Long Sassoon Poems

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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A Vain Word
by Michael R. Burch

Oleanders at dawn preen extravagant whorls
as I read in leaves’ Sanskrit brief moments remaining
till sunset implodes, till the moon strands grey pearls
under moss-stubbled oaks, full of whispers, complaining
to the darkening...

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"transference"


transference 
in a narcissistic world
propaganda for the 
unsuspecting
validation 
for the damaged

writers 
soldiers 
victims 
survivors
war fought daily
in shallow trenches

buckling at the knees
stand up 
brave comedians 
salute compatriots and cowards 
caught in their camouflaged net
all the crumbling...

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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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Dear budding poet,

Regarding modern poetry this is a result of poets such as you redesigning forms of poetry written through the ages by different nationalities, famous and just ordinary people like you and me.

When composing...

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The face behind the harlequins gaze
hides the scars of yesterdays man.
Born in an Attercliffe slum
in the rags of fathers graft,
with a pencil for a voice
stolen from milk mans note. 
. 
A boy in possession of...

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Poems about Poets

Elemental
by Michael R. Burch

for and after Dylan Thomas

The poet delves earth’s detritus—hard toil—
for raw-edged nouns, barbed verbs, vowels’ lush bouquet;
each syllable his pen excretes—dense soil,
dark images impacted, rooted clay.

The poet sees the sea...

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Destiny good Destiny bad
Destiny bring out the Best in Me 
Destiny know I ain't got a phone
She give me one & call me incessantly

I met a hooker named destiny 
she gave me a johns phone
You...

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The face behind the harlequins gaze
hides the scars of yesterdays man.
Born in an  Attercliffe slum
in the rags of fathers graft,
with a pencil for a voice
stolen from milk mans note.

A boy  in possession of...

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Christ and the Soldier by Siegfried Sassoon (1916)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-7OEnXw7P60


The straggled soldier halted and clumsily went down  "O blessed crucifix, I'm beat !"
Christ still sentried by a seraphim between two splintered trees did speak  
"My...

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A week before the Armistice, you died.
They did not keep your heart like Livingstone’s,
then plant your bones near Shakespeare’s. So you lie
between two privates, sacrificed like Christ
to politics, your poetry unknown
except for that brief flurry’s:...

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Sponsorship is the new religion, and it’s taking over from the old ones, whatever next?

G.O.D INVESTMENTS

I know a London vicar
He’s a sight to behold,
Every time I see him
My blood runs cold.

It says Levi on his...

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The War Poets

The First World War wasn`t a world war but
a war of dominance in Europe chiefly by the Franc, British and Germany.
World War 2 included most country it was a nasty war
millions of people...

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Looking back in time can be selective in comparison to the present.  
It may be likened to  a dripping  faucet that has been finally fixed.
You only remember the relief of the silence.
But...

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Attitude Is Everything
Miracle Man
October 29, 2023

Request for change is often met,
with some platitude.
It’s easier to change environment,
than an attitude.
You’ll seldom get all you want,
 because you insisted.
Most gripes fall on deafened ears, 
and are resisted....

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