Observant misconstrued glances weaving conclusions
of what is above your paygrade of perceptiveness.
imperfections of what you glance upon.

A child in the confinement of misunderstanding,
Only the turbulence of reality like ocean waves.
Solitude of emotions then surges of confusion crash.

Lost in the tall trees of emotions as the leafs of
disorientation venture to cloud a mind of needed calm.
The conciseness needs the rhyme of routine to balance.

Heed this thought those of ill-conceived notions that
when this little miracle has a moment of uncontained
emotion, it is not for your misconceived wordings.

"My little one mummy is here, daddy too,
"Hear our voices like a calm ocean over you,

A mother embraces the worries of your thoughts,
easing the confusion of the world away..
Others may stare in ignorant stances.

*"But nothing is wrong with you, you're our baby
cuddling the confusion of your surroundings away.

Reflections on the Loss of Vision
by Michael R. Burch

The sparrow that cries from the shelter of an ancient oak tree and the squirrels
that dash in delight through the treetops as the first snow glistens and swirls,
remind me so much of my childhood and how the world seemed to me then,
    that it seems if I tried
    and just closed my eyes,
I could once again be nine or ten.

The rabbits that hide in the bushes where the snowflakes collect as they fall,
hunch there, I know, in the concealing snow, yet now I can't see them at all.
For time slowly weakened my vision; while the patterns seem almost as clear,
    some things that I saw
    when I was a boy,
are lost to me now in my advancing years.

The chipmunk who seeks out his burrow and the geese now preparing to leave
are there as they were, and yet they are not; and though it seems childish to grieve,
who would condemn a blind man for bemoaning the vision he lost?
    Well, in a small way,
    through the passage of days,
I have learned some of his loss.

For, as a young boy I endeavored to see things most adults could not—
the camouflaged nests of the hoot owls, the woodpecker’s favorite spots.
But now I no longer can find them, nor understand how I once could,
    and it seems such a waste
    of those far-sighted days,
to end up near blind in this wood.

Keywords/Tags: reflections, loss, vision, childhood, eyesight, perceptiveness, acuity, age, aging, cataracts, blindness, days, years, decades, near-sighted, far-sighted



What the Poet Sees
by Michael R. Burch

What the poet sees,
he sees as a swimmer
~~~underwater~~~
watching the shoreline blur
sees through his breath’s weightless bubbles ...
Both worlds grow obscure.

Published by ByLine, Mandrake Poetry Review, Poetically Speaking, E Mobius Pi, Underground Poets, Little Brown Poetry, Little Brown Poetry, Triplopia, Poetic Ponderings, Poem Kingdom, PW Review, Neovictorian/Cochlea, Muse Apprentice Guild, Mindful of Poetry, Poetry on Demand, Poet’s Haven, Famous Poets and Poems, and Bewildering Stories

It came to me in silence
A reflective state of being
This epiphany has uncovered
Deeper wounds in need of healing

I choose to sit within this
Ever growing pile of ****
As unbearable as the stench may be
I can't escape its filthy grip

Chained to perceptiveness
Heavy burdens hold the key
To locks I am imprisoned
In the depths of misery

Contained within the boundaries
And the limits of my mind
I choose to glorify the victim
And the need to be confined

My dad said,
Son...
one day your gonna want a family,
and it has been the curse of
the male of our line,
to take forever to decide
what they want,
and he gave me names,
examples and dates,
and I nodded along smiling,
seething,
He said,
Baby boy,
Little kid,
Go back to college and i'll pay your debt
as if he wasnt struggling to make ends meet,
as is.

He said, Do this,
or later you will come to regret,
and wish that you did,
and I shook my head.
AND I SAID.
I want to be sane and happy!
I shall have no regrets,
I have much too many!
Life has stolen everything from me,
making me who I am,
someone who finds no shame
in quit.
I have no drive or will,
what is success or money,
But prostitution of the human
driven by the dollar and
Societies judgmental mills
to ostracize those who don't fit the mold,
who don't want to dream,
who don't want to build,
Because being an American it seems,
Is being an individual,
as long as you are an individual,
they want you to be, and if your not,
they are french,
and cest la ******* vie.

And I said,
Dad, You are looking down upon me.
I may want a family, in fact I'd have one today,
if anyone was willing,
But I doubt anyone will love me,
and even if they did, I proclaim,
quite meatily,
We don't need money,
We will get by, the best we can
as everyone else does.
No better or worse.
Just, simply,
existing.
Hopefully,
Happily.

But no, he proclaimed,
you'll want a house some day!
Some where to raise your kids,
At least, if not college,
if that won't make you happy,
come work for me,
sell cars, get a beach house,
as a dad I felt his need to just
give me something,
because as he's never really understood me,
I think he's still always tried the best he could.
And on this, my perceptiveness got a hold of me,
and much to my shame
I Said; Yes.

Human emotions are the most fervent.
It could be love for a day and hatred for another.
Love is captivating,
And hatred distrupts the mind.

When people emotions are intertwined
They lose their perceptiveness
Then,
It will be hard to have the world in one's mind.