Vanilla moon of the billion star, milky night,
Peering over luxuriant treetops, evergreen.
Ivory clouds drift away to blues and bright,
On a spicy, pearl night, like none ever seen.
Daisy moon in onyx, all cream and chiffon,
With what loveliness is darkness enhanced.
Its alabaster rays pour upon a snowy swan-
Joy pranced on a path that sun last danced!
Out my window, I see golden tomorrow coming,
trailing varied colors, as the bees are humming
People flitter past, in the sunshine of their lives
Hummingbirds hover in air, when beauty arrives.
Out my window, there is scent of summer spice;
And vast blue and jade is clashing, so very nice!
And azure sweetheart songs are forever playing
like silver light of a crescent moon, ever staying.
Out my window, there is warm wind in red roses
and yesterday's recall lies in hues, as day closes.
......
These are poems by Michael R. Burch about poetry, poets and other subjects.
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?
......
She is sparkling in the sky, so glittery and gold,
She is radiance itself, on a sapphire threshold!
Her gowns change colors, at dawn and at dusk,
With hours in between, very gilded and robust.
The cool mistress of night, calm and composed,
Wears her gleaming pearls and evening clothes.
And in beauty of twilight, she dances with stars,
Lighting up dark night, with help from red Mars.
Life of an underground lyrical beast looking great
But one can imagine attempting to get the sure rate
To succeed, one's got to really hustle
And, yes, Life is pregnant with some kind of bustle!
Striving makes us great
But, How'd I get there, mate?
Nonstop hustle is, I trust, the sure key
But, first for God, I've got to be on my knee
If not both!
......
These are poems by Michael R. Burch about poetry, poets and other subjects.
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?
......
Is brevity not the soul of wit
So why then dilute the words which we spit
Is it perchance some performative urge
Some selfish ambition to a little longer be heard
What cause do we have to slight our creations
If not entitlement to our meaningless station
Am I not but a jester who wears a tin crown
Yet speaks of it as gold with the hope that my mouth is not bound
Life of an underground lyrical beast looking great
But one can imagine attempting to get the sure rate
To succeed, one's got to really hustle
And, yes, Life is pregnant with some kind of bustle!
Striving makes us great
But, How'd I get there, mate?
Nonstop hustle is, I trust, the sure key
But, first for God, I've got to be on my knee
If not both!
......
Vanilla moon of the billion star, milky night,
Peering over luxuriant treetops, evergreen.
Ivory clouds drift away to blues and bright,
On a spicy, pearl night, like none ever seen.
Daisy moon in onyx, all cream and chiffon,
With what loveliness is darkness enhanced.
Its alabaster rays pour upon a snowy swan-
Joy pranced on a path that sun last danced!
Chit chattering so happily, in babyish first conversations,
Like treetop little birdies, sharing emerald observations,
Burbling giddily and gaily, as golden moments evanesce,
Tattling like garden beauty secrets, in the feverish press!
Jabbering enthusiastic jollity, in the success of noon sun,
Rumors of glad gibberish, as droning bees in gilt sudden,
Joyful, twittering chit-chat, at back fence of my gladness,
Gossiping with fascinated grandma, on a summer canvas.