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Anastasia Apr 10
milk and honey
on your lips
your perfume
sweet and soft
a milky bath
soak it in
dripping from my skin
taste it on your tongue
warm in my arms
sticky and smooth
like the way you make me feel
Henry Mar 28
First get out the jar
Mix the matcha and water
And shake it real hard

Fill the jar with ice
Now it's time to add the milk
Shake and shake and taste

The color is good
I hope the milk's not too strong
I added too much

Again? *******
I always add too much milk
Matcha flavored milk

Still, I will drink it
It's better than if it was plain
Next time for sure though
3/28/20
Todesfugue ("Death Fugue")
by Paul Celan
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Black milk of daybreak, we drink you come dusk;
we drink you come midday, come morning, come night;
we drink you and drink you.
We’re digging a grave like a hole in the sky;
there’s sufficient room to lie there.
The man of the house plays with vipers; he writes
in the Teutonic darkness, “Your golden hair Margarete...”
He composes by starlight, whistles hounds to stand by,
whistles Jews to dig graves, where together they’ll lie.
He commands us to strike up bright tunes for the dance!

Black milk of daybreak, we drink you come dusk;
we drink you come dawn, come midday, come night;
we drink you and drink you.
The man of the house plays with serpents; he writes...
he writes as the night falls, “Your golden hair Margarete...
Your ashen hair Shulamith...”
We are digging dark graves where there’s more room, on high.
His screams, “Hey you, dig there!” and “Hey you, sing and dance!”
He grabs his black nightstick, his eyes pallid blue,
screaming, “Hey you―dig deeper! You others―sing, dance!”

Black milk of daybreak, we drink you come dusk;
we drink you come midday, come morning, come night;
we drink you and drink you.
The man of the house writes, “Your golden hair Margarete...
Your ashen hair Shulamith...” as he cultivates snakes.
He screams, “Play Death more sweetly! Death’s the master of Germany!”
He cries, “Scrape those dark strings, soon like black smoke you’ll rise
to your graves in the skies; there’s sufficient room for Jews there!”

Black milk of daybreak, we drink you come midnight;
we drink you come midday; Death’s the master of Germany!
We drink you come dusk; we drink you and drink you...
He’s a master of Death, his pale eyes deathly blue.
He fires leaden slugs, his aim level and true.
He writes as the night falls, “Your golden hair Margarete...”
He unleashes his hounds, grants us graves in the skies.
He plays with his serpents; Death’s the master of Germany...

“Your golden hair Margarete...
your ashen hair Shulamith...”

Paul Celan (1920-1970) was a Romanian Jew who wrote poems in German. He survived the Holocaust, despite the loss of his mother and father, to become one of the major German-language poets of the post–World War II era. His parents' deaths and the horrors of the Holocaust have been called the "defining forces" in Celan's poetry.

Keywords/Tags: Paul Celan, Holocaust poems, Holocaust poetry, Shoah, German, translation, black, milk, drink, vipers, serpents, hounds, grave, graves, golden, hair, Margarete, Shulamith, sing, dance, Death, master, Germany, Nazis, racism, antisemitism, injustice, brutality, genocide, ethnic cleansing, World War II, world conflicts
Of Tetley's and V-2's
(or, “Why Not to Bomb the Brits”)
by Michael R. Burch

The English are very hospitable,
but tea-less, alas, they grow pitiable ...
or pitiless, rather,
and quite in a lather!
O bother, they're more than formidable!

Keywords/Tags: limerick, light verse, nonsense verse, humor, humorous, England, English, Tetley, tea, milk, crumpets, scones, war, bomb, bombs, V-2, rocket, missile, missiles, formidable, Britain, Brits, defense, military
david jm Feb 21
no wave, no fun, no plague, no one, no saves, no humdrum dumb-dumb luck.
no you, no them, no peace, no fuss, no just, just, just, just, just, just us.
no duh, no soul, no ghouls, no guts, no sun, know theres no waking up.
corona virus cant unite us.
me and you.
no peace, no fuss.
Suhayb Feb 13
Black coffee and black tears
We’re out of milk and I’m running late
I was supposed to buy some yesterday
But I was working overtime again
When Mum called asking If I was okay
For the third time that day
Yes,uh-huh. Yes, yes. Okay
Yes, I miss him too
We all do

I ate cold chinese and collapsed into bed
Before waking to familiar dread
Took ten minutes to find my head and
Then my shoes, hey wait a sec
They’re already on, along
With yesterday’s outfit
Mascara running down my face
No need to change, I’ve been ready since the start
Life hack: let your life fall apart
Until your sanity’s razor thin
Cut to me dialling his number, in a daze
My coffee cold, the empty milk carton flung
Across the room in sudden rage
A rage filled with regret, bitter and sticky
Wrapped in emptiness and dipped in self-pity

It clicks through to voicemail, his voice in my head
‘Hi, I’m not here, leave a message instead’
The following beep demands that I speak
Torturing me with a false chance I don’t have
And haven’t had in a while
The tears reach my smile
No point in asking if you might
Be a dear and grab a pint
The stores are all closed. They always will be
No milk, no you, there's only me

My silent message over, another beep, telling me
It's over. He can’t ever call you back
Get used to drinking your coffee black
Seanathon Jan 31
Every morning when I hide my untie
Turn on a podcast out the door
And stumble through the cold
In my secretly Italian coat
I leave with coffee
Hot poured with opinions over sleep
And my inner child switches on the N64
Pours hinself some chocolate milk
And gloats
Holding his eternal freedom over me
Kids will be kids. Even your inner child. #skipwork

Favorite game?
How can I use my phone less? Should I?

I use it to reach out to my daughter...
I call my mama every day...

I tell my sister, I will call her
       And set an alarm to do it...
             Oh well...

I can just fly to the opposite coast...
      And hug her little one...
And be a perfect auntie... for one week...

Oh! that's so cheating!
     Ok, I'm cheating....
            But I'm good at it!

Do you know why?
     Because when I see your little one...
        I see you... and I love her so much!

And I'm sorry I wasn't a good sister...
I wanted to...
I planned on being fair, and caring, and supportive...
     When I was 9...
        But when I was 10....
I got jealous...
I didn't even know that I was...

But you know what?
I still ironed your little blankets...
And went to get donated milk for you...
     Yes!
        In the snow!..
           For like 20 min walk through the snow...
Because you needed milk to grow...

            ... and because I love you <3
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