This isn't news
It's Newport News
It makes you dance

Bill Bailey

And the moon walks
from sweet Virginia
never from Neverland

Bill Bailey

The first flight
In Apollo
blew up the night

Bill Bailey

Call it what you want
You can't walk on the moon
without the backslide

Bill Bailey

Apollo’s chariot rests
below the horizon’s layers
yellow, pink, and blue.
Breathing in the sunset,
night’s chill takes the air
with chirping crickets
hooting owls
and starlike fire flies.

So long ago was the wonder turned to real by the Eagle flying by.
A child in awe I watched that miracle outside of Earth's blue sky.

In grainy black and white the world united in an up turned gaze.
To dream a unified dream for all, in those long ago heroic days.

A dream for all of mankind and your words they called it so.
Joint in belief of great achievement of how far our species could go.

You carried the heroes of a decade that paved a road up to that day.
You caught the minds of others and set new heroes on their way.

There was Mike and Buzz and you and yet others there would be.
Who would follow that first footstep that you left upon the sea.

Cloud 9
Force ten
Apollo 11

I'm high in the sky
Driven like the wind
But walking on the moon

I am the acantha bud
with a rootless stem.

Suspended, wet flesh.

Not planted; placed

on an exhausted window sill.

Catatonic:
in vase.

I live in this old room.

Exact: I do not live here.
I am waiting.
Spackled layers and many coats of paint.

Ill-concealed cracks.
Walls that still attempt
a proud face.

My stem aches from holding

this pose.

And the legs of the bed ache in anticipation.

Passing in private anguish.

I think the room is ignoring me and

I sense that the crowing walls yearn
to weep.

I'd like to burst into 1,000 velvet thorns.
To feel the stretch of my life on full display.

Streaks of sunlight beckon a burgeoning future,
but my flower never finds spring.

A stillborn bit of matter.

Months pass on this sill of ruin.

My once sturdy base,

drops my wilted stem,
and my fragile vase.

Shattered bits and splinters.

At last! a new pattern on
the snoring carpet.

I am the vagrant acantha
with a rootless stem.
But you could house all of my existence.

You, the body of infinite sympathies.
A cherished vessel.

Exact: You could house all of existence.

But my infinite oblivion
left you lost and fragmented,
like the shards of

my face.

I feel you with me, I feel your grace,
as your sunbeams hit my face.
You warm me up with a cup of hot tea
and relax with me beneath a bay tree.
I see you in every stranger's smile
you make my day all the worthwhile.
As we watch the sun go down
you help me make some flower crowns
to give to my dejected sibling
who I love despite our quibbling.
As I turn my playlist up
I feel the heat leave my teacup.
'cause now we have to say goodnight
as Artemis comes to take the night.

He chased love like a child chases dreams
Like a dog chases its tail
Excited, carefree and hopeful
Like second nature

Daphne was his temple of worship
He turned the ground she walked on
Into precious gold embroidered with jewels
He played songs of love on his golden Lyre
Lovely melodies for her and her alone
But she would never look at him the same
She only saw the caterpillar, never the butterfly

She decided rather than to love him
She would prefer to be wiped from existence
But Apollo never hated her for it
When she was turned into a Laurel tree
He made a crown from her leaves
Wore it with pride around his head
And wept for love that taught him
Even the Gods hearts can bleed for love

He took his ****** heart and let it heal in Troy
He placed it in the hands of the beautiful Cassandra
Who took his love and abused it with insecurity
She pretended to be sincere as she took his gifts
Strung him along with hope trailed behind her
Like cheese in a mouse trap

He gave her the gift of prophecies
And she left him with the agony of abandonment
Thought she was cunning, tricking a god

Do you think she ever thought
about the ways his heart must have sunk when she used him?
Could she see far enough into the future and predict
all of the ways he would reflect
on why he wasn't good enough for her
for all of eternity?
And did she feel remorse?

He gathered his tears and left with his sunken heart once more

Perhaps the only one who truly loved Apollo
Was his dear Hyacinthus, the alluring Spartan Prince
The short time they had together gave Apollo back his hope
His heart had finally healed, mended and repaired once more
But even the mighty god of healing could not save the one he loved

Zephyrus' jealousy and envy stole from him as if the other Gods weren't satisfied with his happiness and cursed him to never find true love
He held Hyacinthus in his arms as he died, trying to heal to no avail
He cursed his weakness as love once more slipped away from his open arms
To commemorate his lover, he sprung a flower from the blood
A hyacinth, a permanent reminder of his grief

He gathered his heavy, grieving heart as he tried to move on, but fate wasn't done with him quite yet

The Princess Coronis had everything she could ever want
But she was selfish and took a piece of Apollo's grieving heart
A piece she never intended to hold in a gentle grasp
A piece she didn't want to cherish or to return
But Apollo was blind to her cruel motives behind her lovely words

He had fallen for her, loved and treasured her so much
He truly believed he had found redamancy at last
And wanted to keep her safe from all harm or sorrow
Keep her away from the wicked hands of the Gods
Like Eros who shot his Daphne with a lead arrow
So that she may never find love in her heart
Like Zephyrus who stole the life of his Hyacinthus
In order to protect his treasured love
A white crow was sent to watch over her

Yet no matter what Apollo did,
Love was not meant for him
It fell through his hands like
Life falls through time
Endlessly and hopelessly

Coronis's affair with Ischys was revealed
And Apollo learned the heartbreak of betrayal
Unlike Cassandra, she didn't return with her life
Apollo shed no tears as he loved for the last time
And left that piece of his heart behind

The innocent white crow
He made to represent his healing heart
Turned black to serve as a reminder
Of the true deception and torture that love can leave behind

Don't look at a God as something to use
As someone who is cruel for no reason
Look into their abuse
Marvel at how they managed to survive even just one more season
And ask yourself if you could do the same

my sweetest apollo
you are the only one
i will hopelessly
freefall into
time and time again
and even as i'm falling,
i will only
thank the stars
that i got so close.

hymn to Apollo
by Michael R. Burch

something of sunshine attracted my i
as it lazed on the afternoon sky,
golden, splashed on the easel of god;
what, i thought,
could this elfin stuff be,
to, phantomlike, flit
through tall trees
on fall days, such as these?

and the breeze
whispered a dirge
to the vanishing light;
enchoired with the evening, it sang;
its voice enchantedly rang
chanting “Night!” . . .

till all the bright light
retired,
expired.

This poem appeared in my high school literary journal, the Lantern, so it was written by age 18, but probably around age 16 or 17. That was my "cummings" period. Keywords/Tags: sun, god, sunshine, Apollo, elfin, phantom, ghostly, magical, enchanted, bright, light, brilliant, sky, golden



Moon Lake
by Michael R. Burch

Starlit recorder of summer nights,
what magic spell bewitches you?
They say that all lovers love first in the dark...
Is it true?
Is it true?
Is it true?

Starry-eyed seer of all that appears
and all that has appeared—
What sights have you seen?
What dreams have you dreamed?
What rhetoric have you heard?

Is love an oration,
or is it a word?
Have you heard?
Have you heard?
Have you heard?

I believe I wrote this poem in my late teens, during my “Romantic Period.”



Tomb Lake
by Michael R. Burch

Go down to the valley
  where mockingbirds cry,
  alone, ever lonely . . .
  yes, go down to die.
And dream in your dying
  you never shall wake.
  Go down to the valley;
  go down to Tomb Lake.
Tomb Lake is a cauldron
  of souls such as yours —
  mad souls without meaning,
  frail souls without force.
Tomb Lake is a graveyard
  reserved for the dead.
  They lie in her shallows
  and sleep in her bed.

I believe this poem and "Moon Lake" were companion poems, written around my senior year in high school, in 1976. In addition to having similar titles, they had similar "staircase" indention styles. According to my notes, I modified "Moon Lake" two years later in 1978, at which time the poem was substantially finished. I then modified "Tomb Lake" in 1981, but must have forgotten about it, because I don't show that I ever submitted the poem for publication or did anything with it for more than 40 years. Keywords/Tags: Moon, Lake, Lakes, Water, Reflection, Reflections, Image, Imagery, Mirror, Magic, Magician, Seer, Prophet, Shaman, Spell, Spells, Enchantment, Sorcery, Bewitchment, Bewilderment, Incantation, Rhapsody, Love Talk, Love Potion