THERE was a small boy of Quebec,
Who was buried in snow to his neck;
When they said. "Are you friz?"
He replied, "Yes, I is—
But we don't call this cold in Quebec."
Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them suddenly
pressed me against his heart, I would perish
in the embrace of his stronger existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror
which we are barely able to endure and are awed
because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Each single angel is terrifying.
And so I force myself, swallow and hold back
the surging call of my dark sobbing.
......
Christmas is really
for the children.
Especially for children
who like animals, stables,
stars and babies wrapped
in swaddling clothes.
Then there are wise men,
kings in fine robes,
humble shepherds and a
hint of rich perfume.
......
I had better be.
What benefits my mother, niece,
Daughter and the neighbor lady
Will also benefit me.
Her working conditions,
How much she earns,
Her crisis, her problems,
Are all my concerns.
Her children are my children,
Her yearnings are mine.
......
I strolled up old Bonanza, where I staked in ninety-eight,
A-purpose to revisit the old claim.
I kept thinking mighty sadly of the funny ways of Fate,
And the lads who once were with me in the game.
Poor boys, they're down-and-outers, and there's scarcely one to-day
Can show a dozen colors in his poke;
And me, I'm still prospecting, old and battered, gaunt and gray,
And I'm looking for a grub-stake, and I'm broke.
I strolled up old Bonanza. The same old moon looked down;
......
These are poems about Palestinian children and their mothers...
Epitaph for a Palestinian Child
by Michael R. Burch
I lived as best I could, and then I died.
Be careful where you step: the grave is wide.
......
The mindset of hope and of a child are much alike,
as if true serenity and innocence are connected.
The comfort of a child in their mother's arms is what we long for inside ourselves,
a sense of safety and peace within our own body.
Treat every moment like you are still a child,
Cherish the most insignificant things in life.
Put that shiny rock in your pocket, it may be gold!
With thought, the smallest thing can bring peace and understanding to a life.
Every tiny aspect of nature is a beauty.
......
These are poems for children and poems about children and their mothers, fathers, grandmother, grandfathers and extended families.
The Desk
by Michael R. Burch
for Jeremy
There is a child I used to know
who sat, perhaps, at this same desk
where you sit now, and made a mess
......
Woow - yoo - yuu - woow
Wild fox roars high now
Pie - hu - pee, pie - hu -pee
Peahen sings among tree
One who eats all day
Is wild bear's deny
Koo - hu - koo, koo - huu
'Tis time to morn dew
Le - loo - la, le - loo
Wild cow is now pet too
......
There once was a little snail,
That wondered why It didn't have a proper tail,
She asked all those that passed her by
If there might be a rather simple reason why.
None proved to be that kind,
Which put her in an awful bind,
Until one fateful sunny day
She met a hare along the way.
My friend he said, looking awfully smug,
A tail Is something others often tug,
......