Long Nooks Poems

Psychologically still thirteen 

Ordinarily meaning pre Internet days
familiarization with me would entail
bringing the avid listener 
into my private mancave hideaways
less a physical place than a juncture in relationship, 
(whereby one or the other of us)...

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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 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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No Mark
by Michael R. Burch

A wave implodes, 
impaled upon
impassive rocks...

this evening
the thunder of the sea
is a wild music filling my ear...

you are leaving
and the ungrieving
winds demur...

telling me
that nothing returns
as it was before...

here where you have...

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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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Sonnets XVII-XXIV

Discrimination
by Michael R. Burch

The meter I had sought to find, perplexed,
was ripped from books of "verse" that read like prose.
I found it in sheet music, in long rows
of hologramic CDs, in sad wrecks
of long-forgotten...

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MODERN SONNETS I

I prefer the original definition of the sonnet as a “little song” of indeterminate form and length. These modern sonnets vary from more-or-less traditional to free verse.


Maker, Fakir, Curer
by Michael R. Burch

A poem...

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"The Sleeper and The Supernaturalist"


The Sleeper
shone as she walked 
through the Woods

shining alive 
like nothing
natural could

caught 
in the moonlight 
unaware

the innocent
red-caped roses stared
the trees whispered,

"beware, beware"

barefoot softly 
the Supernaturalist 
transfigures instead

from under shine 
she bares...

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Self destructive wickedness arrested, convicted, and gaoled...

with kidnapping little boy 
ordered to suffer
life sentence without parole.

The deadly scourge of  
one obsessive/compulsive disorder
nearly left me starving to death.

Anorexia nervosa absent bulimia 
nadir of onset 
diagnoses...

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Translation of Eric Mottram’s Courbet: Elegy 8 by T. Wignesan

Blanches oeuvres ouvertes
résident dans les jours
la surface du banc de travail est noire
les géraniums-lierres
les fougères et les adragans
accumulent leurs oeuvres et jours:
La toile noire de Courbet
un...

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I miss the old days where only you had my key
I miss the old times - running wild and free
I miss the old house and your pool and banana tree
I miss the days when it...

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Tea in the afternoon with his wife of many years is usually peaceful, Hubert thinks before he makes his announcement. Then he says it. 

"I'm going upstairs," Hubert tells Ruth as he hoists himself out...

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Mine psyche riddled with dybbuk
Thru emerging adulthood awareness awoke
within noggin of average baby boomer bloke
catastrophization toward risk taking I evoke
positive growth experiences throughout vast
number of orbitz around sun never kickstarted,
nor linkedin with potential livingsocial folk,
thus...

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Mine psyche riddled with dybbuk

Thru emerging adulthood awareness awoke
within noggin of average baby boomer bloke
catastrophization toward risk taking I evoke
positive growth experiences throughout vast
number of orbitz around sun never kickstarted,
nor linkedin with potential livingsocial folk,
thus...

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Dancing In Horror With Fate In Blackest Abyss
Collaboration with Kurt Ravidas

I walk mountain storm, step out to cut deep its edge
forever tempting that fall from its narrow ledge,
in the midst of ravenous rage and great...

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Dancing In Horror With Fate In Blackest Abyss 
Collaboration with Robert J. Lindley 

I walk mountain storm, step out to cut deep its edge
forever tempting that fall from its narrow ledge,
in the midst of ravenous...

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Cascading off the winter chill
leaving warmth wherever it traces
the edge of the daffodil, tulip or crocus
spring shines its brilliant rays across
the windowpane that mirrors the friendly praise
coloring the seals with such sweet appeal 

lavender lilacs...

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Mine psyche riddled with dybbuk - haint no joke

Thru emerging adulthood awareness awoke
within noggin of average baby boomer bloke
catastrophization toward risk taking I evoke
positive growth experiences throughout vast
number of orbitz around sun never kickstarted
nor linkedin...

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Dear promising poet,

for me, modern poetry provides a peek into a poet’s inner world. Through this artistic medium, a poet speaks in expressive language of imagery and metaphor conveying varied textures of emotions and observations...

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From north, south, east and west 
This is the town to beat the rest,
Where history and present blend
As through its many streets you wend. 

Where once a monastery so great
From every view would dominate,
Where Pilgrims...

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Cascading off the winter chill
leaving warmth wherever it traces
the edge of the daffodil, tulip or crocus
spring shines its brilliant rays across
the windowpane that mirrors the friendly praise
coloring the seals with such sweet appeal 

lavender lilacs...

Read More

Charles Schulz Peanuts character Woodstock

Analogous to (being mine) security blanket
similar, but not identical
to the trademark one
clutched by Linus Van Pelt,
I take flight into sleep
courtesy holding fictional little yellow bird,
a mutual (of Omaha) best friend of...

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War, Is Unholy Hell

War is wicked rot and most holy hell
 man's evil is its murdering spell
Yet mankind never ever truly learns
 love and faith it arrogantly spurns

Poetry by the great Siegfried Sassoon
 glows like...

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CALL ME THE BLACK GOLD OR THE HANDSOME DEVIL
How did you find me, my undeterred and awesomely daring love?
When I flew away into time years ago like a dove.
And you sat upon the cold rocks...

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* Bringing this gem back in the hope Becca Teagan sees it and returns. We wrote this together, a labor of love. The poem ends with a moral lesson that humanity still hasn't learned, sadly.

...

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