Long Scribblings Poems

Postcard 1
by Miklós Radnóti
written August 30, 1944
translated by Michael R. Burch
 
Out of Bulgaria, the great wild roar of the artillery thunders,
resounds on the mountain ridges, rebounds, then ebbs into silence
while here men, beasts, wagons...

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Grab Bag Poems and Epigrams

POEMS

Less Heroic Couplets: Dark Cloud, Silver Lining, Dupes
from “Love in the Time of the Coronavirus”
by Michael R. Burch

Every corona has a silver lining:
I’m too far away to hear your whining,
and despite...

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which prime mate affectionately called buttock blaster
alimentary explosion ofttimes causes global disaster
upon such gaseous debacle run for your life ever faster!

Yours truly (humorously dry husband)
can definitively attest,
she (thee missus) nixed, ordained,
inured, espoused blessed
discrete frolicsome liaisons...

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What Happened to Them?
by Nasir Kazmi
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Those who came ashore, what happened to them?
Those who sailed away, what happened to them?

Those who were coming at dawn, when dawn never arrived ...
Those...

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Each of us is a special case of music and noise on the ground
So listen, sit down and listen to His rhythmic laughter, scholar.
You are just a hertz of His, a cell, a particle of...

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CATULLUS TRANSLATIONS



Catullus LXXXV: 'Odi et Amo'
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

1.
I hate. I love.
You ask, 'Why not refrain?'
I wish I could explain.
I can't, but feel the pain.

2.
I hate. I love.
Why? Heavens above!
I wish I could...

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the silence of these

screaming profanities!

only the light rise

of my bosom,

fluttering erratically,

soon to die.

ever stinging ache within

ablaze, engulfing my torso.

 my inner-thoughts, my betrayal,

weakness emanating from my 
sweat!

my cold cruel heart,

shut off from that once 
intoxicating

passion...

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Perhaps like a lightning
bolt of clear out of the blue
rigor mortis (tenon and
three decades hence)
two thousand fifty nine if you
count from January 13th 2019, adieu

attest that day 9 months I did brew
in wound (of the...

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Friday the thirteenth, (September
tooth house hind nineteen)
dark shadows winessed scads of bats
(base sic cully lobbing soupy Matzo balls)

eyeing yours truly as seldom seen
human sacrificial cuisine,
which dime a dozen story true story
red within tabloid National Enquirer...

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(Dedication: For Regina Riddle)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Tree caterpillar crawling
Strong windy debris;
Blown over the bough

~~~~~~~~~


Violet blossoms
Vine decorations dancing;
Sun and breeze move

~~~~~~~~~


Joy wears a face:
Your smiles highlight;
Dazzle of morning

~~~~~~~~~


Hasty scribblings
Poetry in motion;
Grassy blooms unnoticed

~~~~~~~~~


Rose garden memories
Touch of rapture;
Thorny issues exfoliate

~~~~~~~~~


Sweet...

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Fifty nine inch tall wife
once willowy wisp
postmenopausal galloping gourmandiser
playboy centerfold girly
figure ain't no mo,'
which superfluous weight deterrent,

love life yours truly
took Kamikaze nosedive
arousing, exciting, stimulating...
as romancing the stone statue,
but seen thru Tom 
gobbler beady eyes

butterball babe...

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There are those engaged in pedagogy
To facilitate the drip... drip... drip
Of poison to accost a child's ear.
Maneuvering with glee and juicy decadence...
Sequestering all they say and hear.

Filled with righteous indignation
And a blind sanctification to their...

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My mind is a dreamy river, 
that flows untiring - smooth and rapid, 
murmuring the words it adores, 
the burbles of its ponderings.

These burbles of my musings
are simple little things I admire, 
that capture my...

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Things for me start here,
In the very beauty of a blank white page
To the dark sky of glittering stars
And in between the ladder of tiny surprises.

The watercolour paintings which gave me joy,
The little piggy bank...

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Whorls of smoke mock the void of the heavens; in a wiggling ascent 
With lusting waists of a samba decent.
Turmoil combs the fragile mane of the soil
The scalp is torn and leathery fingers of dust...

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Got no themes to write on,
Got no poems to sell.
I think my clergy has arrived,
With the tolling of hell's bell.

Random thoughts like shells fall,
As I stand here like a broken wall.
Brick by brick and inch...

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Sock drawer poets they called us,
All our scribblings secreted away,
Composed then filed unread,
Hidden from the light of day.
And then along came the Tablet
And universal broadband,
Fast Internet coverage spreading
Length and breadth of the land.

Friendships made on...

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We all start life in the arts, a virtual blank slate if you will,
looking for just a little truth and maybe some fresh ink to spill.
Some will share their own story with a sonnet, haiku...

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It comes wrapped up in clear mylar,
like the ones comic people use,
insides faded, creased and yellow,
big red letters boast of the west,
small rips and tears from ancient hands,
and the collectors before me,
does not detract from...

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Now there is a place in the silken webs of logic where somewhere does
reside,
But the tangled dreams of my existance, remain hidden somewhere deep
inside,
I've researched the truth of my essence and it is probable that...

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Hey! Look at me, I'm a Poem!
my words rhyme with my tongue
with lips summoning secret séance scribblings
from upper palate delights while my teeth scalpel
saturnine ecstasies from mammock reservoirs of
poor pouring pores like promethean cantation preferences,
quickly...

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It was tantalizing, sweet completion
Lines of blue ink filling white space
Tastes of emotions, colors of consonants
Music of vowels, syllables singing
To create, and satiate

Then, time thinned
Responsibility and stress stepped in
Poetry, after all, does not pay the...

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Sing ye poets of stunning birds and butterflies wings.
Kiss ye, your own,Muse pen, on divine parchment, scribblings!

Ride in gentle winds upon your colorful, faux unicorn
Your hair flies in the wind, soft as the new dawn.

Speaking...

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In the end
it was too slow, afflicted
by either age or illness
or simply distracted,
flew head first
into the eye of a headlight.
Flung contorted, neck bent
back, snapped of life,
it died
clumped on a verge.
Rewound to its first flight,
its brief...

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Destination of dreams

Maps are folded and re-folded into pocket sized
destinations of our own heart’s desires

Routes become numbers and numbers become moments
as the planning cycle, with yellow highlighter in hand,
presents a “look forward to” scenario 

Well...

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