I was wondering how many renowned gay poets I know—
Like Oscar Wilde, Walt Whitman, and Arthur Rimbaud?
Edna St. Vincent Millay and Alice Walker, I am told,
Both Sylvia Plath and Gertrude Stein were rather bold.
The “Beat Generation’s” W. H. Burroughs and Jack Kerouac
Emily Dickinson and T. S. Eliot were not free from attack.
Then, there was Paul Verlaine, an exceptional find,
While W. H. Auden and Langston Hughes come to mind.
I wonder what inner conflicts they must have endured
Living in a puritanical society, their sexuality inured.
In compelling verse, they revealed parts of themselves
Some readers carefully hiding their works on the shelves.
Had these marvelous poets not been born out of time
Colorful lives might not have overwhelmed their rhyme.
It is fitting we acknowledge their outstanding contributions
Without undue reference to their personal attributions.
Written March 21, 2021
OH, Hobbitfeet in Birkenstocks
Puritanical piglets oinkfest
O'er the Shambridge Shantabridgians
Alliedallies reconoitering
Panted depth of tofuloitring
Agag on ersatzphermony
100%meatlessbaloney
Aghastyeflippinsqueekinwheels
Obsessivetoucheyfeelysqueals
Withwizenedtipofwhiskeywhine
Vanwinklingtheft OHbeardedtime
5/23/2020
who, US?
by Michael R. Burch
jesus was born
a palestinian child
where there’s no Room
for the meek and the mild
... and in bethlehem still
to this day, lambs are born
to cries of “no Room!”
and Puritanical scorn ...
under Herod, Trump, Bibi
their fates are the same —
the slouching Beast mauls them
and WE have no shame:
“who’s to blame?”
What is happening to Palestinian children in Gaza and the West Bank is a crime against humanity, financed by American taxpayers. Keywords/Tags: Palestine, Palestinian, children, Gaza, West Bank, Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Jesus, Christ, child abuse, race, racism, violence, meek, mild, lamb, lambs, kids, Herod, Trump, Bibi, slouching, Beast, American, Christians, Christian, shame, blame, Bible
who, US?
by Michael R. Burch
jesus was born
a palestinian child
where there’s no Room
for the meek and the mild
... and in bethlehem still
to this day, lambs are born
to cries of “no Room!”
and Puritanical scorn ...
under Herod, Trump, Bibi
their fates are the same —
the slouching Beast mauls them
and WE have no shame:
“who’s to blame?”
When Virgins Emerge
Virgins dwell on celibacy when they emerge
Even though the agenda might stray to setting dynamite
To lighting candles, eating celery, and hanging everything in sight
Displaying imaginary tiny toys and boys with strings and hooks
Around their necks as ornaments
Christmas trees come to mind
Virgins begin to find their spirits under there
Surprises give thier rise to blossoming
All Incongruities abound and bounce
Like Easter bunnies, they multiply rapidly in Spring
Such women naturally adapt
Are adept at math
Virgins lie and wait
If thoughts could think
Puritanical thoughts would starve for food
Suffocate from education
No need for birth control
Being pure of soul
No need for debate
Or hesitation concerning masturbation
Convenience stores will do just fine
When women explode into the universe
To find their feminine side
Unwind, have a smoke, a child or two
Virgins don’t just converge, they merge with it
WAGNER PHRASIS
Enchained by fancy petty wants
and necessity,undisguished
sensuousness burning with
fiery passion kindles the most
consuming flame,my peace of
mind was over.Driven to despair,
idle & disorderly,levity wounded me
deeply,tortured,no semblance of
reality,puritanical hypocrisy
ordinary & mediocre ,savagery
of taste,adverse outward circumstance,
all shadows on the scene.Confused I
remained silent ,my error was plain.
Through this trouble, hope a sense
of beauty,a new earnestness to really
know love, natural & unforced.Beginning
anew,my last reliance,vivacious & exciting
a state of fermentation, oh what bliss,my
goal was reached.Ah what a delight
it was.I stood amazed,its place in my heart,
the secret of art,free & unconcealed.
From Wagner autobio of 1840
Listen to me recite my phrasis on youtube under my pen name ichthyschiro
It was...
If only it had been!
Immersed in abstract reality
Conversation
Laughter
Loving
Wanting to reach out and confirm tangible expectations
But instinctively knowing it is an exercise in futility
Because by reaching out,
The spell would be broken
The magic would be gone
Dispersed like smoke in the wind
Leaving be-hind
The bitter-sweet after-taste
Of what is; but is not
If only....
It can be seen with-out the sub-conscious being a catalyst
For a projection that can-not be visualised
With the naked eye
So the windows to the soul with the curtains drawn
Kept imploring to the sub-conscious
To tarry, nay
If only....
For a little while
So some-thing so puritanical
Can be revelled in
But reality...
Oh, in-evitable reality!
Tore in and shattered any illusion of nirvana
Leaving behind poignant memories
To ferry a battered soul over to the shores of dawn
We look back to our yesterdays and wonder why the times have changed
Values and morals are now decayed and our lives are rearranged
We were the ones who allowed the change when battles should have been fought
It was there when we walked away and turned our heads before we thought.
Entertainment had to meet standards before a show could start
We are now presented garbage, all in the name of art
You cannot blame society for a world that’s filled with fools
Society is you and I. We are the ones who set the rules
Eventually the apathy will knock us to the floor
Tearfully we look back and say it’s not like it was before
Our parents would not allow trash in our music or our towns
Our congress would have better served their people as circus clowns
What happened to the world we knew, answers are being sought
We liberalized a once strong nation, destroying it before we thought.
Puritanical rule is not the answer as the nation comes undone
But stop violating the rights of the masses, to protect the rights of one.
We were built on Christian values and freedom of choice, or maybe we forgot
With liberals manipulating what was written, it’ll be gone before we thought.
There existed…
A Second to look beyond days and nights,
two of its kind saw years keeping them apart.
Puritanical until the very moment, wasn’t it?
There existed…
Times when kids played with one another,
no one let them have a second chance.
Everyone is bound to grow, Weren’t they?
There exists…
Wetness beneath the slab all day,
seldom does the icing know about the cake that’s set.
Life doesn’t allow a middle drop, does it?
There exists…
“A Set line that’s shown”, told the paper,
better look beyond the line at least once.
There is always a reason to smile, isn’t it?
There shall exist…
Places and memories: vastly different,
change this self and allow the little sea through.
Whilst Pound remains a set of pints, will you?
There shall exist…
Reasons when men shall shout “Place back that moment”,
the change won’t be large even when one moves miles apart.
Life will remain a collection of memories, Will it not?
And
dancing
in a ring-
singing all year
round
Note :One danced/sung at Christian destivals throughtout the year until
supressed by puritanical influence.Thus many carols have an Easter reference
therein
Observing the realities of today's society
While contemplating the legacy we leave our children
Seeing only degradation of morality
And destruction of purpose
As we liberalize a generation
Making murder of the unseen child
Obsession of materialism
Exploitation of the human spirit
Not only acceptable
But encouraged
Dividing by status
With governmental repression of achievement and the repeated errors
Committed three centuries ago under puritanical rule
A legacy of blatant stupidity supported by
A not so supreme court of lawless
And a House of Misrepresentation
Promoting failure
Demoralizing effort and vision and
Creating entitlement minded robots
Of human flesh and programmed minds
No longer able to rebel only to accept what is, as is
A cry for the return of the patriot
A need to resurrect the glory
A reversal of the demise of faith
Restoring hope
An assault on ignorance then will become
A legacy of love
I pray Almighty,
my freakazoid parents
the self-proclaimed-pulpits
of puritanical pious
and pompous selfish
keep their cult like claws
away from my throat,
and respect my
sanctimonious death wish.
Otherwise, I may have to kill them.
Or at least break their hearts.
I am with that crazy ass Pope.
Let them pull the plug!
Draft me not for life support
puncutated by agonizing bedsores.
And Heaven forbid,
please keep me from them
dragging my fragile bones
disgracefully through the courts
and turning my private slip
into a public script.
Please, please, please,
I pray they leave
my morphine shell alone.
Let me sleep
in sweet psychodelic dreams.
Let me sleep in peace.
Amen.
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