Long Whitby Poems

Where Does the Butterfly Go?
by Michael R. Burch

for the children of the Holocaust and the Nakba

Where does the butterfly go
when lightning rails,
when thunder howls,
when hailstones scream,
when winter scowls,
when nights compound dark frosts with snow ...
Where...

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Various Heresies 5

Tonight, Let's Remember
by Michael R. Burch

July 7,2007 (7-7-7)

Tonight, let's remember the fond ways
our fingers engendered new methods to praise
the gray at my temples, your thinning hair.
Tonight, let's remember, and let us draw near...

Tonight,...

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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 embers glow mysteriously as the breezes pass
In Whitby where the terraced houses fell on mass
Two new friends sit and chat about the devastating storms
And as they sit and talk an old legend is reborn.

T'was...

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Poems about Poets IV



The Princess and the Pauper
by Michael R. Burch

for June Kraeft

Here was a woman bright, intent on life,
who did not flinch from Death, but caught his eye
and drew him, powerless, into her spell
of...

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On a sunny day in late September
we were on our way to Runswick Bay,
on a walk that we gladly remember,
meeting people on the Cleveland Way.

Assorted folk with the same idea
taking in distant views over the...

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The end of the Pier was shrouded in mist
the Shadows we cast were defining,
We plighted our troth, and then we kissed, 
Neath a full orbed moon that was shining, 

We walked hand in hand to...

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Caedmon’s Face
by Michael R. Burch

At the monastery of Whitby,
on a day when the sun sank through the sea,
and the gulls shrieked wildly, jubilant, free,

while the wind and Time blew all around,
I paced that dusk-enamored ground
and...

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At Cædmon’s Grave
At Caedmon's Grave
by Michael R. Burch

“Cædmon’s Hymn,” composed at the Monastery of Whitby (a North Yorkshire fishing village), is one of the oldest known poems written in the English language, dating back to...

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Caedmon's Hymn
by Michael R. Burch

At the monastery of Whitby,
on a day when the sun sank through the sea,
and the gulls shrieked wildly, jubilant, free,

while the wind and time blew all around,
I paced those dusk-enamored grounds
and...

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My husband is naughty a very naughty man
He throws down the newspaper on top of his beer can
He buys himself a sandwich in a cardboard box
And puts it in the laundry with his woollen socks.

He...

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He was the Yodelling King of Whitby.
On a calm clear weather day
You could hear his practice yodels
On the cliffs at Robin Hoods bay.

He would stand there at the bar
In his Tyrolean feathered hat
With dark brown...

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Johnny was a Whitby boy, well tattooed with attitude 
Johnny used to play the blue guitar 
Lived off Prospect Hill, his family they live there still 
Used to play for drinks in the harbour bars.
Go...

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Whitby is a great little town 
Nearby Scarborough is too noisy by far
Here at Whitby. you can sit around
On the beach dreaming of castles afar

To Transylvania, to the castle of Bran
Where. I saw a vision...

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I wonder if your children rise at night
And haunt the shadows with your name
I wonder if memory would take flight
Were you now as then the cuddled same

How did you come to me the first time
What...

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 Count  Dracula a haunting figure, through centuries alike
desending on Whitby,an eerly thought, also a shuddering fright
between my hometown Middlesbrough, and the seaside port
the 199 steps to the abbey dwells a frightening thought

Holidaying in...

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He saw a gap in the market,
Knew he'd found a niche
Got the idea at Scarborough
From donkey rides on the beach.
Camel treks from Whitby
Going the scenic way
Following the coastal road
On to Robin Hood's Bay.

The very place...

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The Mountain withstands time the Agent Elder who once spewed an earthly inferno
Now rests quietly in peace. I climb higher holding onto tree branches covered in moss In a
rainforest where time is lost I breathe...

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I remember all the humorous things   we did
Peering into windows lit by lamps
Climbing cliffs  then chased by geese and dog

Walking down  from  Redcar,sea so still
 After Saltburn Pier, the cliffs...

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GOTH GIRL


Sitting beside two Goth girls;
Black hair, black clothes,
Black eyelashes,
silver studs in the knee-length boots,
pale daughters-of-Dracula complexions.

I could be in Whitby for a Goth convention,
standing on a crag
looking out on the cold North sea,
but I'm...

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Deep in the mud, shit and blood,
Hidden behind pastures of razor wire,
A lonely baker writes home.

"My dearest girl, im doing good,
But it's getting colder, were low on food. 

I don't intend on dying, but if...

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The moon reflected on the sea,
A night more beautiful than day.
I wheezed and struggled up the steps
And looked out over Whitby Bay.

I saw the harbour far below,
And heard the splashing of the waves,
I turned around...

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I puffed and panted up the steps (and thought
about the novel Dracula, in which
the character called Mina ran up there)
and gasping, wheezing crawled towards the top
to look out over Whitby from the cliff.
The view was...

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High winds - stirring sea - surf pounds - Whitby beach

Storm clouds - residual - seagulls - frantic cry

Midnight - a figure - in view - ascending

Bowed down - wearily - cliff steps - Abbey...

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