I have laid lilies at your door, close your eyes and smell them; there is nothing pretentious about them.

There is no bill enclosed in the greeting card nor needle tucked between  the stems. It has been a gesture of love, simple things that grow
like moss on rocks and pearls in oysters

I have laid them gently, made a horticulturist of myself

I have worn big hats and ventured into my own fields
to snip the loviest of the bunch –and in my basket I always gather for two.

One for my kitchen table and the other one for you

Sappho's Lullaby
by Michael R. Burch

for Jeremy Michael Burch

Hushed yet melodic, the hills and the valleys
sleep unaware of the nightingale's call
as the dew-laden lilies lie
listening,
glistening...
this is their night, the first night of fall.

Son, tonight, a woman awaits you;
she is more vibrant, more lovely than spring.
She'll meet you in moonlight,
soft and warm,
all alone...
then you'll know why the nightingale sings.

Just yesterday the stars were afire;
then how desire flashed through my veins!
But now I am older;
night has come,
I'm alone...
for you I will sing as the nightingale sings.

Keywords/Tags: Sappho, lullaby, mother, mother and child, song, sing, singing, melancholic, hush, hushed, melodic, nightingale, lilies, night, fall, autumn, son, mother, lover, spring, moonlight, stars, flash, desire, pulse, veins, older, mature love, nurturing, calm, comforting

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

This night I got lost
In a field of lilies
Some white and broad
Some red and fine
Both are for death
One for mourning
One for killing
And as the moon's light slowly fades
As the morning sun rises
And red becomes pink
Becomes yellow
Becomes blue
I feel the last remaining moth land on my arm
There is a peace in knowing it wont last much longer
And neither will I

A white cloud
has been passing along
the entirety of the skies

On the darkest night
I have seen
the brightest stars

Mountains
have echoed
the sound of my soul

Snow covers
all that
has fallen

Rivers
have met
in the ocean

The ocean is
only
the beginning

The search has no end
The quest is never dead
We are water lilies

Keep flowing,
Beloved
the universe is infinite

My garden glades ‘pon simple steppe
Where grass and stone unite,
O’ersees and proctors Summer’s light
Like a promise kept.
A distant remote oasis,
Far side of grassy sea,
A secret from Humanity?
What cruel fate is this?
But Lilies of this garden grow
In pageantry of red
Where much to see is left unsaid,
For who would e’er know?
An island to themselves they stay,
Blooms reaching Heavenward;
Unrivaled brilliance flames absurd!
Yet who would e’er say?
But Lilies live for bird and bees
Not for Man’s said pleasure;
Legacy is their true measure,
Caring not who sees.
These foolish thoughts I often build
Lays better judgement bared.
Man is not, by Nature, cared-
She cannot be willed!
I struggle with these final words
Drawn from simple knowledge:
O’ modest reason, I do pledge!
Ne’er my hand disturbs!
So, grow my Lilies, mark your place
In truest mind and sake.
My heart pines for the joy you make
T’mend this wretch’s waste!

When I die
I want
Roses to bloom
From beneath my grave
Violets and blue-bells
And emerald grass
Blooms in my memory
Is all that I ask
Daisies
And Daffodils
Poppies
And pink -petaled lilies
Ruby-like flowers
Amethyst strokes
Perhaps pearls
Scattered
I'm my resting place
Would be lovely
When
I
Die

She pulls me out of town with a bouquet of lilies
holding me tight, but soft, she talks about valleys of freedom.
She begs me to visit a country full of angel statues.
She's so confusing but sweet somehow.

The way she talks about revolution makes you want to burn bridges
and you know you would do it if She let your hand.
You would have fight bats and demons
but she just couldn't stop keeping you in touch.

She's talking and talking and talking,
you're not tired.
You're trying to compliment her through your laugh.
She doesn't let you speak.

Then she speaks out about how good you are,
how proud your children will be.
You can't help but dream of a life with her.
She looks in the sky and smile.

She stops in front of a river.
The water is so clean.
Birds are dancing above it
making love to your dreams.

Now it's the time to tell her how you love it when she sleeps,
how you're drowning for a kiss,
how you would do anything to make her yours to be.
She sees deep into your eyes.

She gets so quiet.
You're about to hug her
tell her you're not comfortable with her silence;
she left your hand.

Whispering, she tells you she's dying.
Her calm tone doesn't change a bit.
You, you realize that the sun burns.
She monologues that it was burning for so long.

I'm standing here looking for the joke.
She begs me to take care of her dog.
You're afraid to tell the little one, that mama's not coming home.

She demands only lilies in her grave,
white lilies of hope,
the opposite
of her black soul.

The river is so ***** and dull.
The storm that came within killed the nightingales,
destroyed nature's melodies,
rocks and branches like spears bloked the flow of the water
demanding for pure blood.

Wolves stand all around the river
crying their lives out,
the trees in the area scream and shout.
Someone could said they're enjoying the chaos.

The lilies fell from her tiny hands.
Silence.

roses in my ribs
lilies on my lips
pearls in my pockets
tulips on my tongue
honeysuckles on my heart
tiger flowers on my thighs
marigolds on my mirror

Do the lillies bleed down there?
Do the butterflies drink their nectar?
Or do they save their sweetness for themselves,
The glucose glowing in their veins.