Long Underground Poems
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The Peripheries of Love
by Michael R. Burch
Through waning afternoons we glide
the watery peripheries of love.
A silence, a quietude falls.
Above us—the sagging pavilions of clouds.
Below us—rough pebbles slowly worn smooth
grate in the gentle turbulence
of yesterday’s forgotten rains.
Later, the moon like a virgin
lifts her stricken white face
and the waters rise
toward some unfathomable shore.
We sway gently in the wake
of what stirs beneath us,
yet leaves us unmoved ...
curiously motionless,
as though twilight might blur
the effects of proximity and distance,
as though love might be near—
as near
as a single cupped tear of resilient dew
or a long-awaited face.
Published by Romantics Quarterly, Poetry Magazine, Boston Poetry Magazine, Triplopia, Shadows Ink, E Mobius Pi, Underground Poets, Emotions Literary Magazine, Grassroots Poetry, Poetry Webring, Poetically Speaking, The Poetic Muse, Poet’s Haven, Poetic Voices, Nutty Stories (South Africa) and Gostinaya (in a Russian translation by Yelena Dubrovin)
Humility, a prized gift, a quiet poise, a fond grace,
Peace, quietude and happiness bloom under its soft shade,
Not a stamp of softness or weakness, but a mark of silent strength.
The tall tree, towering to the sky, sheltering birds quite freely,
Stands so sturdy, but bends to the strong wind and rain torrents,
Nature`s clear and vibrant paradigm of humility.
The noble river, a silver thread, nourishing where it is led,
Journeys through slithering paths to merge with the wide ocean,
But never complains of losing its own identity.
The vast ocean, a huge mystery, deep, where secrets hide,
Through storms and calm, it keeps its place, holds the world in its sway
Provides food and fortune to men, but do not ask for anything.
Selfless and quiet teachers all around, on earth and underground,
They reveal the essence of humility at all times,
The need to have a gentle heart, be a humble player.
On a night in October when the full moon beams
Marsh noises resonate, all is not what it seems
The wind rustles the reeds with a haunting chilling sound
As the awakening dead arise from their dormant cold grounds
Black silhouette's are seen against a backdrop of cobalt blue
The living now need to run, to escape this deathly pursue
Carrying scythes and sickles, they lacerate all breathing souls
To re-enforce their army, the living are their goals
Screams and cries are heard, the unlucky in deadened red
Whilst the fortunate survive, for a long night lies ahead
A new dawn arrives, no longer scything sounds are heard
As we step into the daylight, to take in what's occurred
If you were caught in their open, your breathing no longer reigns
More of the living perish, whilst his dormant armies gain
In the village where I stay, we run and hide underground
How ironic is it, it's where the living can't be found
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/dark-7.php
it was the time to ascend and the elevator door closed with firm resolve
on his many needs and wishes that had pushed his buttons for so long
three wise men had spoken and a triad of Tarot cards had pointed the way
a pitchfork of ambiguous trinity had failed finding the needle in a haystack
horsemen of the apocalypse in his mind had traded their rocking donkeys
for a shiny Harley Davidson with punctured tyres and a hole in the tank
now he was stuck in the enclosure forced to listen to meaningless pan pipes
studied adverts of trade sharing Viagra and courses for meditation and yoga
determined to advance on his hierarchy of needs to the level of self esteem
but the display offered no fourth floor and he quickly went past his target
barred from quick levitation he went down again and attempted the staircase
only to find the door locked with a sign ‘sorry out of order for maintenance’
he bought climbing gear at a DIY store to scale the outside of his building site
carefully read the self-help manual and proceeded on his conquest for change
the windows had not been cleaned for an eternity and he could not look inside
but it was mirror glass cladding in any case and he got a bad case of acrophobia
by now he had received a parking ticket in an underground garage of anxiety
more points on his license reminded him that there was no fast track escape
when his scared gaze fell upon readjustment possibilities and alternative choices
he climbed an oak tree dangled his feet from a branch to look again at his roots
09th September 2020
In New Jersey
I started meeting David
for many years
once a month
When encountered something important or heartbreaking
couldn't see each other
When we ate at a cheap restaurant
or enjoyed eye shopping
Inexpensive but delicious and full of kindness
We also went to the local pizza store
these are all
no matter what
happy greetings
we spent time with a grateful heart
we parted
hugging with a smile
David never married
lives underground
have few friends
relatives are in Arizona and Alaska
but his blessings are the source of my strength
David couldn't paid for food, shopping, or pizza for 12 years
But we never felt strange
however, Last month
David promised
To listen to my favorite classical music better
to buy a CD player
I ask for a phone call
"David, do you have money?"
David laughs and says "a little bit"
i am happy
David will be happier than I am
Finally, tomorrow is the day.
"Isaac’s servants dug in the valley and discovered a well of fresh water there. But the herders of Gerar quarreled with those of Isaac and said, “The water is ours!” Genesis 26:19-20
Do you hear argument’s doorbell?
Jealousy causes a groundswell
like a sink hole.
Antagonists are raising hell
over an underground bombshell
greed's sordid goal.
Contentious opinions foretell
what sounds like a solemn death knell.
Isaac would bid anger farewell;
he'd forgo harm, refuse to yell,
showing control.
He'd breathe deeply, hot air expel
before maddening tempers swell.
Like him, extol
peacetime; just dig another well;
be forgiving. Ring freedom's bell.
Time to bee invited to Honeycombe
The news of Blues-Bee’s demise had far reaching effects.
The worms had disappeared deep underground
And the fleas had all fled.
Harmony was going to bee restored,
To the happy place it was a long time beefore.
This was nice to hear for a Bee who was far away,
For he had already lived through The Hive Wars.
He happened to overhear a conversation about a bee one day.
His name was Heroshima and he knew of Humble’s hive.
He heard how it had been attacked and was almost destroyed,
But fortunately The Queen had survived.
Blues-Bee had hired a group of dirty rats,
But try as they might the bees never succumbed to the attack.
One night Heroshima said this bee has been through enough;
Bring him to me. His hive is welcome to move in with us.
There is plenty of space, so make haste with the messengers.
Go find this Humble B. Bumble, wherever he is, never mind the danger.
Tell him about us and tell him he should come to bee with us soon
And he will bee welcomed always into Honeycombe.
So bees were sent out and eventually Humble was found.
He didn’t want to go; he wanted to go home,
But the bees were insistent and gave Humble a crown.
This is a sign of our loyalty to you.
Come live with us in Honeycombe as a King; you can start anew.
Your Hive are all welcome to join us too.
Humble took the crown and said thank you friend.
We will take a look around
And then placed the crown on Bee Bee’s head.
I guess this beelongs to you, Love.
Oh no sir, it is yours. You have been so good.
You are to bee made a King and you may choose your Queen.
I have no need for a title; I already have all that I need with Bee Bee.
Then neither do I said Bee Bee throwing it away.
But sir! But maam! You have no idea what that crown is worth!
We have no wish to rule your domain anyway.
Let all bee’s bee equal and rise from the dirt.
You shouldn’t bee throwing it around.
It is made from the finest honey.
Then you can have it, take the crown,
I already have my honey, buddy.
Humble held Bee Bees hand and said lead the way…
I will just fetch the crown first sir. Ok?
(C)2019 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
There's never an in-between
When you are tryna redeem
All the kindness someone took
From you before you could look
And see what was happening
To the caring kindness thing
You used to love and always know
Every day you'd let it show
Until it was slowly taken
As the devil was awakened
By someone who corrupted
Your innocence, evil erupted
From the depths way deep inside
No matter how hard you tried
You could not push it back down
Every hour its around
One more piece of you is lost
It's just too high a cost
When losing your identity
You were too naive to see
The horns coming from the head
Of a person you will dread
Letting into your young heart
Because from the very start
They were trouble and disaster
Their destruction growing faster
Each day sharp pitch forks will stab
Your kindness right in the back
You're tryna dig your way
Out of hell you can not stay
Inch by inch you try to find
Your way back to the sweet kind
Girl you were before you let
This mean and hostile dread get
Inside your soul taking each
Piece of your past out of reach
It can no longer be found
Buried way deep underground
On a downward spiral slip
Hanging on with a tight grip
As this raging fire pit
Is burning you to the core
Fighting this internal war
Between darkness and the light
You don't want to lose this fight
So you just keep punching through
The conflict inside of you
Morning dressed me without asking what held my sleeves apart.
The doorway knew my measure long before I reached my height chart.
My shadow knew me as a silhouette without an umbrella stand.
Everyone forgot the hidden chassis never held in hand.
I laughed out loud, forgetting to keep my steps slow,
No one saw the clapper swing, yet everyone the bell go.
The ladder climbed the wall without knowing its frame.
While mirrors pressed each passing face to say its name.
The coat flopped without a hanger; shoes misplaced their feet.
Rain soaked the ground until the footprints felt complete.
White light forgot to tell the rainbow what colors to bring.
Clouds remember flying, never growing a feathered thing.
Perhaps the tree leans the way it senses something underground.
Perhaps the wind shoots upright when nothing can be found.
Silence remembers songs after voices wander on ~
Keeping the shape of someone, long after they've gone.
The blight of years left my flesh and fame in disarray.
It kept no diary of lost days, yet weathered the fray.
It stood there while I ordered my last à la carte.
Only then did my sleeves remember what held them apart.
/Boom Bap Reverie
Crates cracked open in dusk-lit basements/
Needles tracing dust on grooves of gold, Soul samples looped—forgotten statements resurrected from wax, stories retold/
Basslines thump like city heartbeats, Hi-hats flicker, snare drums snap, old school wisdom in concrete streets, Cyphers ignite in a boom bap trap/
Chopped horns echo in subway tunnels, Scratch of vinyl, a DJ’s prayer, Freestyle poets, words like funnels pouring truth in the midnight air/
Apollo Brown dreams in sepia tones, Soul-worn records, crate diggers’ pride, Underground kingdom, built on bones of legends who never died/
So, spin that hour of rare instrumental. Let nostalgia ride the groove in every sample/ Hip Hop's past is still on fire/, and hip hop’s spirit finds its truth/