State Of The Art Poems - Poems about State Of The Art

State of the Art (IV) These are my "ars poetica" poems about the art and craft of writing poetry. Hearthside by Michael R. Burch “When you are old and grey and full of sleep...” — W. B. Yeats For all that we professed of love, we knew this night would come, that we would bend alone to tend...

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State of the Art (III) These are my "ars poetica" poems: the ones about the art and craft of writing poetry in a modern world that doesn't always recognize the artists or their work. Come Down by Michael R. Burch for Harold Bloom Come down, O, come down from your high mountain tower. How coldly the wind blows, how late this chill...

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State of the Art (II) These are my "ars poetica" poems about the art and craft of writing poetry. What the Poet Sees by Michael R. Burch What the poet sees, he sees as a swimmer ~~~~underwater~~~~ watching the shoreline blur sees through his breath’s weightless bubbles ... Both worlds grow obscure. In Praise of Meter by Michael R. Burch The earth is full of...

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The State of the Art (I) by Michael R. Burch Has rhyme lost all its reason and rhythm, renascence? Are sonnets out of season and poems but poor pretense? Are poets lacking fire, their words too trite and forced? What happened to desire? Has passion been coerced? Shall poetry fade slowly, like Latin, to past tense? Are the bards too high and holy, or their readers merely dense? Keywords/Tags:...

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STATE OF THE ART HEARING-AID I’m digging up the garden beds, preparing for the spring, with a magpie and two blackbirds waiting for anything that moves so they can pounce on it and scoff the tasty bug, before waiting patiently for more garden to be dug. Old Jimmy Watts who lives next door, does like to have a chat across our...

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Hoboken is broken and Nobody's joken' so Just buy a token and get out of town ......

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Hoboken is broken and nobody's jokin' so just buy a token and get out of town !!!...

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if we could see radio waves if all shapes and colours they would be all we would see is radio waves as far as the eye could see Pointecchio Italy 1895 his father got a message across the sky six years later he came to Newfoundland with balloons, wire and kites in his hand December 12th 1901 it was Signal Hill he was...

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Today, I poured out the content of my heart. I emptied the past and threw out the weak part. I tore up anger, bitterness and hate shredding all parts that belittle and berate. I patched up compassion, empathy and love; sealed in benevolence I was empty of. Arrogance I once paraded with pride, lain to rest with deception; side-by-side. Ego and vanity were...

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Up to date- M O M A 's place...

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