In the Whispering Night
by Michael R. Burch

for George King

In the whispering night, when the stars bend low
till the hills ignite to a shining flame,
when a shower of meteors streaks the sky,
and the lilies sigh in their beds, for shame,
we must steal our souls, as they once were stolen,
and gather our vigor, and all our intent.
We must heave our bodies to some violent ocean
and laugh as they shatter, and never repent.
We must dance in the darkness as stars dance before us,
soar, Soar! through the night on a butterfly's breeze:
blown high, upward-yearning, twin spirits returning
to the world of resplendence from which we were seized.

Published in Songs of Innocence (Issue 3, Spring 2000), Romantics Quarterly (Vol. II, Issue IV, Winter 2003)

Keywords/Tags: romantic, romanticism, whispering, night, stars, hills, flame, meteors, sky, lilies, shame, souls, stolen, ocean, sea, butterfly, breeze, twin, spirits, returning, heaven, resplendence

Observance
by Michael R. Burch

Here the hills are old and rolling
casually in their old age;
on the horizon youthful mountains
bathe themselves in windblown fountains . . .

By dying leaves and falling raindrops,
I have traced time's starts and stops,
and I have known the years to pass
almost unnoticed, whispering through treetops . . .

For here the valleys fill with sunlight
to the brim, then empty again,
and it seems that only I notice
how the years flood out, and in . . .

This is an early poem that made me feel like a “real poet.” I remember writing it in the break room of the McDonald's where I worked as a high school student. I believe that was at age 17. "Observance" was originally published by Nebo as "Reckoning." It was later published by Tucumcari Literary Review, Piedmont Literary Review, Verses, Romantics Quarterly, the anthology There is Something in the Autumn, and Poetry Life & Times. Keywords/Tags: hills, mountains, valleys, time, seasons, years, fall, leaves, flood, cycle, horizon, brim, rim

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

Lifes like hills
They rise and fall
You will be at your highest
Then life will bring you back down to hell

Hills can be short

And they can be tall

Some people make them

From nothing at all

The climb’s not a question

Of strength or of will

It’s always the climber

That makes the hill!

Providence the dreadful mystery;
The impeccable dignities and places
Sweep in spirals, from the sand;
that blowed And licked at your feet
The world Conceived before those hills
Foot-fast; Look, where He strove to get at.

Pasture hills sloping
Green blades rushing
Wave after wave flowing

Falling and rising
Following
Chasing

Sailing straight
Clouds ignoring
The grounded race below