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Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Free Fall to Liftoff
by Michael R. Burch

for my father, Paul Ray Burch, Jr.

I see the longing for departure gleam
in his still-keen eye,
                                   and I understand his desire
to test this last wind, like late November leaves
with nothing left to cling to ...



The following poems about free-falling were written with Tom Petty's song "Free-Fallin'" in mind...



Free Fall (I)
by Michael R. Burch

for Beth

These cloudless nights, the sky becomes a wheel
where suns revolve around an axle star ...
Look there, and choose. Decide which moon is yours.
Sink Lethe-ward, held only by a heel.

Advantage. Disadvantage. Who can tell?
To see is not to know, but you can feel
the tug sometimes—the gravity, the shell
as lustrous as damp pearl. You sink, you reel

toward some draining revelation. Air—
too thin to grasp, to breathe. Such pressure. Gasp.
The stars invert, electric, everywhere.
And so we fall in spirals through night’s fissure—

two beings—pale, intent to fall forever
around each other—fumbling at love’s tether ...
now separate, now distant, now together.



Free Fall (II)
by Michael R. Burch

after Tom Petty

I have no earthly remembrance of you, as if
we were never of earth, but merely white clouds adrift,
swirling together through Himalayan altitudes—
no more man and woman than exhaled breath—unable to fall
back to solid existence, despite the air’s sparseness: all
our being borne up, because of our lightness,
toward the sun’s unendurable brightness . . .

But since I touched you, fire consumes each wing!

We who are unable to fly, stall
contemplating disaster. Despair like an anchor, like an iron ball,
heavier than ballast, sinks on its thick-looped chain
toward the earth, and soon thereafter will be sufficient pain
to recall existence, to make the coming darkness everlasting.

Keywords/Tags: autumn, leaves, cling, clinging, wind, death, flight, fly, flying, transport, free fall, liftoff, departure, bare, barren, leafless, skeletal
Poetic T Apr 2020
Life at this moment you cant be bullshitting
me. There isn't an April fools that's getting
even close to what we find ourselves hitting
any where near to this.  it's so unfitting.

But no matter the **** hitting the fan,  I haven't got
any bog roll. I can only poo outside before I'm caught.
But leaves are natures wipes and I'm dammed if aught
I'll sleep with skids on my sheets, but if I do I'll just smile.

But underneath I gag as the sweet corn is natures reminder
to wipe before, as they feel like coffee not  put through the grinder.
I feel like crap my legs woefully tanned, not because of the sun,
crap skidding my legs,  as if you lift the sheets its a gross viewfinder.
Cynthia Jean Feb 2020
Oh help me
to relinquish
all that I
cling to
that I might
manifest
all You created me
to be.

Cynthia Jean

February 8, 2020
Ken Pepiton Dec 2019
that is entitled:
Adapting to AI Intuition,
or
On assuming the role of the
non-resistant force
suggesting
be still and know

you do

This is entitled the poem you just
read,
one way or another.
If it ai n't phuny, it may be a mea phorical expression petrified
Somewhatdamaged Dec 2019
Everyday the new stuff is here
And I'm loosing myself in fear!
Can't see myself anywhere,
been tormented with none of my share.
Its beyond me, can't help myself
What they shoved to my face
I cannot repair.

In all this disarray
the fragments I'm loosing of myself.
Everybody keeps on pushing forward,
but it drags behind me, in the back!
Sometimes what you cling to most
Is the one to hurt you most!

The whole world finds it easy
Am I the only one suffering?
Hollow Steve Nov 2019
Places left forgotten
And memories still swaying
There's no place left to say
How it could've been this way.

Places left intact
To say how I should react
It dismembers itself
And displaces the rest

An empty swallow
A withering remembrance
A place left to show
Where nothing else will grow

If I call upon myself
What do I let summon?
Nothing but the pain it brings
Nothing but the place that sings
Margaret Jean Aug 2019
I’m sitting in the bathroom (again)
Is this where I go to hide now?
I guess.
I’m here, hiding
Aren’t I?

I’ve just arrived
It’s the first night, and I
Was so excited to go
And finally be downstairs
Wasn’t I?

But here I am, once again
Hiding in a ******* bathroom
Clinging to a pillow
Wishing it could cling back
Shouldn’t I?

Be downstairs? Yeah, probably
I was so **** ready
Eager, to be here
I’ve been here twice already
Haven’t I?

In theory, yes, my body
Has been, physically, in this space
But, so was someone else’s
The first time, he was here
Can’t I?

Move on from then and be here, now
Yeah, definitely
Hopefully
But then I realize
Won’t I?

Think of the second time
He was here, not physically
But, in spirit, fictionally
He was gone yet present
And I?

I am here now, for the third time
But he’s not here
Physically, fictionally - presently
Only in my mind
Will I?

Learn how to love these moments
With you no longer in mind
Pillows and sheets that cling back
Now just memories _
I -

I’ll ask them all downstairs
But tonight,
I’ll stay in this bathroom - it’s nice  
Towels, right next to me
So many of them

Thrice, I’m thankful

Goodnight.
drew May 2019
I desperately want us to be the same person

I desperately love to cling

To every common
Reaching
Detail

And claim it

For the both of us
neth jones Mar 2019
a miser of my emotional states
a cling
and an unweanable
unwilling to partake in city
I quake no single acquaintance
and murmur no note upon any group

i have made some pacts
to recover into view
so i might impress as a fellow being
i have begun a series of self applied techniques
that ought mimic
and form an impression at you
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