Long Turgid Poems

SELF REFLECTIONS

These are poems about mirrors, images, self-image, reflections, impressions and self-reflection. 

Self Reflection
by Michael R. Burch 

for anyone struggling with self-image

She has a comely form
and a smile that brightens her dorm ...
but she's grossly...

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Poems about Poems III

Radiance
by Michael R. Burch

for 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 but...

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Radiance
by Michael R. Burch

for 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 but feels its meaning—
the...

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These are poems about Dylan Thomas, as well as poems "for" and "after" Dylan Thomas. Dylan Thomas was one of my favorite poets from my early teens and has remained so over the years. I...

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Myth, after Dylan Thomas
by Michael R. Burch

Here the recalcitrant wind
sighs with grievance and remorse
over fields of wayward gorse
and thistle-throttled lanes.

And she is the myth of the scythed wheat
hewn and sighing, complete,
waiting, lain in a low...

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Sonnets LXXI-LXXX

Because You Came to Me
by Michael R. Burch

Because you came to me with sweet compassion
and kissed my furrowed brow and smoothed my hair,
I do not love you after any fashion,
but wildly, in despair.

Because you...

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“The Splice of Life”



When colour 
was to be 
washed out
of the world 

the evil ones 
didn’t care

the Actor led 
with his 
Dementors 
either side of him

Laundry, 

they resolved 
to be the best 
pristine method 
for...

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Defecation accidentally clogged...

for the umpteenth time 
during spate to sit scrawny buttucks 
on porcelain throne id est 
videre licet toilet bowl...
with toxic water brew threatening
to overflow onto the floor,
and hence found yours truly (me)
immersing himself...

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"Monsters in My Head"



the small gods
inside of us
worry too much

they speak in tongues
that never know the 
depth of what is real or not 

for tongues 
they never think
they just have a taste for blood

trading gossip...

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Thrice the night—the day!—both fell to sleepless slumber,
But now in Spring, though yet again: The third was three in number. 

I sense a wince remind itself,
Of what it means to be,
Instead to beg for booked...

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Twice told toilet tale – a cheeky execrable gross fable

which poetic product best be affixed 
with hashtag STINKY label.

As a young whippersnapper
and one precocious lad to boot,
I discovered common combustible materials
found in the bathroom.

At opportune...

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Frice the week along with night had fallen to sleepless slumber,
Trapped again 'tween times when thirds are three in number.

I sense a grimace gurgle in these halls of boned wall,
The aching whims and shaking limbs:...

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Prolonged offal bout courtesy constipation... turgid song redux,
a worse hellish fate than perdition really sucks

As of early morning
today - September 8th, 2022,
I could not but barely move
mine whole body felt
analogous to sluggish mollusk
frequent constipation found...

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Do you remember stories about the incensed 60s?

The smoke-filled Beatles,
and acrid flowering Hippies,
and Aquarian Age of Free Love.

It fizzled out.
It wasn't such a Great Transition
as we had hoped.
Exhausted by Foreign and Civil Rights v Wrongs...

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Through April and May not a single Indian has been noticed
along all the serpentine bends of this rambunctious river,
however I feel we are being espied by a jealous warparty
immortal in it's protection of this pristine...

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"Piranhas"



Piranhas
thrashing tales
to the feeding frenzy
de rigueur

someone’s torn
they can smell the blood

pointing fingers in a mirror
writing with burley
on their star studded
glowing wall 

craggy oysters
peppered salty
grey and green 
furry mouthed

blunt, stunted minds
lacking wisdom

scattering envy 
curling vitriol
like iron...

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This dread disease that has afflicted my home, 
This malady, this plague on my house;
This making convertible the former quaintness and provincialism thereof 
Into something wholly despicable and disgustingly homogeneous,
Yclept "cosmopolitanism," and "worldliness," and "globalization,"...

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We are travellers on this terrestial plane
where acorns are consumed in tinder season 
oaks fell by angry hurricane 
robust iroko mowed by lumbers greedy saw 
haughty araba viciously murdered for standing 
on progress impatient path
omo...

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"Smoke Signals"




Her wet lips
long slender fingers
flipped the lit cigarette
3 
seconds 
it glowed
inhaled deep, 
hard
and real slow
crushed under
Vermillion 
manolo blahnik 
killer, 
Capital K
long bare legs in
deadly brutal
stilletos

The taste wasn’t sweet
Her last kiss
tasted of Manuka
and violet scented
dom...

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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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there are some parts of your personality
you must never look at
or Aristotle's logic will pay you a visit
for a 15th century anatomy lesson
an eye for an eye a throat for a throat
gargoyle armies hovering overhead
tongue...

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"NEMESIS"


 “Where do Angels go in their dreams?
They go where wolves go to catch foxes, 
venturing forth out of small caged boxes
to the Between-Hours of Lost Love Woods” 





NEMESIS
is watching her
from his dreams
prowling soft Silver...

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To the legendary teacher I pay tribute
For imparting live voices to the mute
You paid gratitude
To the multitude
On the mountain top you stood
And all the heads understood
You never said ‘Never’
As admired in Geneva;
Tremendous work for real
Remains...

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To the legendary teacher I pay tribute
For imparting live voices to the mute
You paid gratitude
To the multitude
On the mountain top you stood
And all the heads understood
You never said ‘Never’
As admired in Geneva;
Tremendous work for real
Remains...

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She here elbowed past me stomping, pausing not (although me whomping
With her wildly swinging handbag – five kilograms, if not more).
Cackling brusquely in a lather, that I should her baggage gather,
She then made a beeline...

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