Long Withered Poems

Flint 
Within its brilliance gleaming
Cool black in lacquered polished silver chrome
Cranked up pistons bleached in summer’s heat
Hot steam rising as gears thundering
Beyond the crystal liquid city lights
Highways built across the land
In hearts felt pride American...

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Fulfilled fantasies and legitimate realities…you do know how to please…
Are you listening to my voice of longing and yearning?
No, don’t backstab me with your broken promises…stop being a horrid tease…
Do not worry, Lord, I am...

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[First posted in 3 parts. Intended novel: time never allowed]

Prologue
This,  Sir, is the prologue from before our tale begins
About the day our father did succumb to mortal sins
And left behind a man who would...

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Sharing my translation of a famous poem (Sadharan Meye) written by Rabindranath Tagore, who won Nobel Prize in Literature in 1913. It's one of his story-like poems, written in Bengali, which is one of the...

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"Backhand"



You have turned me
inside out, cut open
like a tennis ball
I used to beat backhand
along with the racket
hard against the garage wall

To make sense of it all
as a child, the grief stolen
all too swiftly and replaced...

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I walk o u t...

I am lost in unapproachable light—a spectral broth
I am tasting the screaming silence—the archetypal observer
dissects my essence-fossil Passion
a seismic rupture between life/death/rebirth
gnaws at my marrow This dilemma-kudzu
coils tight, constricting tomorrow's breath

Death...

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It only started as a misconception, a misunderstanding
then like grass fed rain, it grew...grew into this
A eulogy, maybe this could be it
about you? For once, this is about me
How can it be...how can it be?
Dreaming,...

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“Up men to your posts! Don’t forget today that you are from old Virginia.” 
– General George Pickett

Beneath Gettysburg's sun a merciless blaze
Stood Pickett with his face etched with war's haunting gaze.
A mind torn asunder...

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An Excelente Balade of Charitie (“An Excellent Ballad of Charity”)
by Thomas Chatterton, age 17
modernization/translation by Michael R. Burch

As wroten bie the goode Prieste
Thomas Rowley 1464

In Virgynë the swelt'ring sun grew keen,
Then hot upon the meadows...

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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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In a sudden nodding shift,
I was lifted into the air by the hard wings of the Devil
His putrid stench waking me from what seemed all dream
And upon a balcony of singed vine and blackened soot,
He...

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I'm off on the beaten path
with Little Rosey in my grasp

There's palm fronds like a giant clock,
twenty hands instead of two
And there's the honeysuckle bush
that suddenly broke through
the gap in my neighbor's greenhouse

"Bonnie!" she insists
"Bonnie...

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Matsuo Basho New Haiku Translations

Air ballet:
twin butterflies, twice white,
meet, match & mate
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch 

Denied transformation
into a butterfly,
autumn worsens for the worm
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch 

Dusk-gliding...

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Ma,
Why do I need to apostrophize you? Why did you flew away into the celestial regions so earlier? Is it because you are from a land where ‘twenty is plenty’ for women? And hence, ignoring...

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...the village shivers   a hive of restless souls
skin pricklin' with anticipation
as costumed runners fixin' to gather — hearts a-thrummin'
              ...

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{"I wish somebody, some entity would’ve told me, even warned me with the intuitiveness that lies within the motherly instincts, the nature of humanity without malevolent reluctance. 
That lying in the darkness for whom which...

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She Wrote To Me

My secret lover I left you 5 years ago I could not take it anymore I had 
to fill my emptiness without you since I left I would cut out my heart...

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"To live is to suffer; to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering."
Friedrich Nietzsche

Some say life is a mirror..

Whenever he whistled his eerie tune,
he would always tell me,

'It's my death hymn.'

But, then a...

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.                                  ...

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Is it time again
Is this another day again
where I sit up once more
waste my fingers to the bone
to describe my grievance with the Sorceress
named Sarah...
No...not this time
Is it time again
is this another day when
I sit...

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“The Tear”



How many oceans of salt 
does it take to form a tear?

Unrelenting waves of sorrow 
pounding a broken heart
hears the howl of sharp beaked foolish flying monkeys
ignorant feeding frenzies swallow whole lost families 
swept...

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 Feel me an emotion deep inside your heart,a soft crimson rose reicarnated,
a red heart full of velvet petals ,birthed from a white wild simple daisy 
embroided in mystique passion,a bacchus of wine in finest...

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Oh, these trees, arms reaching as they
      did then, but even wiser ... perhaps I as
         well have learned another thing-or-two
 ...

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O to tune in to good times of childhood—
To re-live gone-by years, not just to brood,
To lighten dust-laden baggage’s dead tare,
To unburden mind of deadwood afloat, 
To fast-forward to dusky days of old, 
To turn...

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...and the Demon spoke,
its voice deep and mellow like smooth satiny chocolate,
"There is more, much more than good and evil,"
the words thunderously whispered.
The verdant emerald green of the forest quivering at the sound,
drawing in upon...

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