Long Spiritless Poems

The first soft snow: 
leaves of the awed jonquil 
bow low
—Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch

Come, investigate loneliness! 
a solitary leaf
clings to the Kiri tree
—Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch

The cheerful-chirping cricket
contends gray...

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Various Heresies 4

I, Lazarus
by Michael R. Burch

I, Lazarus, without a heart,
devoid of blood and spiritless,
lay in the darkness, meritless:
my corpse?a thing cold, dead, apart.

But then I thought I heard?a Voice,
a Voice that called me from...

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He was mighty as could be venturing down by the sea,
revered as the king soaring over his golden throne-
He was respected yet felt neglected and could never see,
all the beauty he held and sadly felt...

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Drowning in the oppression of darkness, 
adrift in realms of the unseen and unheard,
her mind becomes blank and blind,
plummeting without sound.

Loved ones watch helplessly, unable to reach her,
banging against the walls of her sorrowful obscurity.
Her...

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When looking into the mind's mirror
All that's found is fear there

Peering into that dark place
Not recognizing the face

Lurking there's the daemon, the monster
Yet some still see what they once were
Standing way off on a distant...

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After inscribing a long forgotten word “Romance” in the sky 
on the other side of the setting sun and turning my face to the field 
where I walk through.  A little remaining daylight beckons...

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~ This is a form of poetry called "Concrete" or form poetry or given another form name, it would be 
or have 
some of the characteristics as well of a form of poetry called, "Dirty...

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My leftbrain deductive reason
now sadly sees 16/20,
since 2016 a patriarchal white privileged hierarchy
of orthodox RightWing religious social history,

Where I am either egomaniacally at the self-righteous top
of my competitive win/lose hierarchical game,
or I am a victim,
bottom-feeder
bleeder...

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I lived in a rural area until I was twenty years old. My home was adjacent to a farm where corn was grown and locally sold. Maples and pine trees clustered across from the uneven...

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As the clear light rises higher
Illuminating fog
Humidity from Friday's rain.
Thicker down in the bog

Ole hound dog is baying a prey
He yelps for hours today
I don't understand how he sees
Even a squirrel at play

Ole hound dog...

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You wear me down, slow, aching, pain
Barely moving, dull, refrain
Each word a slice, a cut, a grab
a verbal blow, a push, a stab
this wall i exhibit, uphold, maintain
with no support, nourishment, sustain
breaks down, crumbles, falls,...

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I remember the day as if it were yesterday,
The snowfall was heavy, we sat and watched it
We hadn’t spoken for god knows how long
Days would go by, me reading and she would knit

But that day...

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I wonder how Donald Trump thought
and felt
about his King Midas political narrative
at the time of his electoral college victory.

Well,
actually I don't need to wonder.
He mentioned, once or twice,
how thrilled he was with well-marketed turnout
at his...

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Beyond her veil;

eyes induced by secretive stars
became drawn to a path illuminated by 
flickering, shimmering pale moonlight.
Each spirited step led to the 
revelation of her secret garden.

But 
upon arrival at her doorstep;
disbelief disabled my soul's...

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Kiss the sun, fly with the wind, 
to live is a fire raging within.
Be not some featherless bird
or to a fallen angel akin.
For all creation stands in awe
of a lovers gaze
when the onlookers around them...

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Tiny droplets of water falling from the heavens in 
perfect unity with the somber demeanor brought 
upon me in the presence of death as my 
mother now sleeps and her
soul is free.

So sad, the image...

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The sun just rise suddenly upon me
With its radiant heat measuring about ninty degrees
The town is having a melting spree and many people have to flee
The water is very hot and I have  an...

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Written by Gail DeBole  
and included in PS: It's Poetry
A PoetrySoup.com anthology published in 2020

Note: Grendel was the monster in the old English Heroic poem titled Beowolf written by an anonymous Anglo-Saxon poet. ...

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I The Phoenix 

I recall in my youth how the world around me seemed so alive vibrant in color and beauty. As I aged this beauty faded and was replaced with a new world filled...

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—Confession of a man of no use—

The beautiful stories make tears stand in my eyes,
does it mean that I am still alive?

Although there are lots of sad stories that end to be the beautiful ones...

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It’s the sound that shakes the crowd
It’s the sound over lives
It’s the sounds, unstoppable ones
Makes the world shake, makes the world shake
It’s the start that form new things
It’s the start our lives begin
It’s the words...

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O sleeping souls arise, regain consciousness.
You are not too wrong to run, be relentless,
Stop suffering and smiling with seriousness
The Savior came to save us from this stress…

When you feel your world is worthless
And your persistent...

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Poetry is like medication, in each release of expression,
there is healing - Poet.

In the realms of lost childhoods,
where demons prey upon the defenceless -
no one hears your screams.

I wandered spiritless,
like an abdicated soul,
renouncing my existence.
But...

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Silence

    The unrehearsed prayer
    muttered by the heart
    that forms the words
    and the mouth
    that makes it heard

 ...

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On trains
             on trains
                   ...

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