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.
Because death is a mystery, we cry
when one is gone, our numbering thrown awry.
(Originally published by Angelwing)
Autumn Conundrum
by Michael R. Burch
It's not that every leaf must finally fall,
it's just that we can never catch them all.
(Originally published by The Neovictorian/Cochlea, this poem has been translated into Russian, Macedonian, Turkish and Romanian)
Piercing the Shell
by Michael R. Burch
If we strip away all the accouterments of war,
perhaps we'll discover what the heart is for.
(Originally published by The Neovictorian/Cochlea, this poem has been translated into Russian, Arabic, Turkish and Macedonian)
Sex Hex
by Michael R. Burch
Love's full of cute paradoxes
(and highly acute poxes) .
(Published by Asses of Parnassus and Lighten Up)
Styx
by Michael R. Burch
Black waters—
deep and dark and still.
All men have passed this way,
or will.
(Published by The Raintown Review and Blue Unicorn; also translated into Romanian and published by Petru Dimofte in Poezii. This is one of my early poems, written as a teenager. I believe it was my second epigram.)
Fahr an' Ice
by Michael R. Burch
(apologies to Robert Frost and Ogden Nash)
From what I know of death, I'll side with those
who'd like to have a say in how it goes:
just make mine cool, cool rocks (twice drowned in likker) ,
and real fahr off, instead of quicker.
A question that sometimes drives me hazy:
am I or are the others crazy?
—Albert Einstein, poetic interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Are mayflies missed by mountains? Do stars
applaud the glowworm’s stellar mimicry?
—Michael R. Burch
After the Poetry Recital
by Michael R. Burch
Later there’ll be talk of saving whales
over racks of lamb and flambéed snails.
Lance-Lot
by Michael R. Burch
Preposterous bird!
Inelegant! Absurd!
Until the great & mighty heron
brandishes his fearsome sword.
Less Heroic Couplets: Multiplication, Tabled
or Procreation Inflation
by Michael R. Burch
for the Religious Right
"Be fruitful and multiply"—
great advice, for a fruitfly!
But for women and men,
simple Simons, say, "WHEN! "
The Whole of Wit
by Michael R. Burch
If brevity is the soul of wit
then brevity and levity
are the whole of it.
(Published by Shot Glass Journal)
Nun Fun Undone
by Michael R. Burch
Abbesses'
recesses
are not for excesses!
(Published by Brief Poems)
Saving Graces, for the Religious Right
by Michael R. Burch
Life's saving graces are love, pleasure, laughter...
wisdom, it seems, is for the Hereafter.
(Published by Shot Glass Journal and Poem Today)
A man may attempt to burnish pure gold, but who can think to improve on his mother?—Mahatma Gandhi, translation by Michael R. Burch
Fierce ancient skalds summoned verse from their guts;
today's genteel poets prefer modern ruts.
—Michael R. Burch
Old age, believe me, is a blessing. While it’s true you get gently shouldered off the stage, you’re awarded such a comfortable front row seat as spectator. — Confucius, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Not Elves, Exactly
by Michael R. Burch
Something there is that likes a wall,
that likes it spiked and likes it tall,
that likes its pikes' sharp rows of teeth
and doesn't mind its victims' grief
(wherever they come from, far or wide)
as long as they fall on the other side.
Ars Brevis, Proofreading Longa
by Michael R. Burch
Poets may labor from sun to sun,
but their editor's work is never done.
Arse Brevis, Emendacio Longa
by Michael R. Burch
The Donald may tweet from sun to sun,
but his spellchecker’s work is never done.
Dawn
by Michael R. Burch
for Beth and Laura
Bring your particular strength
to the strange nightmarish fray:
wrap up your cherished ones
in the golden light of day.
Self-ish
by Michael R. Burch
Let's not pretend we "understand" other elves
as long as we remain mysteries to ourselves.
Negligibles
by Michael R. Burch
Show me your most intimate items of apparel;
begin with the hem of your quicksilver slip ...
Negotiables
by Michael R. Burch
Love should be more than the sum of its parts?
of its potions and pills and subterranean arts.
Less Heroic Couplets: Marketing 101
by Michael R. Burch
Building her brand, she disrobes,
naked, except for her earlobes.
Less Heroic Couplets: Word to the Unwise
by Michael R. Burch
I wanted to be good as gold,
but being good, as I’ve been told,
requires something, discipline,
I simply have no interest in!
Liquid Assets
by Michael R. Burch
And so I have loved you, and so I have lost,
accrued disappointment, ledgered its cost,
debited wisdom, credited pain...
My assets remaining are liquid again.
Brief
by Michael R. Burch
Epigram
means cram,
then scram!
To write an epigram, cram.
If you lack wit, scram!
—Michael R. Burch
Fleet Tweet: Apologies to Shakespeare
by Michael R. Burch
A tweet
by any other name
would be as fleet.
@mikerburch (Michael R. Burch)
Fleet Tweet II: Further Apologies to Shakespeare
by Michael R. Burch
Remember, doggonit,
heroic verse crowns the Shakespearean sonnet!
So if you intend to write a couplet,
please do it on the doublet!
@mikerburch (Michael R. Burch)
Love is either wholly folly,
or fully holy.
—Michael R. Burch
Civility
is the ability
to disagree
freely
but always
agreeably.
—Michael R. Burch
Midnight Stairclimber
by Michael R. Burch
Procreation
is at first great sweaty recreation,
then—long, long after the sex dies—
the source of endless exercise.
(Published by Angelwing and Brief Poems)
Love has the value
of gold, if it's true;
if not, of rue.
—Michael R. Burch
The editors of Poetry know no more about poetry than I do about basket-weaving, except that I know a good basket when I have it in my hands.—Michael R. Burch
The First Complete Musical Composition
Shine, while you live;
blaze beyond grief,
for life is brief
and Time, a thief.
—Michael R. Burch, after Seikilos of Euterpes
The so-called Seikilos Epitaph is the oldest known surviving complete musical composition which includes musical notation. It is believed to date to the first or second century AD. The epitaph appears to be signed “Seikilos of Euterpes” or dedicated “Seikilos to Euterpe.” Euterpe was the ancient Greek Muse of music.
Teddy Roosevelt spoke softly and carried a big stick;
Donald Trump speaks loudly and carries a big shtick.
—Michael R. Burch
Nonsense Verse for a Nonsensical White House Resident
by Michael R. Burch
Roses are red,
Daffodils are yellow,
But not half as daffy
As that taffy-colored fellow!
The Hair Flap
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"
The hair flap was truly a scare:
Trump's bald as a billiard back there!
The whole nation laughed
At the state of his graft;
Now the man's wigging out, so beware!
Toupée or Not Toupée, That is the Question
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"
There once was a brash billionaire
who couldn't afford decent hair.
Vexed voters agreed:
"We're a nation in need!"
But toupée the price, do we dare?
Toupée or Not Toupée, This is the Answer
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"
Oh crap, we elected Trump prez!
Now he's Simon: we must do what he sez!
For if anyone thinks
And says his "plan" stinks,
He'll wig out 'neath that weird orange fez!
White as a Sheet
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"
Donald Trump had a real Twitter Scare
then rushed off to fret, vent and share:
"How dare Bernie quote
what I just said and wrote?
Like Megyn he's mean, cruel, unfair!"
Viral Donald
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"
Donald Trump is coronaviral:
his brain's in a downward spiral.
That pale nimbus of hair
proves there's nothing up there
but an empty skull, fluff and denial.
Cassidy Hutchinson is not only credible, but her courage and poise under fire have been incredible. — Michael R. Burch
Cassidy Hutchinson is a modern Erin Brockovich except that in her case the well has been poisoned for the whole country. — Michael R. Burch
The Red State Reaction
by Michael R. Burch
Where the hell are they hidin’
Sleepy Joe Biden?
And how the hell can the bleep
Do so much, in his sleep?
Red State Reject
by Michael R. Burch
I once was a pessimist
but now I’m more optimistic
ever since I discovered my fears
were unsupported by any statistic.
There's no need to rant about Al-Qaeda and ISIS.
The cruelty of "civilization" suffices:
our ordinary vices.
—Michael R. Burch
Flight
by Michael R. Burch
It is the nature of loveliness to vanish
as butterfly wings, batting against nothingness
seek transcendence ...
Originally published by Hibiscus (India)
Less Heroic Couplets: Murder Most Fowl!
by Michael R. Burch
“Murder most foul!”
cried the mouse to the owl.
“Friend, I’m no sinner;
you’re merely my dinner.
As you fall on my sword,
take it up with the LORD!”
the wise owl replied
as the tasty snack died.
Originally published by Lighten Up Online and in Potcake Chapbook #7. In an attempt to demonstrate that not all couplets are heroic, I have created a series of poems called “Less Heroic Couplets.” I believe even poets should abide by truth-in-advertising laws! — Michael R. Burch
The Complete Redefinitions
Faith: falling into the same old claptrap.—Michael R. Burch
Religion: the ties that blind.—Michael R. Burch
Salvation: falling for allure —hook, line and stinker.—Michael R. Burch
Canned political applause: clap track for the claptrap.—Michael R. Burch
Baseball: lots of spittin' mixed with occasional hittin'.—Michael R. Burch
Lingerie: visual foreplay.—Michael R. Burch
A straight flush is a winning hand. A straight-faced flush is when you don't give it away.—Michael R. Burch
Lust: a chemical affair.—Michael R. Burch
Believer: A speck of dust / animated by lust / brief as a mayfly / and yet full of trust.—Michael R. Burch
Theologian: someone who wants life to “make sense” / by believing in a “god” infinitely dense.—Michael R. Burch
Skepticism: The murderer of Eve / cannot be believed.—Michael R. Burch
Death: This dream of nothingness we fear / is salvation clear.—Michael R. Burch
Insuresurrection: The dead are always with us, and yet they are naught!—Michael R. Burch
Marriage: a seldom-observed truce / during wars over money / and a red-faced papoose.—Michael R. Burch
Is “natural affection” affliction? / Is “love” nature’s sleight-of-hand trick / to get us to reproduce / whenever she feels the itch?—Michael R. Burch
Less Heroic Couplets: Mini-Ode to Stamina
by Michael R. Burch
When you’ve given so much
that I can’t bear your touch,
then from a safe distance
let me admire your persistence.
The Trouble with Elephants: a Word to the Wise
by Michael R. Burch
An elephant NEVER forgets,
which is why they don’t make the best pets:
Jumbo may well out-live you,
but he’ll NEVER forgive you
so you may as well save your regrets!
The Beat Goes On (and On and On and On ...)
by Michael R. Burch
Bored stiff by his board-stiff attempts
at “meter,” I crossly concluded
I’d use each iamb
in lieu of a lamb,
bedtimes when I’m under-quaaluded.
Less Heroic Couplets: Less than Impressed
by Michael R. Burch
for T. M., regarding certain dispensers of lukewarm air
Their volume's impressive, it's true...
but somehow it all seems 'much ado.'
Cover Girl
by Michael R. Burch
Cunning
at sunning
and dunning,
the stunning
young woman’s in the running
to be found exposed on the cover
of some patronizing lover.
In this case the cover is a bed cover, where the enterprising young mistress is about to be covered herself.
First Base Freeze
by Michael R. Burch
I find your love unappealing
(no, make that appalling)
because you prefer kissing
then stalling.
Paradoxical Ode to Antinatalism
by Michael R. Burch
A stay on love
would end death’s hateful sway,
someday.
A stay on love
would thus BE love,
I say.
Be true to love
and thus end death’s
fell sway!
Less Heroic Couplets: Crop Duster
by Michael R. Burch
We are dust and to dust we must return ...
but why, then, life’s pointless sojourn?
Translations
Birdsong
by Rumi
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Birdsong relieves
my deepest griefs:
now I'm just as ecstatic as they,
but with nothing to say!
Please universe,
rehearse
your poetry
through me!
Raise your words, not their volume.
Rain grows flowers, not thunder.
—Rumi, translation by Michael R. Burch
The imbecile constructs cages for everyone he knows,
while the sage (who has to duck his head whenever the moon glows)
keeps dispensing keys all night long
to the beautiful, rowdy, prison gang.
—Hafiz loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
An unbending tree
breaks easily.
—Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Little sparks ignite great flames.—Dante, translation by Michael R. Burch
Love distills the eyes’ desires, love bewitches the heart with its grace.—Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch
Once fanaticism has gangrened brains
the incurable malady invariably remains.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Booksellers laud authors for novel editions
as pimps praise their whores for exotic positions.
—Thomas Campion, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
No wind is favorable to the man who lacks direction.
—Seneca the Younger, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My objective is not to side with the majority, but to avoid the ranks of the insane.—Marcus Aurelius, translation by Michael R. Burch
To know what we do know, and to know what we don't, is true knowledge.—Confucius, sometimes incorrectly attributed to Nicolaus Copernicus, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Where our senses fail,
reason must prevail.
—Galileo Galilei, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Hypocrisy may deceive the most perceptive adult, but the dullest child recognizes and is revolted by it, however ingeniously disguised.
—Leo Tolstoy translation by Michael R. Burch
Just as I select a ship when it's time to travel,
or a house when it's time to change residences,
even so I will choose when it's time to depart from life.
—Seneca, speaking about the right to euthanasia in the first century AD, translation by Michael R. Burch
Improve yourself by others' writings, attaining freely what they purchased at the expense of experience.
—Socrates, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fools call wisdom foolishness.
?Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch
One true friend is worth ten thousand kin.
?Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch
Not to speak one’s mind is slavery.
?Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch
I would rather die standing than kneel, a slave.
?Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch
Fresh tears are wasted on old griefs.
?Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch
To live without philosophizing is to close one's eyes and never attempt to open them.
—René Descartes, translation by Michael R. Burch
We who left behind the Aegean’s bellowings
Now sleep peacefully here on the mid-plains of Ecbatan:
Farewell, dear Athens, nigh to Euboea,
Farewell, dear sea!
—Michael R. Burch, after Plato
Native American Proverb
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Before you judge
a man for his sins
be sure to trudge
many moons in his moccasins.
Native American Proverb
by Crazy Horse, Oglala Lakota Sioux (circa 1840-1877)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A man must pursue his Vision
as the eagle explores
the sky's deepest blues.
Native American Proverb
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Let us walk respectfully here
among earth's creatures, great and small,
remembering, our footsteps light,
that one wise God created all.
The Least of These...
What you
do
to
the refugee
you
do
unto
Me!
—Jesus Christ, translation/paraphrase by Michael R. Burch
The Church Gets the Burch Rod
How can the Bible be "infallible" when from Genesis to Revelation slavery is commanded and condoned, but never condemned? —Michael R. Burch
If God
is good
half the Bible
is libel.
—Michael R. Burch
I have my doubts about your God and his "love":
If one screams below, what the hell is "Above"?
—Michael R. Burch
If God has the cattle on a thousand hills,
why does he need my tithes to pay his bills?
—Michael R. Burch
The best tonic for other people's bad ideas is to think for oneself.—Michael R. Burch
Hell hath no fury like a fundamentalist whose God condemned him for having "impure thoughts."—Michael R. Burch
Religion is the difficult process of choosing the least malevolent invisible friends.—Michael R. Burch
Religion is the opiate of the people.—Karl Marx
Religion is the dopiate of the sheeple.—Michael R. Burch
An ideal that cannot be realized is, in the end, just wishful thinking.—Michael R. Burch
God and his "profits" could never agree
on any gospel acceptable to an intelligent flea.
—Michael R. Burch
To fall an inch short of infinity is to fall infinitely short.—Michael R. Burch
Most Christians make God seem like the Devil. Atheists and agnostics at least give him the "benefit of the doubt."—Michael R. Burch
Hell has been hellishly overdone
since Jehovah and his prophets never mentioned it once.
—Michael R. Burch
(Bible scholars agree: the word "hell" has been removed from the Old Testaments of the more accurate modern Bible translations. And the few New Testament verses that mention "hell" are obvious mistranslations.)
If every witty thing that's said were true,
Oscar Wilde, the world would worship You!
—Michael R. Burch
Questionable Credentials
by Michael R. Burch
Poet? Critic? Dilettante?
Do you know what's good, or do you merely flaunt?
(Published by Asses of Parnassus, the first poem in the April 2017 issue)
Dry Hump
by Michael R. Burch
You came to me as rain breaks on the desert
when every flower springs to life at once,
but joy is an illusion to the expert:
the Bedouin has learned how not to want.
Lines in Favor of Female Muses
by Michael R. Burch
I guess Asses of Parnassus are okay...
But those Lasses of Parnassus? My! Olé!
(Published by Asses of Parnassus)
Meal Deal
by Michael R. Burch
Love is a splendid ideal
(at least till it costs us a meal) .
Long Division
by Michael R. Burch as Kim Cherub
All things become one
Through death's long division
And perfect precision.
i o u
by mrb
i might have said it
but i didn't
u might have noticed
but u wouldn't
we might have been us
but we couldn't
u might respond
but probably shouldn't
Mate Check
by Michael R. Burch
Love is an ache hearts willingly secure
then break the bank to cure.
Incompatibles
by Michael R. Burch
Reason's treason!
cries the Heart.
Love's insane,
replies the Brain.
(Originally published by Light)
Death is the ultimate finality
and banality
of reality.
—Michael R. Burch
Stage Fright
by Michael R. Burch
To be or not to be?
In the end Hamlet
opted for naught.
Grave Oversight I
by Michael R. Burch
The dead are always with us,
and yet they are naught!
Grave Oversight II
by Michael R. Burch
for Jim Dunlap, who winked and suggested “not”
The dead are either naught
or naughty, being so sought.
Feathered Fiends
by Michael R. Burch
Fascists of a feather
flock together.
Last Anthem
by Michael R. Burch
Where you have gone are the shadows falling . . .
does memory pale
like a fossil in shale
. . . do you not hear me calling?
Where you have gone do the shadows lengthen . . .
does memory wane
with the absence of pain
. . . is silence at last your anthem?
Why the Kid Gloves Came Off
by Michael R. Burch
for Lemuel Ibbotson
It's hard to be a man of taste
in such a waste:
hence the lambaste.
Housman was right...
by Michael R. Burch
It's true that life's not much to lose,
so why not hang out on a cloud?
It's just the bon voyage is hard
and the objections loud.
Descent
by Michael R. Burch
I have listened to the rain all this morning
and it has a certain gravity,
as if it knows its destination,
perhaps even its particular destiny.
I do not believe mine is to be uplifted,
although I, too, may be flung precipitously
and from a great height.
Reading between the lines
by Michael R. Burch
Who could have read so much, as we?
Having the time, but not the inclination,
TV has become our philosophy,
sheer boredom, our recreation.
Ironic Vacation
by Michael R. Burch
Salzburg.
Seeing Mozart's baby grand piano.
Standing in the presence of sheer incalculable genius.
Grabbing my childish pen to write a poem & challenge the Immortals.
Next stop, the catacombs!
Imperfect Perfection
by Michael R. Burch
You're too perfect for words—
a problem for a poet.
Expert Advice
by Michael R. Burch
Your breasts are perfect for your lithe, slender body.
Please stop making false comparisons your hobby!
Biblical Knowledge or "Knowing Coming and Going"
by Michael R. Burch
The wisest man the world has ever seen
had fourscore concubines and threescore queens?
This gives us pause, and so we venture hence—
he "knew" them, wisely, in the wider sense.
Snap Shots
by Michael R. Burch
Our daughters must be celibate,
die virgins. We triangulate
their early paths to heaven (for
the martyrs they'll soon conjugate) .
We like to hook a little tail.
We hope there's decent ass in jail.
Don't fool with us; our bombs are smart!
(We'll send the plans, ASAP, e-mail.)
The soul is all that matters; why
hoard gold if it offends the eye?
A pension plan? Don't make us laugh!
We have your plan for sainthood. (Die.)
I sampled honeysuckle
and it made my taste buds buckle.
—Michael R. Burch
State of the Art?
A poet may work from sun to sun,
but his editor's work is never done.
The editor's work is never done.
The critic adjusts his cummerbund.
While the critic adjusts his cummerbund,
the audience exits to mingle and slum.
As the audience exits to mingle and slum,
the anthologist rules, a pale jury of one.
Prose Epigrams
We cannot change the past, but we can learn from it.—Michael R. Burch
When I was being bullied, I had to learn not to judge myself by the opinions of intolerant morons. Then I felt much better.—Michael R. Burch
Justice may be blind, but does she have to be deaf too?—Michael R. Burch
The Golden Rule is much easier to recite than observe. — Michael R. Burch
The Golden Rule is much easier to recite for others' benefit than to observe oneself. — Michael R. Burch
Consider a Golden Mean when the Golden Rule is employed. Some people are much harder on themselves than on others. — Michael R. Burch
The most dangerous words ever uttered by human lips are “Thus saith the LORD.” — Michael R. Burch
There is nothing at all supreme, nor anything remotely just, about Clarence Thomas.—Michael R. Burch
How can we predict the future, when tomorrow is as uncertain as Trump's next tweet?—Michael R. Burch
One man's coronation is another man's consternation.—Michael R. Burch
Poetry moves the heart as well as the reason.—Michael R. Burch
Poetry is the art of finding the right word at the right time.—Michael R. Burch
Adam Gopnik called Randall Jarrell the “best-equipped” American poetry critic of the past century; he may have been the “best quipped” as well.?Michael R. Burch
I will never grok picking a picky rule over a Poem! – Michael R. Burch
Improve yourself by others' writings, attaining freely what they purchased at great expense. — Socrates, translation by Michael R. Burch
Experience is the best teacher but a hard taskmaster.—Michael R. Burch
Heaven and hell seem unreasonable to me: the actions of men do not deserve such extremes.
—Jorge Luis Borges, translation by Michael R. Burch
Reality is neither probable nor likely.
—Jorge Luis Borges, translation by Michael R. Burch
Wayne Gretzky was pure skill poured into skates.—Michael R. Burch
Neither the leaf nor the tree laments karma.—Michael R. Burch
Less Heroic Couplets: Gilded Silence
by Michael R. Burch
Golden silence reigned supreme
in my nightmare and her dream.
Christ!
by Michael R. Burch
If I knew men could be so dumb,
I would never have come!
Now you lie, cheat and steal in my name
and make it a thing of shame.
Did I heal the huge holes in your heart, in your head?
Isn’t it obvious: I’m dead
and unable to repeal what I never said?
A Further Farewell to Dentistry
by Michael R. Burch
(for and after Richard Moore, from whom I absconded the title)
Lately I've been eschewing
ice chewing
and my indentured dentist’s been boo-hooing.
a passing question for the Moral Majority:
by Michael R. Burch
since GOD created u so gullible
how did u conclude HE’s so lovable?
Piecemeal
by Michael R. Burch
And so it begins—the ending.
The narrowing veins, the soft tissues rending.
Your final solution is pending.
(A pale Piggy-Wiggy
will discount your demise as no biggie.)
Ah! Sunflower
by Michael R. Burch
after William Blake
O little yellow flower
like a star ...
how beautiful,
how wonderful
we are!
A Passing Observation about Thinking Outside the Box
by Michael R. Burch
William Blake had no public, and yet he’s still read.
His critics are dead.
I didn’t mean to love you,
but I did.
Best leave the rest unsaid,
hid-
den
and unbidden.
—Michael R. Burch
You imagine life is good,
but have you actually understood?
—Michael R. Burch
Living with a body ain’t much fun.
Harder, still, to live without one.
Whatever happened to our day in the sun?
—Michael R. Burch
How little remains of our joys and our pains.
How little remains of our losses and gains.
How little remains of whatever remains.
—Michael R. Burch
Sometimes I feel better, it’s true,
but mostly I’m still not over you.
—Michael R. Burch
Don’t let the past defeat you.
Learn from it, but don’t dwell.
Have no regrets at “farewell.”
—Michael R. Burch
Haughty moon,
when did I ever trouble you,
insomnia’s co-conspirator!
—Michael R. Burch
Every day’s a new chance to lose weight,
but most likely,
I’ll
... procrastinate ...
—Michael R. Burch
Big Ben Boner
by Michael R. Burch
Early to bed, hurriedly to rise
makes a man stealthy,
and that’s why he’s wealthy:
what the hell is he doing behind your closed eyes?
Friend, how you’ll squirm
when you belatedly learn
that you’re the worm!
Pecking Disorder
by Michael R. Burch
Love has a pecking order,
or maybe a dis-order,
a hell we recognize
if we merely open our eyes:
the attractive win at birth,
while those of ample girth
are deemed of little worth
from Nottingham to Perth.
Nottingham is said to have the most beautiful women in the world.
Tease
by Michael R. Burch
It’s what you always say, okay?
It’s what you always say:
C’mon let’s play,
roll in the hay,
It’s what you always say. Ole!
But little do you do, it’s true.
But little do you do.
A little diddle, run to piddle ...
we never really screw!
That’s you!
Observance (II)
by Michael R. Burch
fifty years later...
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
majestic to the eye.
Whoever felt as I,
whoever
felt them doomed to die
despite their flamboyant colors?
They seem like knights of dismal countenance ...
as if, windmills themselves,
they might tilt with the bloody sky.
And yet their favors gaily fly!
KEYWORDS/TAGS: epigram, epigrams, love, life, living, fun, sun, joy, pain, past, sad, sadness
In My House
by Michael R. Burch
I was once the only caucasian in the software company I founded and managed. I had two fine young black programmers working for me, and they both had keys to my house. This poem looks back to the dark days of slavery and the Civil War it produced.
When you were in my house
you were not free—
in chains bound.
"Manifest Destiny?"
I was wrong;
my plantation burned to the ground.
I was wrong.
This is my song,
this is my plea:
I was wrong.
When you are in my house,
now, I am not free.
I feel the song
hurling itself back at me.
We were wrong.
This is my history.
I feel my tongue
stilting accordingly.
We were wrong;
brother, forgive me.
Published by Black Medina
Keywords/Tags: Race, Racism, Black Lives Matter, Equality, Brotherhood, Fraternity, Sisterhood, Tolerance, Acceptance, Civil Rights
Floating
by Michael R. Burch
Memories flood the sand’s unfolding scroll;
they pour in with the long, cursive tides of night.
Memories of revenant blue eyes and wild lips
moist and frantic against my own.
Memories of ghostly white limbs . . .
of soft sighs
heard once again in the surf’s strangled moans.
We meet in the scarred, fissured caves of old dreams,
green waves of algae billowing about you,
becoming your hair.
Suspended there,
where pale sunset discolors the sea,
I see all that you are
and all that you have become to me.
Your love is a sea,
and I am its trawler—
harbored in dreams,
I ride out night’s storms.
Unanchored, I drift through the hours before morning,
dreaming the solace of your warm breasts,
pondering your riddles, savoring the feel
of the explosions of your hot, saline breath.
And I rise sometimes
from the tropical darkness
to gaze once again out over the sea . . .
You watch in the moonlight
that brushes the water;
bright waves throw back your reflection at me.
This is one of my more surreal poems, as the sea and lover become one. I believe I wrote this one at age 19. It has been published by Penny Dreadful, Romantics Quarterly, Boston Poetry Magazine and Poetry Life & Times. The poem may have had a different title when it was originally published, but it escapes me . . . ah, yes, "Entanglements."
Instruction
by Michael R. Burch
Toss this poem aside
to the filigreed and the prettified tide
of sunset.
Strike my name,
and still it is all the same.
The onset
of night is in the despairing skies;
each hut shuts its bright bewildered eyes.
The wind sighs
and my heart sighs with her—
my only companion, O Lovely Drifter!
Still, men are not wise.
The moon appears; the arms of the wind lift her,
pooling the light of her silver portent,
while men, impatient,
are beings of hurried and harried despair.
Now willows entangle their fragrant hair.
Men sleep.
Cornsilk tassels the moonbright air.
Deep is the sea; the stars are fair.
I reap.
Originally published by Romantics Quarterly
Anyte Epigrams
Stranger, rest your weary legs beneath the elms;
hear how coolly the breeze murmurs through their branches;
then take a bracing draught from the mountain-fed fountain;
for this is welcome shade from the burning sun.
—Anyte, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Here I stand, Hermes, in the crossroads
by the windswept elms near the breezy beach,
providing rest to sunburned travelers,
and cold and brisk is my fountain’s abundance.
—Anyte, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Sit here, quietly shaded by the luxuriant foliage,
and drink cool water from the sprightly spring,
so that your weary breast, panting with summer’s labors,
may take rest from the blazing sun.
—Anyte, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This is the grove of Cypris,
for it is fair for her to look out over the land to the bright deep,
that she may make the sailors’ voyages happy,
as the sea trembles, observing her brilliant image.
—Anyte, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Nossis Epigrams
There is nothing sweeter than love.
All other delights are secondary.
Thus, I spit out even honey.
This is what Gnossis says:
Whom Aphrodite does not love,
Is bereft of her roses.
—Nossis, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Most revered Hera, the oft-descending from heaven,
behold your Lacinian shrine fragrant with incense
and receive the linen robe your noble child Nossis,
daughter of Theophilis and Cleocha, has woven for you.
—Nossis, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Stranger, if you sail to Mitylene, my homeland of beautiful dances,
to indulge in the most exquisite graces of Sappho,
remember I also was loved by the Muses, who bore me and reared me there.
My name, never forget it!, is Nossis. Now go!
—Nossis, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Pass me with ringing laughter, then award me
a friendly word: I am Rinthon, scion of Syracuse,
a small nightingale of the Muses; from their tragedies
I was able to pluck an ivy, unique, for my own use.
—Nossis, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Excerpts from “Distaff”
by Erinna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
… the moon rising …
… leaves falling …
… waves lapping a windswept shore …
… and our childish games, Baucis, do you remember? ...
... Leaping from white horses,
running on reckless feet through the great courtyard.
“You’re it!’ I cried, ‘You’re the Tortoise now!”
But when your turn came to pursue your pursuers,
you darted beyond the courtyard,
dashed out deep into the waves,
splashing far beyond us …
… My poor Baucis, these tears I now weep are your warm memorial,
these traces of embers still smoldering in my heart
for our silly amusements, now that you lie ash …
… Do you remember how, as girls,
we played at weddings with our dolls,
pretending to be brides in our innocent beds? ...
... How sometimes I was your mother,
allotting wool to the weaver-women,
calling for you to unreel the thread? ...
… Do you remember our terror of the monster Mormo
with her huge ears, her forever-flapping tongue,
her four slithering feet, her shape-shifting face? ...
... Until you mother called for us to help with the salted meat ...
... But when you mounted your husband’s bed,
dearest Baucis, you forgot your mothers’ warnings!
Aphrodite made your heart forgetful ...
... Desire becomes oblivion ...
... Now I lament your loss, my dearest friend.
I can’t bear to think of that dark crypt.
I can’t bring myself to leave the house.
I refuse to profane your corpse with my tearless eyes.
I refuse to cut my hair, but how can I mourn with my hair unbound?
I blush with shame at the thought of you! …
... But in this dark house, O my dearest Baucis,
My deep grief is ripping me apart.
Wretched Erinna! Only nineteen,
I moan like an ancient crone, eying this strange distaff ...
O Hymen! . . . O Hymenaeus! . . .
Alas, my poor Baucis!
Sophocles Epigrams
One of the first great voices to directly question whether human being should give birth was that of Sophocles, around 2,500 years ago ...
Not to have been born is best,
and blessed
beyond the ability of words to express.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
It’s a hundred times better not be born;
but if we cannot avoid the light,
the path of least harm is swiftly to return
to death’s eternal night!
—Sophocles, Oedipus at Colonus, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Never to be born may be the biggest boon of all.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Oblivion: What a boon, to lie unbound by pain!
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The happiest life is one empty of thought.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Consider no man happy till he lies dead, free of pain at last.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
What is worse than death? When death is desired but denied.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
When a man endures nothing but endless miseries, what is the use of hanging on day after day,
edging closer and closer toward death? Anyone who warms his heart with the false glow of flickering hope is a wretch! The noble man should live with honor and die with honor. That's all that can be said.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Children anchor their mothers to life.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
How terrible, to see the truth when the truth brings only pain to the seer!
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Wisdom outweighs all the world's wealth.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fortune never favors the faint-hearted.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Wait for evening to appreciate the day's splendor.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Homer Epigrams
For the gods have decreed that unfortunate mortals must suffer, while they themselves are sorrowless.
—Homer (circa 800 BC), Iliad 24.525-526, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
“It is best not to be born or, having been born, to pass on as swiftly as possible.”
—attributed to Homer (circa 800 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Surrender to sleep at last! What an ordeal, keeping watch all night, wide awake. Soon you’ll succumb to sleep and escape all your troubles. Sleep. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Any moment might be our last. Earth’s magnificence? Magnified because we’re doomed. You will never be lovelier than at this moment. We will never pass this way again. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Let’s hope the gods are willing. They rule the vaulting skies. They’re stronger than men to plan, execute and realize their ambitions.—Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Passage home? Impossible! Surely you have something else in mind, Goddess, urging me to cross the ocean’s endless expanse in a raft. So vast, so full of danger! Hell, sometimes not even the sea-worthiest ships can prevail, aided as they are by Zeus’s mighty breath! I’ll never set foot on a raft, Goddess, until you swear by all that’s holy you’re not plotting some new intrigue! — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Few sons surpass their fathers; most fall short, all too few overachieve. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Beauty! Ah, Terrible Beauty! A deathless Goddess, she startles our eyes! — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Many dread seas and many dark mountain ranges lie between us. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The lives of mortal men? Like the leaves’ generations. Now the old leaves fall, blown and scattered by the wind. Soon the living timber bursts forth green buds as spring returns. Even so with men: as one generation is born, another expires. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Since I’m attempting to temper my anger, it does not behoove me to rage unrelentingly on. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Overpowering memories subsided to grief. Priam wept freely for Hector, who had died crouching at Achilles’ feet, while Achilles wept himself, first for his father, then for Patroclus, as their mutual sobbing filled the house. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
“Genius is discovered in adversity, not prosperity.” — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Ruin, the eldest daughter of Zeus, blinds us all with her fatal madness. With those delicate feet of hers, never touching the earth, she glides over our heads, trapping us all. First she entangles you, then me, in her lethal net. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Death and Fate await us all. Soon comes a dawn or noon or sunset when someone takes my life in battle, with a well-flung spear or by whipping a deadly arrow from his bow. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Death is the Great Leveler, not even the immortal gods can defend the man they love most when the dread day dawns for him to take his place in the dust.—Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Ancient Roman Epigrams
Wall, I'm astonished that you haven't collapsed,
since you're holding up verses so prolapsed!
—Ancient Roman graffiti, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
There is nothing so pointless, so perfidious as human life! ... The ultimate bliss is not to be born; otherwise we should speedily slip back into the original Nothingness.
—Seneca, On Consolation to Marcia, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Truths are more likely discovered by one man than by nations.
—Rene Descartes, translation by Michael R. Burch
EPIGRAM TRANSLATIONS BY MICHAEL R. BURCH
Speechless at Auschwitz
by Ko Un
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
At Auschwitz
piles of glasses
mountains of shoes ...
returning, we stared out different windows.
Ko Un speaks for all of us, by not knowing what to say about the evidence of the Holocaust, and man's inhumanity to man.
Ko Un was speechless at Auschwitz.
Someday, when it’s too late,
will we be speechless at Gaza?
—Michael R. Burch
Booksellers laud authors for novel editions
as pimps praise their whores for exotic positions.
—Thomas Campion, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A question that sometimes drives me hazy:
am I or are the others crazy?
—Albert Einstein, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Elevate your words, not their volume. Rain grows flowers, not thunder.—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Why should I brood when every petal of my being is blossoming?—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
What you seek also pursues you.—Rumi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
This is love: to fly toward a mysterious sky,
to cause ten thousand veils to fall.
First, to stop clinging to life,
then to step out, without feet ...
—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Love renders reason senseless.
—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I test the tightrope
balancing a child
in each arm.
—Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Let me live with joy today, since tomorrow is unforeseeable.
—Palladas of Alexandria, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
To live without philosophizing is to close one's eyes and never attempt to open them. – Rene Descartes, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Religion is the opiate of the people.—Karl Marx
Religion is the dopiate of the sheeple.—Michael R. Burch
How happy the soul who speeds back to the Source,
but crowned with peace is the one who never came.
—a Sophoclean passage from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Improve yourself by others' writings, attaining freely what they purchased at great expense.
—Socrates, translation by Michael R. Burch
EPIGRAMS BY MICHAEL R. BURCH
Brief Fling
by Michael R. Burch
“Epigram”
means cram,
then scram!
Published by Brief Poems, Poem Today and The HyperTexts
Brief Fling II
by Michael R. Burch
To write an epigram,
cram.
If you lack wit, scram!
Published by Brief Poems, Ethnu Couplet and The HyperTexts
Brief Fling III
by Michael R. Burch
No one gives a damn about my epigram?
And yet they’ll spend billions on Boy George and Wham!
Do they have any idea just how hard I cram?
Nod to the Master
by Michael R. Burch
for the Divine Oscar Wilde
If every witty thing that’s said were true,
Oscar Wilde, the world would worship You!
Stage Fright
by Michael R. Burch
To be or not to be?
In the end Hamlet
opted for naught.
Erotic Errata
by Michael R. Burch
I didn’t mean to love you; if I did,
it came unbid-
en, and should’ve remained hid-
den!
Dry Hump
by Michael R. Burch
You came to me as rain breaks on the desert
when every flower springs to life at once.
But joys are wan illusions to the expert:
the Bedouin has learned how not to want.
Love is either wholly folly,
or fully holy.
—Michael R. Burch
Intimations
by Michael R. Burch
Let mercy surround us
with a sweet persistence.
Let love propound to us
that life is infinitely more than existence.
Less Heroic Couplets: Marketing 101
by Michael R. Burch
Building her brand, she disrobes,
naked, except for her earlobes.
Less Heroic Couplets: Shell Game
by Michael R. Burch
I saw a turtle squirtle!
Before you ask, “How fertile?”
The squirt came from its mouth.
Why do your thoughts fly south?
The best tonic for other people's bad ideas is to think for oneself.—Michael R. Burch
I will never grok picking a picky rule over a Poem!—Michael R. Burch
Experience is the best teacher but a hard taskmaster.—Michael R. Burch
Wayne Gretzky was pure skill poured into skates.—Michael R. Burch
Neither the leaf nor the tree laments karma.—Michael R. Burch
Less Heroic Couplets: Gilded Silence
by Michael R. Burch
Golden silence reigned supreme
in my nightmare and her dream.
Villanelle of an Opportunist
by Michael R. Burch
I’m not looking for someone to save.
A gal has to do what a gal has to do:
I’m looking for a man with one foot in the grave.
How many highways to hell must I pave
with intentions imagined, not true?
I’m not looking for someone to save.
Fools praise compassion while weaklings rave,
but a gal has to do what a gal has to do.
I’m looking for a man with one foot in the grave.
Some praise the Lord but the Devil’s my fave
because he has led me to you!
I’m not looking for someone to save.
In the land of the free and the home of the brave,
a gal has to do what a gal has to do.
I’m looking for a man with one foot in the grave.
Every day without meds becomes a close shave
and the razor keeps tempting me too.
I’m not looking for someone to save:
I’m looking for a man with one foot in the grave.
She is brighter than dawn
by Michael R. Burch
for Beth
There’s a light about her
like the moon through a mist:
a bright incandescence
with which she is blessed
and my heart to her light
like the tide now is pulled . . .
she is fair, O, and bright
like the moon silver-veiled.
There’s a fire within her
like the sun’s leaping forth
to lap up the darkness
of night from earth's hearth
and my eyes to her flame
like twin moths now are drawn
till my heart is consumed.
She is brighter than dawn.
The Difference
by Michael R. Burch
The chimneysweeps
will weep
for Blake,
who wrote his poems
for their dear sake.
The critics clap,
polite, for you.
Another poem
for poets,
Whooo!
Crunch
by Michael R. Burch
for Trump
A cockroach could live nine months on the dried mucous you scrounge from your nose
then fling like seedplants to the slowly greening floor ...
You claim to be the advanced life form, but, mon frere,
sometimes as you snatch encrusted kinks of hair from your Leviathan ass
and muse softly on zits, icebergs snap off the Antarctic.
You’re an evolutionary quandary, in need of a sacral ganglion
to control your enlarged, contradictory hindquarters:
surely the brain should migrate closer to its primary source of information,
in order to ensure the survival of the species.
Cockroaches thrive on eyeboogers and feces;
their exoskeletons expand and gleam like burnished armor in the presence of uranium.
But your cranium
is not nearly so adaptable.
“Crunch” is a poem about evolution and survival of the fittest which questions where human beings really are the planet earth’s most advanced life forms. Keywords/Tags: evolution, global warming, insects, cockroaches, advance life form, survival of the fittest, adaptability
Teddy Roosevelt spoke softly and carried a big stick; Donald Trump speaks loudly and carries a big shtick.—Michael R. Burch
Viral Donald (I)
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"
Donald Trump is coronaviral:
his brain's in a downward spiral.
His pale nimbus of hair
proves there's nothing up there
but an empty skull, fluff and denial.
Viral Donald (II)
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"
Why didn't Herr Trump, the POTUS,
protect us from the Coronavirus?
That weird orange corona of hair's an alarm:
Trump is the Virus in Human Form!
Limerick-Ode to a Much-Eaten Ass
by Michael R. Burch
There wonst wus a president, Trump,
whose greatest ass (et) wus his rump.
It was padded ’n’ shiny,
that great orange hiney,
but to drain it we’d need a sump pump!
The Less-Than-Divine Results of My Prayers to be Saved from Televangelists
by Michael R. Burch
I’m old,
no longer bold,
just cold,
and (truth be told),
been bought and sold,
rolled
by the wolves and the lambs in the fold.
Who’s to be told
by this worn-out scold?
The complaint department is always on hold.
Poets laud Justice’s
high principles.
Trump just gropes
her raw genitals.
—Michael R. Burch
Teeter Tots
by Michael R. Burch
For your spuds to become Tater Tots,
first, artfully cut out the knots,
then dice them to cubes
deep-fried, served to rubes,
(but not if they’re acting like snots).
Spring Was Delayed
by Michael R. Burch
Winter came early:
the driving snows,
the delicate frosts
that crystallize
all we forget
or refuse to know,
all we regret
that makes us wise.
Spring was delayed:
the nubile rose,
the tentative sun,
the wind’s soft sighs,
all we omit
or refuse to show,
whatever we shield
behind guarded eyes.
Originally published by Borderless Journal
Native American Prayer
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Help us learn the lessons you have left us here
in every leaf and rock.
"Lu Zhai" ("Deer Park")
by Wang Wei (699-759)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Uninhabited hills ...
except that now and again the silence is broken
by something like the sound of distant voices
as the sun's sinking rays illuminate lichens ...
Wang Wei (699-759) was a Chinese poet, musician, painter, and politician during the Tang dynasty. He had 29 poems included in the 18th-century anthology Three Hundred Tang Poems. "Lu Zhai" ("Deer Park") is one of his best-known poems.
I’m afraid Donald Justice was a bit over-optimistic in his poem “Men at Forty” …
Men at Sixty
by Michael R. Burch
after Donald Justice's "Men at Forty"
Learn to gently close
doors to rooms
you can never re-enter.
Rest against the stair rail
as the solid steps
buck and buckle like ships’ decks.
Rediscover in mirrors
your father’s face
once warm with the mystery of lather,
now electrically plucked.
That country wench bewitches your heart?
Hell, her most beguiling art’s
hiking her dress
to seduce you with her ankles' nakedness!
Sappho, fragment 57, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
When I visited Byron's residence at Newstead Abbey, there were peacocks running around the grounds, which I thought appropriate.
Byron
was not a shy one,
as peacocks run.
—Michael R. Burch
Reality is neither probable nor likely.
—Jorge Luis Borges, translation by Michael R. Burch
Epitaph for the Child Erotion
by Marcus Valerius Martial
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Lie lightly on her, grass and dew ...
So little weight she placed on you.
Erotic Errata
by Michael R. Burch
I didn’t mean to love you; if I did,
it came unbid-
en,
and should’ve remained hid-
den!
Brief Fling
by Michael R. Burch
“Epigram”
means cram,
then scram!
Salvation of a Formalist, an Ode to Entropy
by Michael R. Burch
Entropy?
God's universal decree
That I get to be
Disorderly?
Suddenly
My erstwhile boxed-in verse is free?
Wheeeeee!
God Had a Plan
by Michael R. Burch
God had a plan
though it was hardly “divine.”
He created a terror:
Frankenstein.
He blamed death on man:
was that part of the plan
so hard to define,
or did he just cut his losses?
Now sleepless he tosses
hearing the screams,
the wild anger and fear
of men in despair.
Just disappear!,
he cries to himself
on his fearful bed,
tearful, afraid
of those he misled.
Ah-men!
Keywords/Tags: epigram, epigrams, Wang Wei, Chinese, translation, nature, animal, deer, park, hills, silence, sound, voices, wind, voice, sun, rays, illuminate, peace, growth, wisdom, elegy, eulogy, child, childhood, death, death of a friend, lament, lamentation, epitaph, grave, funeral, proverbs, quotes, sayings, mrbepi
Published as the collection "Epigrams"
