AGE DILEMMA
Nowhere was the deserved, desired Life, or dream, the romantic saint-being, which all of us who had been stuck in the fallow fields with tunya-indifference, longed for for so long. The past still croaks tiredly and lamely, like an old, rusty washing machine or a crow. An intoxicating, unwashable stain of dirt floats in the Present. This strange, eccentric intermediate state is difficult now; we can viscerally feel how the conceited-selfish, almost tyrannical shelter of pot-shadows and stigma-wounds grows every day.
It is not necessary to believe anything that was preached or preached, since everyday Reality has become so familiar and familiar. It is enough to calmly stick our Jellyfish heads in the sand, just like the ostrich-birds. - Now the terrible Executioner-Time is still pulling towards an unknown direction, dragging the small-scale, mean man of the Era; There is no future for a long time, we would only cling to the crumbs of the Present without real...
BEING A PRISONER OF LOANS
It's a shame to wonder for a long time! We are produced like automatic puppets on an assembly line, who are sheepishly sheepish or nodding their heads. Just as many others, they would crouch down at the conclusion of the sure Beginning and End. Out there, they suck each other's nerves, guts, and blood like vampires in the making, becoming more and more determined - those who live so as not to hurt themselves will be hurt.
Now it is trendy-chic to be accustomed to being inferior evil, like a weed or a howitzer plant, which cannot be eradicated, because being unconscious hurts; Even the rest of what once seemed clear and simple has become a wading swamp. Many people still go in front of it, even when they are standing still, they are hesitant, half-heartedly afraid. Little by little, it's also a joy when funny, fluffy pigeon flocks come down from the sky to peck massive, milk-massage buns, and although - maybe - it's more of a blessing for so...
Unpopular private speech
Like a house of snails, I waited motionless for years... I would have waited for some heavenly sign, a cacifant message, a dance of melodies that could be understood in the soul, a phone call from the Beloved, when he had confessed: maybe even now his golden, dear heart loves me, but he doesn't have the courage to get out of a relationship doomed to loss. The cheese-colored arches of the chalk-legged moon paint amber lights on the walls of the room stuck in the evening.
Pinning his instincts and downfalls into a bun of memories is the lurking, restless darkness. I would have liked to receive news that no matter how familiar Life turns out, harmonious happiness can even find me here.
I pay close attention to the traces of my harassed and destroyed years, how the aspirations that influence life, the factors that destroy my life, recede and fade away from me like polite guests passing through. Blessing of Blinded Time - currently only available ...
HEAVEN’S SPIRITUAL JUICE
Soothing for the Soul
Healing Behold
Refreshing blend
Deep down
Faith is found
Praise rings high
The comfort of Thy
One Sip and Second Sip of Heavenly Juice
Virtue in Honor
Never thirst
Words from a Scripture verse
Genuine of its own
Heaven says, let it be known
Best taste
No waste
Heaven’s way
Heaven’s Spiritual Juice is here to stay.
...A GLORIOUS CASE IS ABOUT TO
The dreams of newborns are shaken by a stroller on the cobblestones of the street. The star-mom, maybe in her thirties, with flaxen-blonde hair, hugs and tugs at a crying little girl, because they are late for kindergarten again; the road is stuttering too. Irregularity in human behavior will never be able to sway a person, even if it is so necessary and must in some places. It has nothing to do with the honest, instinctive maternal feelings that perhaps every woman should have.
Disharmonic throbs are clattering in the holed heart, just as brutal and cruel slaps are clattering somewhere. The little girl is clutching a plush figure, orphan-lost, and it would be nice to tell her with secret telepathy: "I promise, Little one, that nothing will go wrong! When the furious mother: "My little girl! How many times have I told you not to bring your toys, everyone will think you're an idiot in the end!" - "Mommy! Are you mad at me?!" - a...
Medieval Poetry Translations by Michael R. Burch
These are Medieval poetry translations by Michael R. Burch of Old English/Anglo-Saxon poems and Middle English poems by Anonymous, Caedmon, Geoffrey Chaucer, Thomas Campion, Deor, William Dunbar, Godric of Finchale, Charles d'Orleans, Layamon and Sir Thomas Wyatt. How Long the Night (anonymous Middle English lyric, circa early 13th century AD) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch It is pleasant, indeed, while the summer lasts with the mild pheasants' song … but now I feel the northern wind's blast— its severe weather strong. Alas! Alas! This night seems so long! And I, because of my momentous wrong now grieve, mourn and fast. Sweet Rose of Virtue by William Dunbar (1460-1525) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Sweet rose of virtue and of gentleness, delightful lily of youthful wantonness, richest in bounty and in beauty clear and in every virtue that is held most dear? except only ...0
Epigrams by Michael R. Burch
These are epigrams by Michael R. Burch and other short poems... Conformists of a feather flock together. —Michael R. Burch (Winner of the National Poetry Month Couplet Competition) 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. (Published by Romantics Quarterly, Poetry Super Highway, Poets for Humanity, Angle, Daily Kos, Katutura English, Setu, Art Villa; also translated into Czech, Indonesian, Romanian and Turkish) Childless by Michael R. Burch How can she bear her grief? Mightier than Atlas, she shoulders the weight of one fallen star. Stormfront by Michael R. Burch Our distance is frightening: a distance like the abyss between heaven and earth interrupted by bizarre and terrible lightning. Laughter's Cry by Michael R. Burch Because life is a mystery, we laugh and do not know the half. Bec...0
Native American Translations by Michael R. Burch
I translated these Native American poems and proverbs when my father, Paul Ray Burch Jr., chose to end his life by declining to submit to dialysis treatments and enter hospice. Cherokee Travelers' Blessing I loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I will extract the thorns from your feet. Yet a little longer, we will walk life's sunlit paths together. I will love you like my own brother, my own blood. When you are disconsolate, I will wipe the tears from your eyes. And when you are too sad to live, I will put your aching heart to rest. Published by Better Than Starbucks, Setu (India), DailyKos, Opera News, A Hundred Voices and The Cherokee Native Americans and Their Descendants Cherokee Travelers' Blessing II loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Happily may you walk in the paths of the Rainbow. Oh, and may it always be beautiful before you, beautif...0
Fate is enough
The person who is unexpectedly left to himself - although he is shaken and horrified - but still goes before the executioner-smelling, wretched Fate. Neither friends nor the existence of eternal undying love can be found on his bare, bald, brittle-marble old man's face - no mischievous childish rainbow clings to him.
Those who remain forever alone, as a diligent and active news-teller into a landless past, may be half-way staring into their memories, as if what is and what could be are not possible, but reality, and they do not take daily voluntary exile so seriously.
Although happiness was left out of the man's life on purpose, the found Sweetheart still defiantly faces fate. Because Time chews and devours his internal organs more and more and curses his never-before-seen career.
He thinks of eternal loneliness, cast out, gloomily, and from his bleak days he gathers futility to continue to hope stubbornly and cowardly. In ...
Ono no Komachi translations by Michael R. Burch
These are modern English translations of the ancient Japanese poems of Ono no Komachi, who wrote tanka (also known as waka) and was renowned for the beauty of her verse as well as for her physical beauty. Komachi is best known today for her pensive, melancholic and erotic love poems. Her bio follows the poems. If fields of autumn flowers can shed their blossoms, shameless, why can’t I also frolic here — as fearless, wild and blameless? —Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I had thought to pluck the flower of forgetfulness only to find it already blossoming in his heart. —Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch So cruelly severed, a root-cut reed… if the river offered, why not be freed? —Ono no Komachi (KKS XVIII:938), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The wildflowers and my love wilted with the rain as I idly wondered where in the...0