Long Wanly Poems

The Tender Weight of Her Sighs
by Michael R. Burch

The tender weight of her sighs
lies heavily upon my heart;
apart from her, full of doubt,
without her presence to revolve around,
found wanting direction or course,
cursed with the thought...

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“Women Have Loved Before As I Love Now”
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Women have loved before as I love now;
At least, in lively chronicles of the past-
Of Irish waters by a Cornish prow
Or Trojan waters by...

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Turkish Poetry Translations I



Ben Sana Mecburum: "You are indispensable"
by Attila Ilhan
translation by Nurgul Yayman and Michael R. Burch

You are indispensable; how can you not know
that you're like nails riveting my brain? 
I see your eyes...

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Poppy
by Michael R. Burch

“It is lonely to be born.” – Dannie Abse, “The Second Coming”

It is lonely to be born
between the intimate ears of corn . . .
the sunlit, flooded, shellshocked rows.

The scarecrow flutters, listens,...

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the Father visits his son in the dark of day
The son is abed, pale in the light of night
For the sun and moon are witness in this hour of twilight
But the sun is not heat...

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Note: Norwegians are proud of many things, but above all, they are endlessly proud of Sissel Kyrkjebø, the Voice of Norway!  International singer.
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I live in a deserted chapel, 
Buffeted and corroded by harsh winds,
And...

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...a true story


Her house was just a shell, a burnt-out ruin...

standing apart, the other houses still intact 
with painted jalousies and window curtains. 
She must have fallen asleep, the cigarette 
still dangling from her arthritic...

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...a true story


Her house was just a shell, a burnt-out ruin...

standing apart, the other houses still intact 
with painted jalousies and window curtains. 
She must have fallen asleep, the cigarette 
still dangling from her arthritic...

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...a true story


Her house was just a shell, a burnt-out ruin...

standing apart, the other houses still intact 
with painted jalousies and window curtains. 
She must have fallen asleep, the cigarette 
still dangling from her arthritic...

Read More

...a true story


Her house was just a shell, a burnt-out ruin...

standing apart, the other houses still intact 
with painted jalousies and window curtains. 
She must have fallen asleep, the cigarette 
still dangling from her arthritic...

Read More

...a true story


Her house was just a shell, a burnt-out ruin...

standing apart, the other houses still intact 
with painted jalousies and window curtains. 
She must have fallen asleep, the cigarette 
still dangling from her arthritic...

Read More

A Controlled Reply to a Skinhead's Brain

Just when I thought some real evolution
In moral thinking
Just might be taking place these days,
I run across this Neo-Nazi piece of crap
masquerading as a poem,
Shrieking wanly in an open,...

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Next to the road’s trough
The cosmos flowers bow
Down and curtsy
As if to royalty
As we pass by
Waving wanly as they die

The road is wrapped in misty shrouds
Trees hugged by earthbound clouds
Cosmos petals dripping tears
End of season,...

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Throughout the night distressed, unblessed by sleep, 
I turn and writhe and toss, and vainly watch
The seconds and the minutes slowly stretch
To hours; and long since done with counting sheep,
Despair of morning.  All alone...

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The half moon shimmered wanly as she wrote
“Dearest, do you realize how much I miss you?
How long will your trip abroad take?
Here I am in empty rich, luxury mansion.
A hovel with you would have been...

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Our family gathered to you attend,
The overcast day your bed rest did end.
Your smile was sunshine filling the room.
You asked of present and future blooms.
Your final hours were never about you,
But of things you would...

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