Long Rouged Poems

Let Me Give Her Diamonds
by Michael R. Burch

Let me give her diamonds
for my heart's
sharp edges.

Let me give her roses
for my soul's
thorn.

Let me give her solace
for my words
of treason.

Let the flowering of love
outlast a winter
season.

Let me...

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LOVE POEMS II

These are love poems by Michael R. Burch: original poems and translations about passion, desire, lust, sex, dating and marriage. On an amusing note, my steamy Baudelaire translations have become popular with the...

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Pasha Acremodios grew greedy,
discontented with the domain he dominated,
so he turned covetous eyes toward Farabia,
sending his soldiers to seize this ripened plum

Spoiling for a fight and fighting for spoils,
his army swept across Farabia
like a bloody...

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Sunday morning early, five a.m to be
precise, my mind awakes, then gently succours
the body to arise from one’s mundane sleep. I
then transfer to Britain via 1ZB, listening
to the English football commentary, it’s worth
the lack of...

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"Through the Vicious Eyes of Love"



All is fair 
in love and war

or so they say;

why so 
as saints,
mothers 
go through
the course of whore 
to feel torn in two
journeying
through gates 
that open 
unleashed pain -

then, at...

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Early Poems XVI

The Beautiful People
by Michael R. Burch

They are the beautiful people,
and their shadows dance through the valleys of the moon
to the listless strains of an ancient tune.

Oh, no ... please don't touch them,
for their...

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She's pouring from a pot of tea
    as we relax on the quiet porch
Honeysuckle vines encircle the posts,
   and webs of daddy long-legs
      glisten in...

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Les Bijoux (The Jewels)
by Charles Baudelaire
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

My lover nude and knowing my heart's whims
Wore nothing more than a few bright-flashing gems;
Her art was saving men despite their sins;
She ruled like harem...

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Words on a page, sounds, Mother's calling
soft tones rose from leather tomes sweetly,
through rouged lips they tumble with love.
Lullabies call through the coldest of nights
as frost haloes about the curls, open-hearted,
eager, a child of contested...

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Moving from left to right Cancer day and night Cancer the day heaven 
Witnessed the pain women experiencing, suck their bellies the chemotherapy 
Machines drank hundred thousand souls shaver from their hearts personifies by the...

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The image of morning mapping from the four cardinal points at the center of 
busy pedestrians running ups and down to the bottom of their energies, 
Chasing the note they never designed to decimate 
ownership.

The...

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Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul 
and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all.  
- Emily Dickinson 

 

My search for gold dust glow in...

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Music echoes through the halls,
climbing stairs, and gilded walls.
Our lovely lass discreetly swoons. 
With longing eyes, she scans the room.

Young ladies dressed, in gowns, divine,
are coifed, and rouged and powdered fine.
Their dancing partners, starched, refined,
drink...

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Cold is the tittering of befitted feet
Cold is the meagre meanders of falling fractals 
Cold is the twinge of bitter blues upon reeling retreats
Cold is the roiling retch of frostbitten flesh
Cold is the weary wench...

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I'm blessed to have landed in mother's quilted arm.
To romp in a sandbox with other blessed hearts.
I'm blessed to have a gentle souled father.
Who dusted off a cluster of first heartaches.
Pulled me firmly up from...

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The 18th of December was her last day;
she neither knew the date nor cared to.
Gathered at the hospital, keeping vigil,
we never overcame her fright, or ours.
The pain, too great to be driven away,
was only managed...

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Soiled sinners lecturing on the art of being pristine.
Innocents retreats to black pits and dank seams 
God tucked away the ivory ring and red lantern
very few are rescued from the darkness within.

The good sheep are...

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Behind the ambiguity, the cloaking metaphor,
the language used is indecent,
it sets bear traps, leers at logic,
                   ...

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I search for you eagerly
in the shadows of your words

                         ...

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we sing seasoned songs
on oak lacquered guitars, 
October lyrics the cruelest, 

over-ripe tunes pucker 
lips in rouged tones
that veer to purple, 

hands now age-wrinkled
like brittle brown leaves, 
webbed by veins that twist, 

arms bowed by...

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we sing seasoned songs
on oak lacquered guitars, 
October lyrics the cruelest, 

over-ripe tunes pucker 
lips in rouged tones
that veer to purple, 

hands now age-wrinkled
like brittle brown leaves, 
webbed by veins that twist, 

arms bowed by...

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Hellacious howls tickle and titillate 
the trompeleil scene
 in the pastel Court of Kings.

Flamboyancy rings as the 
 fluttering coo of a rapiers dance  in the hands of fops,
through the high ceilinged corriders of...

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Images from a cogged apparatus.
Fingertips toggle milled brass
abreast a concertinaing leather.
Tripodal spread, pegged legs.

Women paused in pose,
a gilded stillness.
A plump bosom peek-show.
Wide-open lens revealing
knee’s, and ankles, 
silky ribbons; lace decorously draped
over a connivance of modesty.

A...

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(inspired by ‘Dusty Rose Dreaming’ by poet vb)

We’re powdered city girls heading into a club,
bright orchids entering the hothouse
spreading fun with noblesse oblige,
qua somethings suited for silver screens.

Our attention’s as uncertain as the stock market.

Experts...

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A rouged sky paints a clown's face,
on a dawn rising moon.

The open earth, that not closed in
by brooding trees,
but is as spread-out acres,
where the hush and harken
darken eyes and ears,
to surmise with a blind expectancy,

Yonder...

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