Moon Slavery Poems

I am the maker of your fear, says the silver ocean.
like the dessert sun to a scotched frog,
I strike the sand and bury you deep...

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Smokey hailed from someplace back in Missouri
was a slave until the ripe old age of ten
Left his master's home headed to Montana
and swore they would...

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(Note: This poem was written shortly after the 2022 Olympics and after Richard Branson and Jeff Bezos rode their rockets in a new space race...

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Time. Just so much time lost in the prison without Bars. The mind
 Wondering if anyone can hear me ,have I been left behind
I reach...

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A wild wisp,
bound by a vile kiss.
A rogue thought,
bound by flesh and an unchaste heart.

The parallax of bliss..

An outcast shut in.
Withering in distraught.
Die blessed, you...

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Propaganda

We are told, 
what they want us to hear, 
by the media, 
and those behind the curtain,
with their own agendas, 
their own shows, 
in the...

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Yes, I am thinking about the human race
Please note that race has ‘four letters’
And most four-letter words
Can cause problems, ills, havocs and wars
Race is to...

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I will dust your body dripping with fruitful pollen 
from golden buttered sunflowers tall and towering 
painting the sky filled with choirs of yellow canaries...

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Loose Magic

Pee-a-boo, I see you...
Got your nose, 
and not your toes. 
Skipping rocks, 
and bubbles in the park. 

Eye contact from across the room, 
notes...

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Spaghetti

The meat, 
the cheese,
the sauce.

The smiles,
the laughs,
the wine.

The music, 
the song, 
the moment... 

The vow of forever!

Then...

You and I, 
and the garlic bread!



A. Foster, Ann...

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The Cat

It is late, 
nearly half-past nine. 
You are asleep beside me.
The clock on the wall is too loud. 
I need to buy another. 
This...

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Questions

What defines... success?
Is it how many people you know. 
Is it where you have been, 
or where you will go? 

Is it who you talk...

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U

It is cool here. 
Is it hot there?
You have not written. 
I have not received...
a letter.

Do you think of me?
I remember you. 
I can not...

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Even the moon was cold
wrapped in clouds, like
an old shawl, dark, no
twinkling stars shown,
only the breath as they
walked, single file, to
where they did not know.
Past...

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Tuning William Blake's Whistle
by Michael R. Burch

a musical prophecy, after William Blake

I.

Many a sun
and many a moon
I walked the earth
and whistled a tune.

I did not...

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