I. WINTER IN NORTHUMBERLAND
OUTSIDE the garden
The wet skies harden;
The gates are barred on
The summer side:
"Shut out the flower-time,
Sunbeam and shower-time;
Make way for our time,"
Wild winds have cried.
Green once and cheery,
......
These are poems about time, poems about the process of maturation, poems about aging and growing old, poems about life's journey and its destination.
There is also a collection of my early poems, many about getting older and aging, toward the bottom of this page.
Learning to Fly
by Michael R. Burch
We are learning to fly
......
Nature's captured in blue undulations, as swans glide,
at the sunrise of red, against backdrop of colorful sky.
Then the mirror turns so golden, as sun reaches zenith,
Reflecting purple and jade birds, in clouds, enormous.
Sea of striking scenes, of vivid birds, off to foreign land,
of pines, yellow flowers, mountains, or pebbly beaches.
Moonlight visits, strewing pearls on meandering waves;
with pretty, beige stars, winking, at secret bearing night.
Swimmers floating or frolicking, just one day in the life.
Moments trapped within nature's mirror of time, forever.
......
and the gulf enters the sea and so forth,
none of them emptying anything,
all of them carrying yesterday
forever on their white tipped backs,
all of them dragging forward tomorrow.
it is the great circulation
of the earth's body, like the blood
of the gods, this river in which the past
is always flowing. every water
is the same water coming round.
......
I
Ancestral Houses
SURELY among a rich man s flowering lawns,
Amid the rustle of his planted hills,
Life overflows without ambitious pains;
And rains down life until the basin spills,
And mounts more dizzy high the more it rains
As though to choose whatever shape it wills
And never stoop to a mechanical
Or servile shape, at others' beck and call.
......
Last year seems like yesterday,
still resting on the edge of my thoughts,
still carrying the sound of voices
I believed I had already forgotten.
The days have continued without asking,
yet some moments remain untouched,
preserved in the quiet spaces
where memory keeps its own calendar.
......
Nature's captured in blue undulations, as swans glide,
at the sunrise of red, against backdrop of colorful sky.
Then the mirror turns so golden, as sun reaches zenith,
Reflecting purple and jade birds, in clouds, enormous.
Sea of striking scenes, of vivid birds, off to foreign land,
of pines, yellow flowers, mountains, or pebbly beaches.
Moonlight visits, strewing pearls on meandering waves;
with pretty, beige stars, winking, at secret bearing night.
Swimmers floating or frolicking, just one day in the life.
Moments trapped within nature's mirror of time, forever.
......
All of us are
A little broken
A little faded
With time
All of us become
A little tired
A little lonely
With life
......
..but time has no anchor
it must move on
just as the sun today
as it yesterday shone
it's at my heels
since I was born
it only leaves
when my life is gone
There was a spring when we mistook beginnings
for permanence.
The world, newly rehearsed in green,
seemed to agree with us—
as if leaves were promises
and every birdcall a signature
on something neither of us had read closely enough.
We spoke lightly then,
......