Long Timor Poems

What Good Are Our Tears?
by Michael R. Burch

What good are our tears?
They will not spare the dying their anguish.
What good is our concern
to a child sick of living, waiting to perish?

What good, the warm benevolence...

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The Lay of The Best Man - Part 4

I ask you this: Have you ever known a man to ‘buckle under stress’?
Or have you never seen a man have a ‘moment of madness’?
Have you not...

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The three enigmas of Turandot

The well of souls run deep in fabled lands of old.
Of China's ancient dynasty and the lost Great Tartary, 
a ballad of love and loss that must be told.

The Emperor's daughter,...

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Lament for the Makaris ("Lament for the Makers/Poets")
by William Dunbar [c. 1460-1530]
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
 
i who enjoyed good health and gladness
am overwhelmed now by life’s terrible sickness
and enfeebled with infirmity ...
how the...

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Brumby.

A strong gale cuts its path across the snow laden mountain tops,
light and tough the timor, thoroughbred mix, leads his mob at a trot.
A day spend grazing the valley below they now ascend the range...

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There is hope in every nation; for the word is going round
That Australians are sweeping fear away'

They are ardent freedom lovers, who are forged as hammered steel, and thery're gathering supporters
Night and day!

There are honest...

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John Audelay translations by Michael R. Burch. John Audelay was a medieval English poet who died circa 1426.

Dread of Death (excerpts)
by John Audelay
translation by Michael R. Burch

Lady, help! Jesu, mercy!
Timor mortis conturbat me. [The fear...

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How unappealing... the missus went bananas
courtesy hurling mandarin oranges.

Yes quite juvenile
unladylike childlike behaviour,
mine wife oft times doth display,
I do not deplore

yours truly reckons
tis futile effort causing furore
aye attest bull
in china shop incorrigible hardcore
exhibited by spouse

out...

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Borrow us a pilgrimage back to a time,
When the barn was our home...
     Then; Adunni's beauty wasn't her doom
Today, Responsibilities hound me away from promises...the treaties I made
   ...

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When the time comes
And I pass
From this chapter
Don’t wall me up
In a mausoleum
Or bury me
Within the realm of
Sod and worms
Just place me
In the Daly river
Let the fish
And croc’s
Have their turn
Let them
Take me away
Into the clear...

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The draw of the tide...
tugs away inside...
remembered rekindled emotion...
lived on the water ...
remember i ought...
Portugese, on the ocean..

cabin boy ..
on a 3 masted schooner...
we lived on salted pork...
the maggots they walked...
red meat went rotten the...

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RESISTANCE (EAST TIMOR)

A young man
A young man lying
Sightlessly staring beyond the sky.

Resistance…
A fierce wind blowing… 
Bitterness trapped in his quietened heart.

His forehead.
a round mark, tiny.
precisely. 
A tilak? Futility.

Scorching sun
Clambering, burning, 
Sweltering,
One more sacrifice.

A mere boy
Who...

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High in the mountains of Timor
On a hill in a cradling valley
Swathed with cloud 
Warmed by sunlight.

The Portuguese loved this place.
They built a pousada 
On the hill 
and planted roses.

It has stood for a hundred...

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