Long Recursive 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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Step Forward McCarthy vs. Hellman 

What is this The Digital Crucible of Truth?

On a stage of scrutiny,  
          titans c l a s h— ...

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Finally to Burn: Icarus, Resurrected
by Michael R. Burch

Athena takes me
sometimes by the hand

and we go levitating
through strange Dreamlands

where Apollo sleeps
in his dark forgetting

and Passion seems
like a wise bloodletting

and all I remember
upon awaking

is: to Love sometimes
is...

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Southern Icarus
by Michael R. Burch

Windborne, lover of heights,
unspooled from the truck’s wildly lurching embrace
you climb, skittish kite ...

What do you know of the world’s despair,
gliding in vast solitariness there
so that all that remains is to

fall?

Only...

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The more I learn, the more
     I realize how little I know…
which insightful, gutsy,
     entrancing, catchy apothegm

     attributed to Socrates by way of...

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L

I. Of Circuits and Litanies

Somewhere between the limbic lobe
and the ache of late-night Eucharist,
you touched me—
not in flesh
but in the soft mutiny of neurons.

They do not teach us
that synapses pray
in the tongue of longing,
that oxytocin...

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Why are you scared of being alone?
People here have hearts that’s already torn,
Why are you troubled to see the end?
Look around you will definitely find a friend.

Why do you need a hand to hold?
Try and...

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Why are you scared of being alone?
People here have hearts that’s already torn,
Why are you troubled to see the end?
Look around you will definitely find a friend.

Why do you need a hand to hold?
Try and...

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I would offer an interior
and exterior landscaping contract
to facilitate multicultural designs
for restoring Mother Earth's ecotherapeutic justice,
within each and every ZeroZone of space
and HereNow time,
dear voiceless
and effluently timeless Yin,

But I doubt you will hear this as...

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Athena takes me
sometimes by both hands

and we go levitating
through strange Dreamlands

where Apollo sleeps
in his dark forgetting

and Passion seems
like a wise bloodletting

and all I remember
,upon awaking,

is: to Love sometimes
is like forsaking

one’s Being—to drift
far beyond any thought,

forsaking...

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Fractals.

Spawn of iterating quadratic functions.  
Choreographers of cosmic conjunctions.
Impervious to human dysfunctions.

Makers of multiverses.  Encoders of creations.   
Limited only by imaginations.

Recursive.  Coercive.  Immensely immersive.
Purveyors of poetic creative cursive.

With formative...

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A Jerky Reverie

Where is the moon just now?
The light shining from the sun
appears, to have blotted it out.
The stark darkness of a motionless 
void, where atomic debris not seen,
passes
 through it, violating solid state.
Harmonious discontent,...

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When thinking of indigenous wisdom,
I feel more globally open,
more universally connected,
hoping to hear with multicultural listening ears
and astutely perceptive eyes
deductively retouching
inductively felt nonviolent communications
with all natural/spiritual dipolar
bicamerally balanced EarthTribes
present
immigrations from Earth's past
emigrations toward co-passioned future

EarthMother...

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Deflected, crushed by the social retardation, 
Not loved, ‘cos he’s altogether unaccepting, 
Active learning the robot’s mouth action, 
So he can't contextualise, there’s no blessing.

Neither me nor him meet and we sweep by, 
There’s no...

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Nothing still have changed here in the world
The voice of streaming children in the morn
And the chirps of birds in the morning sun
Nothing still have changed, even after 449 years
That love is being both smile...

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