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NC Burch May 1
This writhing building contracts
digesting haggard brows and sloughed skin
in a stew of sweaty, fermenting death
as potent and futile as lightning
arcing and lashing until bent
and wound and coiled neatly
turning a cog within a series of cogs
within a series of cogs ad infinitum
producing noise at the cost of friction
spewing endless effluvia skyward
a cosmic howl at the ****** stars
rabid after more paradise to devour
Extended metaphor for an apocalyptic engine.
Inspired by the poetry of Clark Ashton Smith .
Mark Toney Apr 19
tiny fragile bud
clean prune cultivate nurture—
precious child blossoms


© 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
4/1942020 - Poetry form: haiku - © 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
Labor pain
I write this through a haze
Going in and out remembering grey days

I woke up from a dream
Where I had to fend from three
They didn’t even know me
I was only 13

Labor pain
I’ve moved past the blame
But how can make sure
You’re Journey doesn’t go the same?

I wanna protect you from  the world
But the world taught me
It is what you make it
When I was only 15

Labor pain
This is my labor pain
I’ve cut the chord
So you won’t have to feel my shame

Labor pain
This is my own labor pain
It’s not yours
I’m doing the best I can
To make sure your playground is free rein
Wrote this at the beginning of my labor
Growing up, becoming a mother, i don’t want to pass
On my trauma to my child. We do the best we can,
Sometimes we become the product of our environment, and sometimes we used that as an excuse
The Forge
by Michael R. Burch

To at last be indestructible, a poem
must first glow, almost flammable, upon
a thing inert, as gray, as dull as stone,

then bend this way and that, and slowly cool
at arm’s-length, something irreducible
drawn out with caution, toughened in a pool

of water so contrary just a hiss
escapes it—water instantly a mist.
It writhes, a thing of senseless shapelessness ...

And then the driven hammer falls and falls.
The horses ***** their ears in nearby stalls.
A soldier on his cot leans back and smiles.

A sound of ancient import, with the ring
of honest labor, sings of fashioning.

Published by The Chariton Review, The Eclectic Muse, Trinacria, Poetry Life & Times, and  Famous Poets and Poems

NOTE: This is a sonnet about forging sonnets. The gray "anvil" is the human brain. The fiery "glow" is the poetic imagination. The cooling and shaping are the process of revision. The hammer is the poet's pen, producing order out of chaos. Keywords/Tags: Sonnet, poem, indestructible, irreducible, hammer, anvil, forge, labor, fashioning, shape, smithy, blacksmith, ironworker, sword, pen
Marla Jan 20
The land of opportunity has hung me out to dry
because my eyes are just too wide
for someone to pay any mind.
Three languages, two degrees, and a lifetime later,
I am no closer to finding success than I was
when I began upon this path.
But though I've worked every type of job
on every side of the counter
and gotten myself into every kind of debt,
I just can't shake the feeling that I'll do something
most would come to regret.
The world nowadays is one filled with loans and credit,
high interest rates without a chance in hell to ever fully pay.
Mortgage your life just to get by
and become a slave without chains,
ain't that just the grand old American way?
Anyone else feeling a little bit askew and without their fair share of dues?
mikhaltsov Dec 2019
unsatisfied, I breathe.
satisfied, I malfunction.
blushing is my fist
sagging on the cushion.
Sneha Oct 2019
every fruit has fallen
branches bent beneath their weight
sagging with the memories of what once was

every fruit reaches the lips of another
sweetness trickles down their chin
devouring each bite with fervor

every fruit is gone as quick as it came
sticky remnants rubbed away from skin
ridding any memory of what once was

they return to her roots
desperately waiting for her branches to dip
with evidence of her labors

only to consume and
feel refreshed
as she withers away
Carlo C Gomez Oct 2019
You won't remember all the fuss you
cause, my precious microcosm

This strange bewildering exhausting
global economy you dwell in

Apparently the lease expired and your time has come

Driven by grievance more than strategy

It sets the stage for fireworks and confusion

In one dizzying morning into afternoon

I'm searching for who to blame

Histories on the episode may well spend a chapter on
your mother's unhinged notions née crazy talk

It becomes clear in real time how the risks
of an escalating trade war

give a centimeter, take a centimeter

And the fraying of longstanding ties

Could quickly outpace the ability to evict you

As your mother, the normal first responder
to your distress, I can do

Absolutely nothing about it but push

In what seems a shoot-first approach to such
a delicate moment

The escalation, the unpredictability, the erratic
nature of developments

Is central to what is going on

Something is breaking

That something is me!

Our world is on edge

Looking for a sign of what to do next

The labor market drops and you're crowned
a royal pain

Peace is found, it's proportional

And by all measures you're quite hale
quite beautiful!

This offsets the damage of a messy exit

The disconnect I incessantly prayed for offers
melancholy over relief

In our opening act you're already moving
away from me

While the female body is a powerful tool

It cannot provide a settled rule book for
such internal battle

Still, this adventure, scary and catastrophic as
it was, is well-suited to the wonders that I am

For that I'm grateful to my Creator

The lesson of the last several hours is that forces are unfolding
that we can't do much to contain

We're merely nesting passengers en route to
a foreign destination
This is based on observing the miracle that is childbirth.
Hussein Dekmak Sep 2019
Always Remember...
Hope comes after despair.
Cure .... after pain.
Smiles ... after tears.
Laughter ...after cries.
Health ... after sickness.

Love ... after hate.
Joy ...  after sorrow.
Healing ... after forgiveness.
A newborn life ...  after labor.
Eternal life ... after death.

Light ... after darkness.
Dawn ...  after night.
Blue skies ... after storm.
Spring ... after winter.
Beautiful landscape ...  after rain.

Hussein Dekmak

Copyright
Juhlhaus Jul 2019
O black toad,
Sage of the sodden floor,
Grant me your stoicism
As I my go labored way.
And may you prosper,
Consume legions, grow fat;
Yet deftly elude all
Who would do you injury.
A tribute to the noble toad of the Northwoods.
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