Long Poppy Poems

"As other spirits sail on music, mine, oh my love, swim on your perfume." Charles Baudelaire

"Sometimes you find an old bottle from which the soul returns." 
Charles Baudelaire

"Smell is a Word. Perfume is Literature."

"There are...

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_ a symphonic, folk rock, blues song
1.
I'm an old man looking
For the lost, best parts of me.
I'm an old man looking
For the lost, best parts of me.
I'm looking in the places
Where the people say love...

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Embrace The Lines

Vitality marks gently stretch your soft skin beyond the wildest dreams of
beauty unbound where children had once or thrice embraced your womb
the soothing waters cushioning and cradling three miracles three water 
marks engraved...

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In the May-time of my life
time bloomed each day a prickly boll –
but I, like the softest cotton within such a sharp seed  
swaddled in the purity of security 
for what seemed like eternity...

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The blue sky with its bright light is moving over my head and the
wind is dancing in the poppy bed, the deers are scampering on the
shores and here you are holding up the process and...

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This is my last confession; there will be no more.

I am impercipient and slow from last night's sleeping pill,
wincing away from the harshness of day.
Kitchen cold, the room tear-splintered,
sunlight striking a watery rainbow in my...

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Dear Budding Poet,

Modern poetry is a mix of new and old with modern styles created by bending or even breaking the rules of old forms to create new ones.
Express yourself any way you want to...

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In a house high on a hill an old man grows weak, many years have gone, he lays in his old bed,
Back in the day, a dashing young officer with a brilliant red uniform he...

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Dickens Christmas carol revisited by nicked saint

Frigidaire - from upper atmosphere 
hammering and whipsawing debris 
ferociously with an angry flare,
cuz mother nature - fed up to here
(re: envision me hands indicating 
over top of head)...

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Am I really this old,
so many ghosts
beckoning?
—Michael R. Burch

Sleepyheads!
I recite my haiku
to the inattentive lilies.
—Michael R. Burch

Stillness:
the sound of petals
drifting down softly together...
—Miura Chora, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The sky tries to assume
your eyes’...

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Are you the butterfly
while in my dreams
I flit after Soshi?
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

It's not at all anxious to bloom,
the plum tree at my gate.
—Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The red...

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I still reminisce when it was raining incessantly at 3:55 a.m. in the nascent ticks of time on a wistful wednesday. My skin felt the spark of crying hail and maybe, the snow-storms melted too...

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These are original haiku by Michael R. Burch and his translations of haiku by the Japanese masters Matsuo Basho, Yosa Buson, Masaoka Shiki, and others. 

Am I really this old,
so many ghosts
beckoning?
—Michael R. Burch

Sleepyheads!
I recite...

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"KENSINGTON" 
Written By: Billy Malloy
 I choose the path of the lonely, bitter and obsolete, I picked up survival techniques to make ends meet, I learned life lessons from emotions of death being beat, in...

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He’d never ventured further than the next town,
He didn’t know what overseas did mean,
But wanted to be there for King and Country,
The biggest fight the world had ever seen.
He hadn’t anything against the Germans,
He didn’t...

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LIVING OUT OF SUITCASES
There was a time when everyone lived out of a suitcase!
Not just the homeless, the free spirits and the spirits of the free!
But everyone did live out of a suitcase.
Today, we are...

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He starts singing songs of Ireland and we are home in a jiffy
"What's a jiffy," my mother wonders
"Guess  where we went Granny?"
"I don't know but I have a feeling you are gonna tell me,"...

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INTELLIGENCE REPORT:


           The following is an address given to the 1st Mercenary force
           by Major...

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"Puzzle Stomped"



Pieces scattered
placed on a table 
with boundaries 

between 
the incarcerated margins 
there are strict conditions

Time drips 
its wet connection
each piece a stair fitted 

imperfectly
perfect 
towards upwards 

new mirror reflection
a cracked heart piercing
the tear with...

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Eyes are the windows of a soul and they say ‘Love is blind’
But how do you describe colour to a sightless person?

Such depths to your violet eyes
The windows of your Soul
A flickering source of emotions
Speaking...

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Brutus was always bad
                      But what can you expect from a liasion
  ...

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(Part Two, Continued)

The better choice of the two, I believe is clear enough even for the ignorant.

Everyday a new adventure in human psychology, pain, and suffering.
allowed the privilege to interact with an endless array of...

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>River Orwell and a Poppy field
By Stanley Russell Harris
(The mad Author)

I went out with the wife today.
We walked by the River Orwell I say.
Tide was out, but breeze was swell.
Ensured there was no stinking town...

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Dear Santa,
As you may well know, 
it's tights and not stockings that are all the go.
So, with no stockings to hang on the bedstead, 
would a pair of my bloomers be OK instead?
I'll sew up...

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Once upon a time
In the imagination of a child,
Was a very lonely pirate
Who never, ever smiled.

The pirate had no friends at all,
He'd been mean and gruff and bad,
Now he was quite alone
And this made our...

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