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Poetic T Aug 2020
I was there floating, collapsing in every direction.
Couldn't gather my barning's. I was a compass lost
                    in the waves of eternities disorientation.

I saw her burn, a billion souls screaming in devouring
regrets that spread like a silent blanket.
Smoothing, asphyxiating every blossom, there life
                            expelled to the wind of  meaningless
teardrops that drenched every corner of this apple.

Now glazed in a hue of ill tasting caramel dust..
      We looked down in disturbance.
But a friend who i'd called a friend, mate.

                Looked at us all, a compass of many
lands who worked together for a better after.
This wasn't a time, a tomorrow. to them it was
Already a shockwave of repercussions..

     This egg shell, cracked silently..
In in this vacuum nothing is collected only vacated
at a velocity of collapsed colours petrified.

I was the last human, in the universe that never heard
        a light blown out by the wind of a billion suns..

We were bright for a moment,
            but we faded just as fast.
           My windshield was cracked,
and my oxygen was leaking like
                    flat tire.

Looking down I pondered if we survived
                 our stupidity...

And just like that, I was in a head on with
                 reality and space...
        My windshield was gone,

I was on the bonnet of purgatory..
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
To a Louse
by Robert Burns
translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Hey! Where're you going, you crawling hair-fly?
Your impudence protects you, barely;
I can only say that you swagger rarely
Over gauze and lace.
Though faith! I fear you dine but sparely
In such a place.

You ugly, creeping, blasted wonder,
Detested, shunned by both saint and sinner,
How dare you set your feet upon her—
So fine a lady!
Go somewhere else to seek your dinner
On some poor body.

Off! around some beggar's temple shamble:
There you may creep, and sprawl, and scramble,
With other kindred, jumping cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Where horn nor bone never dare unsettle
Your thick plantations.

Now hold you there! You're out of sight,
Below the folderols, snug and tight;
No, faith just yet! You'll not be right,
Till you've got on it:
The very topmost, towering height
Of miss's bonnet.

My word! right bold you root, contrary,
As plump and gray as any gooseberry.
Oh, for some rank, mercurial resin,
Or dread red poison;
I'd give you such a hearty dose, flea,
It'd dress your noggin!

I wouldn't be surprised to spy
You on some housewife's flannel tie:
Or maybe on some ragged boy's
Pale undervest;
But Miss's finest bonnet! Fie!
How dare you jest?

Oh Jenny, do not toss your head,
And lash your lovely braids abroad!
You hardly know what cursed speed
The creature's making!
Those winks and finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice-taking!

O would some Power with vision teach us
To see ourselves as others see us!
It would from many a blunder free us,
And foolish notions:
What airs in dress and carriage would leave us,
And even devotion!

One Sunday while sitting behind a young lady in church, Robert Burns noticed a louse roaming through the bows and ribbons of her bonnet. The poem "To a Louse" resulted from his observations. The poor woman had no idea that she would be the subject of one of Burns' best poems about how we see ourselves, compared to how other people see us at our worst moments. Keywords/Tags: Robert Burns, louse, church, bonnet, lace, Scotland, Scots, dialect, translation
rgz May 2019
Give me that frown
I hate your fake smile
lay down your crown
my Queen of denial

It's the end of your reign
spare no gory detail
you know I like the rain
soak me through in your hail

Give me the ugly truth
don't you dare even try
to fix your pretty mouth
with pretty little lies

When you play a game of deceit
The only outcome is defeat
are lies ever pretty?

I rather hide in bonnet
Before the strange cocoon
That was subsided
Down the brooch,
To where the diamond.
So many of the visitors
Arriving by the door;
Ten of them were riches,
But all of them were poor.

"The Queen, the Queen,
The Queen does come forth," yells a girl from St. Anne's to the patrons in court.
The Queen's procession wraps around the lake right over the bridges and up to main gate.
The criers are ringing their bells.
"Make way, make way," yells Saint Blaise.
The next to come forth is the Kriegshunde of old yelling knockviter to those who would be bold.
Steel Bonnet came next, clinking and clanking like a rusty steel mess.
Then the footmen came forth with pikes so high that they slice through the trees with a fright.
The Mariners came shambling past, those sea-loving folk, you know the ones without anything that floats.
Then the flags of all companies converge in front of the nobles we so deserve.
As you see the drummers called Rolling Thunder precede the Queen's chair,
  and a patron yells, "Is that the Queen of the faire?"
Copyright 2017 Michael Robert Triska
I have been volunteering at the renaissance faire for 28 years.
A cornflower
lavish these
hearts of
gold in
fields will
enchant harvest
with sunshine
in a
row and
foothills dash
plains with
nervy glares
where whitewater
raft in
these rapids
that hallow
river bridge.
Judypatooote Mar 2015
In your Easter Bonnet, with all the frills upon it.
An Easter bonnet on every girls head
Pink, green, yellow and some times red...

Some had bright flowers, set on the side
Others had ribbon, wrapped around and tied...

It was a beautiful sight, those colorful hats
Setting pretty on moms, daughters, and sometimes the cat...

By ~ judy

Every cat should have a hat...

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