Buckle
of Bible Belt
corroded
It’s Thursday evening, almost nine
foot-tap, fiddle, and banjo time
with juke-box tales of love’s romance
the county jail, a second chance
for bourbon belles or backroad trucks
mail-box motels, living on luck
from one horse towns to city bars
acoustic sounds that drive guitars
harmonicas with prairie dust
Americana, steel mill rust
cornbread kitchen, joy, and sorrow
songs that long for bright tomorrows
it’s Nashville on my radio
Bob Harris and his Country Show!
She sat, caressing her tiny gold cross.
Then, a swift bullet, and into heaven,
With Angel’s wings, she had crossed.
Her Easter Bunny, does not know yet,
That she won’t hold him again, so he
Sleeps in peace and does not fret.
Her precious dolls, sit in her buggy.
Totally unaware, they will never be hugged.
This sad afternoon, by their little mommy.
Her parents’ hearts torn to shreds.
They embrace and weep, oh,my God!
Our sweetest angel, lost, forever dead.
Then her Kitty, whom she named, Jello.
Leaps on their laps, purring and soft.
Even his warmth, cannot make them mellow.
Easter with the Lord, her very first one!
And people ready to care for her.
Au Revoir, your sparkling wings,in the sun!
3/29/2023
A Nashville No No
weapons strategy
turned into a travesty
then a tragedy
from window would shoot
she was a cake full of fruit
never gave a hoot
heard that she fasted
way into school had blasted
for a while lasted
will do a favor
after her poor behavior
send to see savior
when we read a book
were several shoots which she took
up whole world she shook
after she awoke
door windows shot out and broke
in blood still bodies soak
after the blood would spurt
was seen on their blouse and shirt
did treat them like dirt
employees were at work
when she had become berserk
dead bodies twitch and jerk
had sent us reeling
would gave a frantic feeling
our heads had hit ceiling
after they did die
no matter how hard we try
will never know why
now that she is gone
our pillow will pray upon
God give us nice new dawn
brain was not intact
she became a maniac
from list name should subtract
As springs’ budding blossoms emerge
the raptors glide mercilessly.
—Michael R. Burch
I wrote this haiku-like poem on 3-27-2023 after the Nashville Covenant school shooting massacre. Keywords/Tags: Nashville, Nashville Covenant, Nashville Covenant Presbyterian School, school shooting, massacre, children, kids, students, child abuse, gun control, America, United States, death, murder, serial murder, massacre, bereavement, class, classes
Nashville
buckle on Bible Belt
sin city
there's a place to go
the lights are much brighter there
if you're that crazy
you can blow up an RV
and let the whole world stare
Tornado's rains matter
Decent folks' lives
They shatter
She's here even if you can not see her,
She's here even if you can not hear it.
She makes herself known with a crazy purr,
Mia is here, and she will never quit.
Jack watches us from a pleasant distance,
And he charges up to demand our love.
Letting us go is a nonexistence,
For he hovers around us like a dove.
Zinnia attacks Mia like she's prey,
But she kicks and grooms her with a meow.
They both run and roll around as they play,
She's the crazy cat and she's sure to wow.
Mason is the oldest of the four cats,
And he's fluffy like the craziest hats.
The day you left
My fall didn't take long
I still blame you
For all that went wrong
And as I occupy
This sofa of crumbs
l've crowned myself
The king of bums
Because with you gone
Nashville forgot about me
I walk these streets
Looking for pizza and beer
But so much is gone
And the only thing here
Is a hipster with hotsauce
In his beard
From a designer chicken
That some investor reared
Because with you gone
Nashville forgot about me
I walk past drunks on bicycles
Painting the town
And past faux modern condos
That would make Johnny frown
And these sanitized bars
Where tourist go to drink
Would make George
Sober up and think
Because with you gone
Nashville forgot about me
I guess we were the past
Two outlaws in crime
We stole each others hearts
And past loves prime
But I never thought you'd go
And leave me here alone
Slowly wasting away
Like designer chicken pulled from the bone
Because with you gone
Nashville forgot about me
In Nashville, every bar is filled
With music and with booze.
The patrons fill the tip jars
Of whichever bands they choose.
The past four days we joined them,
Hearing songs and drinking beer,
But now we’re back at home
In our familiar atmosphere.
So tonight on Nashville’s Broadway,
As the fans prolong their sips,
Singers strum guitars and bang on drums
While others give them tips.
Head or tails is that your good side or the bad
shiny, worn, new, old, smart, stupid societal
cash register?
We all get piled up.
Your denomination tells your class: two cents or fifty
indentations of personality ealge, flag, ego or in
God do you trust?
Fold a twenty the right way
Now do you believe in hell?
No. I know your type: the fake quarter the boy
scored, poor and bored at the railroad tracks
bashed, smashed, beaten, used.
We all get piled up.
God only collects the shiny coins.
Wherever the Autumn breeze leads you, baby
I hope it leaves you walking the right direction
When leafs are fallin like teardrops
In the grass where your worries lay
This is my wish for you from Nashville
Whenever you're on your knees
Remember you can still pray
The check-out clerk stamped my date due
Into every book,
And said ”Already, one month through”
With a wistful look.
“Another year has got away
Just like the other years”:
A trite, profound, chance thing to say;
Winter disappears.
They called him “Mister Howard” when he lived in Nashville town,
He lived inside a house that time has almost tumbled down,
He lived across the river where the wealthy people did,
He was a Nashville gentleman, he kept his real name hid.
Nashville Gentleman, more than hundred years ago,
Nashville Gentleman, someone you all know,
Well-dressed, Nashville Gentleman.
His Christian name was “Jesse,” and his brother’s name was “Frank,”
He made a living making large withdrawals from the bank,
Missouri and Kentucky knew his name was “Jesse James,”
In Nashville he was “Mister Howard” playing poker games.
Nashville Gentleman, with a family,
Nashville Gentleman, living secretly,
Outlaw Nashville Gentleman.
Now Jesse James left Nashville back in Eighteen Eighty-One,
He died a short year later at the barrel of a gun,
And Nashville still has heroes and their eyes are full of stars:
Instead of loaded pistols, now they’re carrying guitars.
Nashville Gentleman, just a memory,
Nashville Gentleman, part of history,
Jesse James of Nashville.
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