets I


The Wonder Boys
by Michael R. Burch

for Leslie Mellichamp

The stars were always there, too-bright cliches:
scintillant truths the jaded world outgrew
as baffled poets winged keyed kites—amazed,
in dream of shocks that suddenly came true ...

but...

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Flings and wings and rings rejected…
 Cupid’s arrows fly deflected…
“It clearly is too late” she signed, “to love, adore or pay me mind”

Penciled lines drew cruel conclusions
mocking mirror’s cracked illusions…
Sometimes, in time, I hang awhile,...

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 Part 3

9th Delerium: Emptyness
Water wheels in wastelands... turning,
drowning relics in the slum
Rumpled rags of fashioned burlap... burning,
lit by bandits blind and dumb
Pastured prisons, ponies bridled ... yearning,
forest fairies under thumb
Sounds inside of cauldrons coughing......

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Safe Harbor
by Michael R. Burch

for Kevin N. Roberts

The sea at night seems
an alembic of dreams—
the moans of the gulls,
the foghorns’ bawlings.

A century late
to be melancholy,
I watch the last shrimp boat as it steams
to safe harbor...

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 Continued from Part 1 

The Beggars ’neath the balustrades,
and broken Children, Chambermaids,
are running wild from wraiths, afraid
	of dreams where death redoubles.
They fritter time with tattered threads
(from ragged clothes they’ve left in shreds),
crocheting hoods to...

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The sky was sunny, the temperature was mild, and the wind was calm and mild. Tornadoes are known to rarely occur here, but the winds can get rather gusty. There is no hurricane season here,...

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Once again, I've spent my day
drifting among the drifting dunes
staring at colorful bits of ocean-tumbled glass
that shimmer, sparkle
and refract the still-warm October light
in my shaking uncertain hand
as though I was looking
into my very own past...

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Brings back aromatic, delicious yesterdays.
Our San Francisco les journeees!

Of winding streets and moonlit sweaty-love 
soaked sheets.
North Beach, homemade Italian fresh baked 
bread and cheese.

Our favorite, Osso Bucco, when we were in the 
mood.
In our shining,...

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Cold rains, wet and weary... seeping through the sky,
spectres pass ’long side me... bent, with collars high,
my visions are invisible and no one sees me cry.

Minstrels of destruction... rapping at my door,
naked anvils aching... heavy...

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Lombard Street Memories       
                           San Francisco, 1975   
                 ~~~~~~
     I felt totally stupid cooking my first turkey, as I...

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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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In the hot A-Ga-Ming night
My wife and I skip the July 4th fireworks
At the sandbar down south on long Torch Lake

Start our own shoreline fire

Count the red electrified dorsal fins
Of the motorboat salmon swimming upstream
Migrating...

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I’m stuck in this prison
this Hell that I’m in
How long has it been
since the day
all happiness left me?
Playground days-
the time of no caring
are lost in a maze
as life is wearing me down
They say it gets...

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Poet:  Ken Jordan 
Poem:  Sebastopol 
Edited by:  Sparkle Jordan 
written:  April/2016

Where
lighthouse 
rays

shine
on
seagull wings -

Where
the 
misty

morning 
dew -

beckon

foghorns
to
sing -

where sky's 
are
green;

Oceans too -

Where 
fishermen 

stretch 

tall 
stories 

the whole
day 
through -

Where 
clouds...

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The spiral staircase made her high heels sing.
 San Francisco's nights treated her that way.
 Sophisticated vacation each Spring -
 Nothing seemed as romantic as the Bay.

 She met him on the wharf one moonlit...

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Hear the rush, shhhh, ahhhh,
The ocean's coming fast.
Hear the seaguls squark, croak,
Lingering on the foamy shore.
Feel the sand between your toes,
Feel the frostbite on your nose.
Oh the ocean calm and free,
May I be at one...

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Town Full Of Sound

I use to live in 
A town full of sound
With Roller Coasters
And Merry Go Round
Horns would blast
To sound an alarm

I use to live in 
A town full of sound

I use to live...

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I.
Lighthouse runs during the rough night tonight
Splash, splash, the ocean beats upon the shore
Rocks create edge foam, a white gorgeous sight

Storm approaches the lighthouse to implore
Town builds itself around the lighthouse door

Faster, the ocean crashes...

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The Honey of a Fog

If you ever lived in Baghdad by
Bay, you would know 
That each night as the sun begins
to set,
The fog casts its sweet honey net
all over it.
With baptismal droplets, a true
sweet, love blanket.

The...

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Gazing with twinkling thoughts
Upon a clear night from afar
Wishing on one hoping for them all
Two hands clasped together
While walking and leaving footprints in the sand
Thoughts are racing trying to catch each others
Minds wandering with delight
Under...

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Magic Glasses

In the lost and found
One glitzy pair of glasses
Dusty - forgotten

Cast off and outcast?
Living in land of the lost
Corrections for sight

Mystic mystery
Calls to the curious heart
Like foghorns in mists

Wispy temptation
Weaves tendrils of enticements
Try me...

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