Long Herons Poems

The Original Sin: Rhyming Haiku!
 
Haiku
should never rhyme:
it’s a crime!
-Michael R. Burch
 
The herons stand,
sentry-like, at attention ...
rigid observers of some unknown command.
-Michael R. Burch
 
Late
fall;
all
the golden leaves turn black underfoot:
soot
-Michael R. Burch
 
Dry leaf...

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Zen Death Haiku

Brittle cicada shell,
little did I know
you were my life!
—Shuho, translation by Michael R. Burch

Returning
as it came,
this naked worm.
—Shidoken, translation by Michael R. Burch

As dew glistens
on a lotus leaf,
so too I soon must vanish.
—Shinsui,...

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These are translations of some of the oldest Japanese waka, which evolved into tanka, renga and haiku. 

While you decline to cry,
high on the mountainside
a single stalk of plumegrass wilts.
—O no Yasumaro (circa 711), translation...

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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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"Salvage"


Salvage the fixating salvation 
unfurling from the wreckage
of a numb world twisted inside
treasure climbs swimming 
the ladder from the deep of all things 
reaching upwards travelling in a new time
of melting morpheme moments overlapping 
dissolved...

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Myth, after Dylan Thomas
by Michael R. Burch

Here the recalcitrant wind
sighs with grievance and remorse
over fields of wayward gorse
and thistle-throttled lanes.

And she is the myth of the scythed wheat
hewn and sighing, complete,
waiting, lain in a low...

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THIS WORLD OF DEW

This world? 
Moonlit dew
flicked from a crane's bill.
—Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Seventy-one?
How long
can a dewdrop last? 
—Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Dewdrops beading grass-blades
die before...

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Prose Poems

Something
by Michael R. Burch

Something inescapable is lost?lost like a pale vapor curling up into shafts of moonlight, vanishing in a gust of wind toward an expanse of stars immeasurable and void. Something uncapturable is...

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Regret
by Michael R. Burch

Regret,
a bitter
ache to bear . . .

once starlight
languished
in your hair . . .

a shining there
as brief
as rare.

Regret . . .
a pain
I chose to bear . . .

unleash
the torrent
of your hair . ....

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Love has a Southern flavor: honeydew,
ripe cantaloupe, the honeysuckle’s spout
we tilt to basking faces to breathe out
the ordinary, and inhale perfume ...

Love’s Dixieland-rambunctious: tangled vines,
wild clematis, the gold-brocaded leaves
that will not keep their order in...

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Italian version. (continued from first part)
Tale è l’orror  che assale la mia mente
Di quanto ho visto e rivissuto prima
Da ridurla al silenzio più opprimente.
Pian piano poi risal verso la cima
Creando ancora immagini e illusioni
Senza...

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A Commentary on

"A Note on the [Patriarchal-Colonizing] Treatment
of Plant Names"
by Robin Wall Kimmerer, p. 385
BRAIDING SWEETGRASS:
INDIGENOUS WISDOM,
SCIENTIFIC KNOWLEDGE,
AND THE [SACRED] TEACHINGS
OF PLANTS

I too often accept
with nary a LeftBrain dominant thought
that our verbalized labels
for individual EgoPersons
are...

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When I was a male child
I prayed to an eternally mute dualdark goddess,
Gaia was our name
for each Other's
secular
sane
sacred
sacraments to share passion.

And so I heard bird songs
praising each day's anticipated Gaian glory,
everybody playing cooperatively nice,
or at...

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'BRRRING BRRRING' said the telephone

“Oh hello” said the wide viewfinder to the telephone. “How are you today?” The telephone fell silent. Very silent. It had no battery with which to call, speak, shout or do...

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Every time I change directions
lately, and possibly beforely,
Trees stand by to mentor
and nurture,
to feed with branched hands
to bleed when uprooted
from aptic past centuries
of hibernating winter naps.

Trees of original pheromone attraction,
August spawned
like Taurus colonizing crabgrass
embedded in...

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Permaculturists,
like Taoists
and Buddhists
and Hindus, etc.
Consider neighbors
extended and respected family,
ZeroZone Kin,
regardless of zone status
near or far,
regardless of species,
regardless of living
or gone
or not yet arrived.

Dear Neighbors,

I make no proud claims
of embracing a GREEN lifestyle,
making green integrity choices,
No...

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The winter solstice has passed, so the spring dance can begin at last,
and everyone is invited, from every tree as far as the eye can see.
To each and every flourishing flower, the buzzing bees and...

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The morn's alive with skylarks singing

o'er the greening meadow and the pliant pasture,

the ocean sighing, gulls aloft on wings of prayer.

A sudden shower would see me running

fancy free between the rain drops,

I cried 'Excelsior!' and...

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Doctor Fell taught at University Park, like stars gather for enlightenment;
And was stern, diligent and upright, like pink cactus bloom environments.

He was dedicated to his striving students, although strict about lessons;
And there were penalties for...

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A slipper stained in a knot is appearing to emulate a wanton soup. Wanton soup is grinning a beaming smile. Whirling around. Nine noodles nimbly nick niceties. And the prawn dance begins as they fling...

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The morning soars with skylarks singing
o'er the greening meadow and the pliant pasture,
the ocean sighing, gulls aloft on wings of prayer.
A sudden shower would see me running
fancy free between the rain drops,
I cried 'Excelsior!' and...

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The morn's alive with skylarks singing
o'er the greening meadow and the pliant pasture,
the ocean sighing, gulls aloft on wings of prayer.
A sudden shower would see me running
fancy free between the rain drops,
I cried 'Excelsior!' and...

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...inspired by 'Poem In October' by Dylan Thomas


The morning rings with skylarks singing,
o'er the greening meadow and the pliant pasture,
the ocean sighing, gulls aloft on wings of prayer.
A sudden shower would see me running
fancy free...

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Mornings shrill with skylarks singing 
o'er the greening meadow and the pliant pasture, 
the ocean sighing, gulls aloft on wings of prayer. 
A sudden shower would see me running 
fancy free between the rain drops,...

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