Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Second to nun.
I’ve had all my fun -
in every sense of the word.
Neglect impressions to be seen,
for the sake of what is heard.
Blank tracks sit on the trails where you’ve been.

If you will close your eyes,
and gaze up inside,
this is where you may just find me.
Between the pillar of adorable,
and the column of deplorable -
on little black and blue knees.

I’m sifting through the glittering glimpses,
of all dreams the ego’s fear dare minces,
for the sake of the forgiving machine.

Close your hands together,
and pray for the sake of weather..
it could rain blessings upon thee.
The poet is the writer
Many thoughts in his mind
Lay scattered as seeds
To be planted in words
That the birds should eat
The critic is the bird
That savours the fruit
Thus begins the journey
Of the poet and the critic
Together they flourish and thrive
On the tree of poetry
With rhythm and rhyme
The poet and the critic
Just some thoughts
Don't offer the fuel it needs
to set you on fire
it's true though don't you think?
YOUR LIFE IS A MOVIE THAT IS BEING DIRECTED BY YOU, PRODUCED BY THE YOU, YOU ARE THE PROTAGONIST AND YOU SHOULD BE THE ONLY CRITIC OF IT.. SO LIVE IT LIKE YOU WANT.
You don't owe anyone anything and everyone is different so embrace your uniqueness and live your life to the fullest.
Come Down
by Michael R. Burch

for Harold Bloom

Come down, O, come down
from your high mountain tower.
How coldly the wind blows,
how late this chill hour ...

and I cannot wait
for a meteor shower
to show you the time
must be now, or not ever.

Come down, O, come down
from the high mountain heather
now brittle and brown
as fierce northern gales sever.

Come down, or your heart
will grow cold as the weather
when winter devours
and spring returns never.

NOTE: I dedicated this poem to Harold Bloom after reading his introduction to the Best American Poetry anthology he edited. Bloom seemed intent on claiming poetry as the province of the uber-reader (i.e., himself), but I remember reading poems by Blake, Burns, cummings, Dickinson, Frost, Housman, Eliot, Pound, Shakespeare, Whitman, Yeats, et al, and grokking them as a boy, without any “advanced” instruction from anyone. Keywords/Tags: Harold Bloom, literary, critic, criticism, elitist, elitism, ivory, tower, heights, mountain, winter, cold, frigid



Rant: The Elite
by Michael R. Burch

When I heard Harold Bloom unsurprisingly say:
Poetry is necessarily difficult. It is our elitist art ...
I felt a small suspicious thrill. After all, sweetheart,
isn’t this who we are? Aren’t we obviously better,
and certainly fairer and taller, than they are?

Though once I found Ezra Pound
perhaps a smidgen too profound,
perhaps a bit over-fond of Benito
and the advantages of fascism
to be taken ad finem, like high tea
with a pure white spot of intellectualism
and an artificial sweetener, calorie-free.

I know! I know! Politics has nothing to do with art
And it tempts us so to be elite, to stand apart ...
but somehow the word just doesn’t ring true,
echoing effetely away—the distance from me to you.

Of course, politics has nothing to do with art,
but sometimes art has everything to do with becoming elite,
with climbing the cultural ladder, with being able to meet
someone more Exalted than you, who can demonstrate how to ****
so that everyone below claims one’s odor is sweet.
You had to be there! We were falling apart
with gratitude! We saw him! We wept at his feet!
Though someone will always be far, far above you, clouding your air,
gazing down at you with a look of wondering despair.
Mark Toney Mar 24
moustached monoku critic channels Seinfeld - no haiku for you



© 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
1/4/2019 - Poetry form: Monoku - A type of poem which is made up of a single horizontal line consisting of seventeen syllables or less. Traditionally considered as a haiku writing, Monoku appeared as an independent style of poetry in the 1970s. The first letter should not be capitalized. - © 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
Mark Toney Oct 2019
moustached monoku critic channels Seinfeld - no haiku for you
1/4/2019 - Poetry form: Monoku - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2019
Nick Jul 2019
That phrase makes me shiver
Makes some solemn silent (?) resounding
Sends me flailing: **** **** **** (word choice is dodgy)
Supersedes sentience


Overall, I’m somewhat confused and disappointed by your work. Please reconsider your ******* of the English language.
The critic becomes a part of the work. Twice.
There’s something in me that wants to destroy me
A voice that works to punish without reason
A hand that is brought down undeservedly on an innocent conscience.  
A cane that leaves ****** lines across my mind
As it beats the positivity into submission
And a spear which impales my confidence
Like a soldier would do to its enemy.
Next page