Long Frumpy Poems

State of the Art (IV)

These are my "ars poetica" poems about the art and craft of writing poetry. 



Hearthside
by Michael R. Burch

“When you are old and grey and full of sleep...”  — W. ...

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Wonderland
by Michael R. Burch
 
We stood, kids of the Lamb, to put to test
the beatific anthems of the blessed,
the sentence of the martyr, and the pen’s
sincere religion. Magnified, the lens
shot back absurd reflections of each...

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SELF REFLECTIONS

These are poems about mirrors, images, self-image, reflections, impressions and self-reflection. 

Self Reflection
by Michael R. Burch 

for anyone struggling with self-image

She has a comely form
and a smile that brightens her dorm ...
but she's grossly...

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Poems about Poems VI

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 Muse
with reprimands of Dr. Seuss.

The...

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COME ON SOUPER'S LETS HAVE SOME FUN AND MAKE FOLK SMILE DURING SUCH DIFFICULT TIMES FOR US ALL. THERE ARE LOTS MORE APT NAMES  - PLEASE SOUP MAIL POEMS AND I WILL ADD THEM...

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Sonnets V-IX



Afterglow
by Michael R. Burch

The night is full of stars. Which still exist?
Before time ends, perhaps one day we’ll know.
For now I hold your fingers to my lips
and feel their pulse... warm, palpable and slow...

once...

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They say your not beautiful;
but you are, you are;
Because you were made by created by God. . .
They say your ugly, and you just don't
You don't, you don't fit it won't fit in
The images of...

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Forever doomed to reside at 2 Highland Manor Drive

A worse fate than death being hull hive,
I just realized after a surprise inspection
our opportunity to relocate cursed
after yours truly and the missus
subjected to vitriolic wrath
(okay hyperbole...

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His obituary was in the newspaper today.  I had not thought of him in ages, yet he was always in a nest in my heart.  Tears occupied  my eyes as I did...

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There was an old lady, a frumpy old bag
who people called horrid, a witch and a hag
And 'though she was ugly and danced 'mid moonbeams
all was not quite as it might've then seemed

Old-fashioned black clothing...

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I was an experienced family therapist, helping families maintain functionality,
As wandering, starlit seasons maintain all nature, being rooted in practicality.

I loved preserving healthy relationships, that foundation of healthy societies;
And kept up a fruitful dialogue between...

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A pro-active journalist
is like a research-committed teacher
teaching and listening to cooperative research designs
and presentations.

The opposite of the journalist's deconstruction
of events
is reconstruction through predictive narrative.
Just as the opposite of permaculture's green activist
regeneration
is pathological degeneration
emerging from past...

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The morning paper is everywhere, the breakfast dishes, are here and there
Her feet up in the easy chair, the old man in his underwear
The phone starts ringing loud and clear, so hubby quickly disappears
When he...

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The Fifties were really and truly not all that square
Though that dullard Dwight D. sat in the Executive Chair
And his frumpy wife Mamie had really bad hair
Matching those dowdy, plain dresses she'd wear ...

While husbands...

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Yo baby, show lots of skin.
Sexy, trashy girly glams,
crank up classy. Young fun,
ultimate goal appear buff, 
why focus on the candies. 
Looky stark naked unsightly scene         ...

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Teach and study, cook and clean
Write a poem in between
All the chores and daily life
Perfect Mom, half decent wife

Work and work and dream and dream
Scrub the tub in shower stream
Want to travel here and there
But...

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My monster has a funny name, 
It is Eileen; she has no shame
She tries her best to bring me down
gifts me the thorns, instead of crown
She lies awake; won't let me sleep
and into bed with...

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As I scour the internet,
I want to be in the know,
about what might happen
in the here and now,
so I look into the websites,
about what could take place,
if there was an EMP attack
on the human race,
or...

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It was the first time I fell in love
With brown eyes, big smiles…funny face
Miles and miles of words exchanged
And so few remembered
Thinking it would last a lifetime
Excitement growing, a spoonful of sugar
Straight into the mouth
Dissolved...

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She doesn't like my style of dress 
her taste is different so I guess 
I must confess her clothes are nice 
all put together with pizzazz and spice 
Soft and big, warm and comfy 
she...

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When you died
you left me a broken
gift on your doorstep
words unspoken,
your letters, photos
bitter tokens
of the years before.

How you exposed
your lovely flaws
and I held in
my utter awe
of you- my fear
and shame were raw-
I wondered if you knew...

That...

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She’s dead they said!
She I thought. Who is she?
I stared straight down at a frumpy old thing.
On the bed, a lump, so dead.

Was that me? I asked my spirit guide.
My guide laughed; he always loves...

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Looking herself in the mirror. 
She is not thin, air brushed, or photoshopped
Magazines show real beauty
She cries at what she will never be.
She sees a frumpy, average girl. 
She is young, vibrant, sweet-
  ...

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A twelve and a half foot mongoose on a train could be likened to a twelvemonth tail of a tram whose movements of splash could be a beef tuning a banjo or a bamboo style...

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The fabulous flat screen suspended on my wall, glaring at me as I meander by, let’s just see if something catches my eye.  I wave the magic wand and suddenly it turns on. Cars...

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