I place my empty vessels with the King.
Once filled with longing, sentiment and pride,
they sated no one’s thirst, though ego tried—
sin, disappointment, sorrow, hurt ’t would bring.
Knowing devilish poison these contained,
reminded old, dead dregs drained from each spout,
all sediment’ry visage I poured out
of Dionysian wine heartstrings had feigned.
Now in God’s presence, as He cleans smeared crocks
from motives, meanings, memories of words
and clears my mind from myths’ entangling cords,
a tale-abating door behind me locks.
I’m freed! The Gospel story’s what I’ll tell
and offer Living Water from Christ’s well!

This soul is not a drip-dry thing.
It’s needs constant washing and wringing
to function cleanly.
It needs to tumble on high heat
to wear just right.
Hand wash it and it will shrink in protest.
Line dry it and you might think
it will smell of heaven but
it is the rancid smell of tussle and
toil that will stink the neighborhood.
And, oh, by the way you should never
bleach a thing that is already bleached.
Don’t use stain remover for that’s its job.
No starch, please.  Stiffness is not needed.
The same goes for heavy or light ironing.
Follow these directions and
the soul will last your lifetime.
It will protect you from
all the stains of the world.

Redolence
by Michael R. Burch

Now darkness ponds upon the violet hills;
cicadas sing; the tall elms gently sway;
and night bends near, a deepening shade of gray;
the bass concerto of a bullfrog fills
what silence there once was; globed searchlights play.

Green hanging ferns adorn dark window sills,
all drooping fronds, awaiting morning’s flares;
mosquitoes whine; the lissome moth again
flits like a veiled oud-dancer, and endures
the fumblings of night’s enervate gray rain.

And now the pact of night is made complete;
the air is fresh and cool, washed of the grime
of the city’s ashen breath; and, for a time,
the fragrance of her clings, obscure and sweet.

Published by Poetry Magazine, Poetic Reflections, The New Formalist, Carnelian, Little Brown Poetry, Poetic Ponderings, Poem Kingdom, Net Poetry and Art Competition, The Best of the Eclectic Muse 1989-2003, Romantics Quarterly, Sonnetto Poesia, Poetry Life & Times and Trinacria

Keywords/Tags: Sonnet, night, darkness, violet, hills, rain, fresh, cleansing, fragrance, perfume, clings, clinging, obscure, sweet, concerto, dance, dancer

The rain descends
like a velvet curtain.

I use that steady
pounding, thrumming
downpour

to cleanse my skin
of your touch.

It fills me up, and I spit you out;
wring you out of my hair.

Thunder crashes
lightning flashes
and I
Let
you
go.