Long Wash up Poems

I always wanted to be a medieval jester,
the one who sneaks up behind the queen
and makes her guess who caressed her.
I always wanted to be the Lord of Misrule,
King Lear's sad fool,
and the one who...

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PAEDOPHILES RUNNING THE SHOW.

It doesn’t matter where you look
Or anywhere in the world you go,
The only thing that’s guaranteed
Is there is a paedophile running the show.

From ancient times to modern day
Frome a home to the...

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~~**This poem is super long, but it took me hours to write. I hope you all enjoy reading this as I have enjoyed writing it wholeheartedly.**~~

Awful anger expressed in verses
Didn’t give me blessings, but curses
I’m...

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“Come on, let's get introduced to my play mate in a palm.
Linda, these are Joshua’s true other selfs.” 
Lelia emitting a peculiar chuckle.
A comic situation arose where I changed my voice for each of my...

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The Sun Is a Liar



It’s been quite some time since I've awoke early enough to meet the sun coming over the horizon. As I gazed out the window from my bedroom window seat, the sky...

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Rumors
How we arrived at where we are
By Franklin Price
05/03/2020

By now you've heard the rumors
How Covid-19 came to Earth
How it did not come here naturally 
How Wuhan, China gave it birth

Maybe aided by our government
To make...

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Oh my soul what hails you?
Oh my soul what awaits you?
Oh my soul why are you in despair?
Oh my soul I have not deserted you
Oh my soul I have something to share
Oh my soul I...

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“Frequency” 

we are separated 
from the others
by a thin membrane

electromagnetic

we are receptors
unignited ununited
only tuned into our own

frequency

existing to be lit
the fuses touching
reaching delicately 

that which we do 
and do not see, 
believe

answers embedded
in tablets read...

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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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Dusk-gliding swallow, 
please spare my small friends
flitting among the flowers! 
—Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch

A bee emerging
from deep within the peony's hairy recesses
flies off, sated
—Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch

That dying cricket,...

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I cannot let this obsession with Coronavirus (COVID19) go
It is apparent, from the number of deaths projected, to be in the hundreds of thousands, that many Americans still are not heeding the warnings. I hope...

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Poems about Fathers and Grandfathers I

I translated the first six Native American poems for my father when he chose to enter hospice and end his life by not taking dialysis …


Cherokee Travelers' Blessing I
loose translation/interpretation...

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Juvenilia: Early Poems V

Poetry
by Michael R. Burch

Poetry, I found you
where at last they chained and bound you;
with devices all around you
to torture and confound you,
I found you—shivering, bare.

They had shorn your raven hair
and taken both...

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I used to dream of a dark hall. Dim. Empty with thick cheap navy curtains. 
The breeze. It felt hot and old. It shivered in the curtains that lined the walls on both sides.
The breeze....

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I used to dream of a dark hall. Dim. Empty with thick cheap navy curtains. 
The breeze. It felt hot and old. It shivered in the curtains that lined the walls on both sides.
The breeze....

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The Making of a Poet
by Michael R. Burch

While I don’t consider “Poetry” to be my best poem—I wrote the first version in my teens—it’s a poem that holds special meaning for me; I call it...

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Grasses wilt:
the braking locomotive
grinds to a halt
—Yamaguchi Seishi, translation by Michael R. Burch

Oh, fallen camellias,
if I were you,
I'd leap into the torrent!
—Takaha Shugyo, translation by Michael R. Burch

The first soft snow:
leaves of the awed jonquil
bow...

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The State of the Art (I)
by Michael R. Burch

Has rhyme lost all its reason
and rhythm, renascence?
Are sonnets out of season
and poems but poor pretense?

Are poets lacking fire,
their words too trite and forced?
What happened to desire?
Has...

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Salat Days
by Michael R. Burch 

(dedicated to my grandfather, Paul Ray Burch Sr.)

I remember how my grandfather used to pick poke salat ...
though first, usually, he’d stretch back in the front porch swing,
dangling his long...

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10 o'clock am the morning 
Quest: A country side bike ride.
Molly woke Dolly and Damian.
Woke Everyone on that July 
Morning of 2038. They had a Bicycle 
Expedition to tend to plus a newly
Minted swimming pool...

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No, Freddie can’t say he mourned when his father died and his father’s third wife found Freddie's number and gave him a call to give him the news. His father had been responsible, worked hard,...

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your silken skin gleams opaline
bathed in Luna's soft wash of cornflower - like a
porcelain Madonna by Michelangelo
conjured to life by the magic
of moonlight

your eyes open just long enough to
affix mine, and affirm I'm in a...

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Poems about Children IV

Salat Days
by Michael R. Burch

Dedicated to the memory of my grandfather, Paul Ray Burch, Sr.

I remember how my grandfather used to pick poke salat ...
though first, usually, he’d stretch back in the...

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After numerous threats on our lives after 
a domestic violence with my abuser after 
I returned from Tampa murder 
trial I was finally healing several therapist home 
visits my children and I were ready for...

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How dare you desecrate the Capitol with urine and feces!
Even filthy pigs refuse to defecate near their own dwelling place.
How dare you flaunt confederate flags, grim reminders of our bloody history, 
Alongside swastikas, hate symbols...

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