Twisted complex feelings
swings to grandfather’s hometown canal, 
where the heated late summer sunlight burned off 
traditional peace and a quiet Canal Zone. 

Returning scholar
his granddaughter’s blood at his side,
imagine now the men who once amassed
the limestone locks to straddle the canal,
an obsolete image from 
an eldritch past.

my heart is on fire
one half cup espresso, a vape
and a song that drapes my heart in a purple fire,
with the same purple glow inside the go go bar
where that dancer handed Bukowski a dried lily
But only for a moment.

lesson #104 and the
music rides a sine wave into
my left ear.
I sat upon a lotus pad and kept
a straight back
the Angelus Novus couldn’t (insert link)
close its wings against
the winds of Paradise so
elated were the Gods by the
progress of man.
so high the rubble of the wreckage the
view from its summit rivaled the
vantage gained from
standing atop the Six Grandfathers within the
Four-headed Dog from across the pond.

national broadcast in the jungle and
all the box would do is
talk
and all the cockroaches would do is
persist
and all the machetes would do is
hack
and all the bodies burned
and Felicien Kabuga was kindly granted asylum by the West
and remained at large for over 25 years.
THANKS A LOT SWITZERLAND.
(insert link)

I watch as my Father
Makes tea for my Grandfather
(His Father-In-Law)
He removes the lid off the mug,
The hot water, inside it, once sealed,
He dabs the tea bag, it bounces, splashing,
He tears open the two sachets of sugar
Pours and mixes it all in (with no milk)
My Father has stubby, tradie fingers,
Watching them do such delicate work is odd
Then the tea sits in its plastic, blue mug
No one says a word.
Not I; not either of these men;
The tea is cooling, steaming,
We all watch, eyes intent and stern,
For a moment, the tea is sacred, holy,
A communion
Between a middle aged Catholic and an old atheist
Then, finally, this tea, horrid tasting, I imagine,
Is taken by the handle with a trembling hand
And it is sipped by trembling lips

"Ninety-three years seem long
But life is short -
How youth seems strong
But life is short -
How you love and give,
Life is still short -
How "is" a few minutes ago
Became a "was"
Oh, life is so short."

All Things Galore
by Michael R. Burch

(for my grandfathers George Edwin Hurt Sr. and Paul Ray Burch, Sr.)

Grandfather,
now in your gray presence
you are

somehow more near

and remind me that,
once, upon a star,
you taught me

wish

that ululate soft phrase,
that hopeful phrase!

and everywhere above, each hopeful star

gleamed down

and seemed to speak of times before
when you clasped my small glad hand
in your wise paw

and taught me heaven, omen, meteor ...

Keywords/Tags: family, grandfather, grandchild, grandson, teacher, mentor, example, guide, guidance, guru

Sunset
by Michael R. Burch

This poem is dedicated to my grandfather, George Edwin Hurt, who died April 4, 1998.

Between the prophecies of morning
and twilight’s revelations of wonder,
the sky is ripped asunder.

The moon lurks in the clouds,
waiting, as if to plunder
the dusk of its lilac iridescence,

and in the bright-tentacled sunset
we imagine a presence
full of the fury of lost innocence.

What we find within strange whorls of drifting flame,
brief patterns mauling winds deform and maim,
we recognize at once, but cannot name.

Keywords/Tags: sunset, aging, death, grandfather, grandson, grandchild, family, grave, funeral, loss, twilight, night, transcendence, heaven

The air is foggy,
And the sky is grey,
You can not see its blue today,
A suffocating silence fills this place,
And his empty seat's left a space,
So hollow and dim in my heart.

He sat right there next to the lamp,
But that place is cold and damp,
He left us in such a hurry,
Oh how much he made us worry!

I remember him really well,
Stories of fairies he would tell,
He'd tell us where the monsters dwell.
Generation by Generation told,
Stories with the worth of gold,
Stories containing young and old.

But now he's gone,
and I'm in grief,
Why must the world,
be such a thief?

Granddaddy Dan,
You were a man few in words
And large in heart.
You soared in a plane the open skies,
And now you've taken the final flight.
As I'm forced to say goodbye,
How I wish we'd spent more time,
But the hours we passed were a gift.
Sometimes love leaves no words
Other than "You'll be missed!"