Beneath the burning eastern sky
The Cross was raised at morn:
The widowed Church to weep stood by,
The world, to hate and scorn.
Now, journeying westward, evermore
We know the lonely Spouse
By the dear mark her Saviour bore
Traced on her patient brows.
I've finished life's chores assigned to me,
So put me on a boat headed out to sea.
Please send along my fishing pole
For I've been invited to the fishin' hole.
Where every day is a day to fish,
To fill your heart with every wish.
Don't worry, or feel sad for me,
I'm fishin' with the Master of the sea.
This song of mine will wind its music around you, my child, like
the fond arms of love.
This song of mine will touch your forehead like a kiss of
When you are alone it will sit by your side and whisper in
your ear, when you are in the crowd it will fence you about with
My song will be like a pair of wings to your dreams, it will
transport your heart to the verge of the unknown.
It will be like the faithful star overhead when dark night is
If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
"AFTER CUMMINGS" POEMS
These are poems that I have written "after" e. e. cummings. Many of these poem were written during my early "Cummings Period," which started around age 14-15 when I discovered his poems in an English textbook. I have a cummings-ish type of poem that I call a "ur" poem. I will explain that modus operandi when we get to the first "ur" poem.
In these poems things that seem impossibly large are capitalized, like the Sun and Time. The big Thoughts are capitalized but the mind that holds them without being able to control them, isn't. Pronouns become diminutives: I=i, You=u, We=wee, etc.
by michael r. burch, age 14
I as in me, in the sense I spew spitfire unapologetically
Left clear cast shadows of what I meant to say
Plastered on the foundation of who WE are.
I as in we, I stand by those who stand by me
Trust may be lost but loyalty shall stay
як і кожна частинка його пружини
стискується і розширюється
залишаючи умовні лінії кіл
по-жіночому опуклі до впускання у себе
і по-чоловічому стиснені до відрізків діаметрів
що спішать стрілками показувати безупинний рух
поки всесвіт розвивається
відшукуванням розв'язків нерівностей
When I see her face there is a shade
When I hear her voice, I feel comfortable in my heart
When I see her smile I feel sunshine and never fade
When I see point of view of her life that inspire my heart
Nothing has changed in her like spring which displays the beauty of the scent of flowers
Nothing has changed her feelings and love for me
Nothing has changed about my feelings to her like leaves that always grow on each stem and they are water proofers
Nothing changes day after day, month after month, year after year her feelings for me
The heart has suffered time and again
The ache of goodbyes, the apathy of roads.
The heart has suffered like a bad habit
The strain of departure, the silence of hope.
The heart has suffered because it beats
When it's cold and tearing and nobody listens.
The heart has suffered long enough to survive