God made me into a marionette
He pulled me from the dust
He scooped me out of coals.
He breathed life into my belly
and now they call me animated earth.
He carved my bones from alabaster stones
long buried under piles of pine needles and leaves
He sang songs of Light and Life
and put them in my ears
and taught me all the words
and cut me silver keys.
now i stand up tall
like the Lighthouse of Alexandria
or the Colossus of Rhodes
i take showers under jungle waterfalls
full of orchid petals
and with angel fish climbing up the rock walls.
my head and all my limbs are hanging by
golden silken strings and threads
and where I walk the moss and lichens grow.
He fashioned my eyes from glass
blown over the hot geysers
and sulfur springs
of thermopylae
and the salt basin dunes.
He plucked my pupils from the pregnant blackness
of the Void.
He struck them over steel and flint
and the sparks made it bright enough to see.
my heart is a time-piece
keeping minutes with its beats
like a great shadow cast behind a sphere.
the elements once kept me apart from me my identity,
I was a hungry ghost
walking around town like a hypodermic voodoo doll.
everytime I turned around
I tripped over another basket full of rattlesnakes
hissing from both ends.
I gave up and crossed my heart
and gave it over to the chemical egregore
hoping I would die while somehow staying alive
and learning how to fly away home-
so i could leave all the piles of ashes and teeth alone
and maybe plant a rose garden.

but God made of me a marionette
strung me up from strings of silken gold.
He breathes for me,
and dances me to the music of the spheres
and now the whole planet is a
Hanging Garden of the Fallen Babylon
and now I keep snakes
as exotic pets
and as company
when i’m lonely
and for afternoon tea.

Leaf Fall
by Michael R. Burch

Whatever winds encountered soon resolved
to swirling fragments, till chaotic heaps
of leaves lay pulsing by the backyard wall.
In lieu of rakes, our fingers sorted each
dry leaf into its place and built a high,
soft bastion against earth's gravitron—
a patchwork quilt, a trampoline, a bright
impediment to fling ourselves upon.

And nothing in our laughter as we fell
into those leaves was like the autumn's cry
of also falling. Nothing meant to die
could be so bright as we, so colorful—
clad in our plaids, oblivious to pain
we'd feel today, should we leaf-fall again.

Originally published by The Neovictorian/Cochlea. Keywords/Tags: Fall, autumn, leaf, leaves, swirling heaps, piles, wind, rakes, laughter, backyard, play, playing, falling, children, bright, colorful, plaids

Whatever winds encountered soon resolved
to swirling fragments, till chaotic heaps
of leaves lay pulsing by the backyard wall.
In lieu of rakes, our fingers sorted each
dry leaf into its place and built a high,
soft bastion against earth’s gravitron—
a patchwork quilt, a trampoline, a bright
impediment to fling ourselves upon.

And nothing in our laughter as we fell
into those leaves was like the autumn’s cry
of also falling. Nothing meant to die
could be so bright as we, so colorful—
clad in our plaids, oblivious to pain
we’d feel today, should we leaf-fall again.

Published by The Raintown Review, Deronda Review, Jewish Letter (translated into Russian by Vera Zubarev), The Chimaera, Freshet, Contemporary Sonnet, Stremez (translated into Macedonian by Marija Girevska), The Eclectic Muse, Better Than Starbucks, Glass Facets of Poetry, Victorian Violet Press

Keywords/Tags: Childhood, autumn, wind, winds, fall, falling, leaves, backyard, heaps, piles, rakes, bastion, gravitron, patchwork, quilt, trampoline, laughter, cry, bright, colorful, plaid, plaids, pain, memory, recollection, remembrance, die, dying, death

Nights that filled with unresolved problems
All the possibilities that i’ve decided to ignore
Regrets that stuck in this broken heart
Words that can’t escape from cold lips

Books are written by a dying souls
Filled with bloods
Represents the dark story of life
Lonely, without anyone saving me from drowning.

Living days with darkness surrounds all the time
Passing by a dead flowers who onced a beautiful one
Heat that struck to my skin, replaced by cold
Freezing my body and soul.

Is this life?
Or this is hell calling my name?
Destroying me slowly
Piles of me that will never come back.

I'm picking up everything on the floor and dividing it up into piles.

Things to throw away.

Things to recycle.

Things that don't belong to me.

Things to preserve.

Things to hang up on my wall.

Things to reconsider how much I want them.

Things to stare at.

Things....

Things I don't want anymore.

Things that pain me to get rid of but I have to.

And I look at all the dust piling up around my room and I wonder how long it's been since I did something like this.

And yet... I still have to much work to do.

A life built
With the finest materials
Needs a well-formed foundation;
A deep footing.
Your piles are now beneficial.