Long Iris 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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With this needle and thread I stitch the wounds Avril left
but with this blade I angrily carve a new
rough, short, jagged adjacent from the bone in my wrist
for a reflection of our relationship
and an outlet...

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“Éagmais croí a dhíscaoileadh ar gach eagla.
Faoi dhíon taobh istigh de na blianta seo.
Fanacht i bhfianaise, a dhíscaoileadh ar gach eagla.
Ós rud é go ndearnadh tú a chaitheamh.
Briseadh an tost seo”



"An Bee Cailleach"


She lives to...

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Poems about Poems (I)



What the Poet Sees
by Michael R. Burch

What the poet sees,
he sees as a swimmer
~~~underwater~~~
watching the shoreline blur
sees through his breath’s weightless bubbles...
Both worlds grow obscure.



Muse/Goddess
by Michael R. Burch

“What will you conceive in...

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The first soft snow: 
leaves of the awed jonquil 
bow low
—Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch

Come, investigate loneliness! 
a solitary leaf
clings to the Kiri tree
—Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch

The cheerful-chirping cricket
contends gray...

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Dusk-gliding swallow, 
please spare my small friends
flitting among the flowers! 
—Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch

A bee emerging
from deep within the peony's hairy recesses
flies off, sated
—Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch

That dying cricket,...

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Poems about Butterflies and Bees



Flight
by Michael R. Burch

It is the nature of loveliness to vanish
as butterfly wings, batting against nothingness
seek transcendence...



Album
by Michael R. Burch

I caress them—trapped in brittle cellophane—
and I see how young they were,...

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The Making of a Poet
by Michael R. Burch

While I don’t consider “Poetry” to be my best poem—I wrote the first version in my teens—it’s a poem that holds special meaning for me; I call it...

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State of the Art (II)

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



What the Poet Sees
by Michael R. Burch

What the poet sees,
he sees as a swimmer 
~~~~underwater~~~~
watching the shoreline...

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Grasses wilt:
the braking locomotive
grinds to a halt
—Yamaguchi Seishi, translation by Michael R. Burch

Oh, fallen camellias,
if I were you,
I'd leap into the torrent!
—Takaha Shugyo, translation by Michael R. Burch

The first soft snow:
leaves of the awed jonquil
bow...

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Observance
by Michael R. Burch

Here the hills are old and rolling
carefully in their old age;
on the horizon youthful mountains
bathe themselves in windblown fountains...

By dying leaves and falling raindrops,
I have traced time's starts and stops,
and I have...

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Poems about Flight, Flying, and Birds (I)



Flight
by Michael R. Burch

It is the nature of loveliness to vanish
as hummingbird wings, batting against nothingness
seek transcendence...



Southern Icarus
by Michael R. Burch

Windborne, lover of heights,
unspooled from the truck’s wildly lurching...

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Legacy accompanied with inadequacy DESPAIR RING
uninvited GUESTS linkedin as the themes of mein kampf.

Despite countless factorial permutations
& combinations, this cyber surfer
avails left and right alm
seeking succor Out Of Human Bondage
invisibles shackles bind head,
shoulders, knees and...

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With these lines I’ll relate an intriguing tale of dubious accuracy
For I Hope to unveil sordid affairs of more than one conspiracy!
Be warned, that though you might be disturbed by the facts I relate?
They are...

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I know you're not here

but you are in my heart 

so 

you are always with me

i'll just slip into you

with these words.
 
I know 
there are mountains
dwarf the cities below 
peaks that stride above the...

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These two old geezers have definitely worn out their welcome with Betty-Joe -


“NO, IT DOESN’T!” 
“YES, IT DOES!” 
“NO, IT DOESN’T!” 
“YES, IT DOES!”       The two old geezers argued...

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"Artificial Iris"


Orwell was lurking in the background, somewhere;
the dream was eerily familiar, 
the words and their meanings, read in Syntax,
once read between pages of hardcopy in school 
were aptly ignored - 

however, 
our Overlords were...

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"Barefoot in the Bushfires of the Vanities"



Heat rises slowly to rapture flames licking and teasing
Blue Ghostgums to stretch and crack wide open
as Fire spreads molten sweet sap bleeding burgundy all over 
amber gold wild bush...

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The mute old drunk had gotten lucky the day before - a stranger had taken pity on him at the bridge, (under which he and many other homeless people lived), and stopped to give him...

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A poet of a thousand words
The pen garnished by the flame
Like a sea no desire knows
And love becomes the same
As poet to my love for thee
I confess between the lace
Of time and every sorrow made
I...

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Glory to thermodynamics in general...

and generation of heat in particular
cuz yours truly 
spoiled with trappings 
of Western Civilization.

How ideal I imagine 
to dwell in a self sufficient domicile,
where thrum of the central heater...
automatically activated 
upon...

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Our Year Of Months (January - July)

1. Intro

Divided into months is our Earth year;
fixed firm in space to meet with climate change,
relation with our Sun makes it so clear
we will be blessed with seasons that...

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Stan was feeling somewhat glum,nay even despairing,on Monday morning.
Mary had gone to work on her new folding 6 gear bicycle with own basket and an extra basket from Wells-next -the- Sea 1995
[the wicker basket now...

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(oh, mercy ... )

amazing eye whites,
perfect and pure as glacial ice -
they draw me in,
like diving into a clear Caribbean lagoon,
fluid and cool ...
brown iris so dark in contrast,
that they're lost in the inky black...

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“Beloved Femme Fatale”


Musk and Neroli satin skin spoons
Naked feet ‘neath The Pillars of Petra
She towers majestic above you, colours your grey skies
You are worshipping her on your knees
What does it matter, anymore? Before your eyes,...

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