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Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Fountainhead
by Michael R. Burch

I did not delight in love so much
as in a kiss like linnets’ wings,
the flutterings of a pulse so soft
the heart remembers, as it sings:

to bathe there was its transport, brushed
by marble lips, or porcelain,—
one liquid kiss, one cool outburst
from pale rosettes. What did it mean ...

to float awhirl on minute tides
within the compass of your eyes,
to feel your alabaster bust
grow cold within? Ecstatic sighs

seem hisses now; your eyes, serene,
reflect the sun’s pale tourmaline.

Published by Romantics Quarterly, Poetica Victorian, PW Review, Nutty Stories (South Africa), Inspirational Stories, Poetry Life & Times

Keywords/Tags: Fountain, love, heart, pulse, bathe, kiss, sun, marble, bust, tides, sighs, eyes, sun, tourmaline
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
In Praise of Meter
by Michael R. Burch

The earth is full of rhythms so precise
the octave of the crystal can produce
a trillion oscillations, yet not lose
a second’s beat. The ear needs no device
to hear the unsprung rhythms of the couch
drown out the mouth’s; the lips can be debauched
by kisses, should the heart put back its watch
and find the pulse of love, and sing, devout.

If moons and tides in interlocking dance
obey their numbers, what’s been left to chance?
Should poets be more lax—their circumstance
as humble as it is?—or readers wince
to see their ragged numbers thin, to hear
the moans of drones drown out the Chanticleer?

Published by Poetry Porch/Sonnet Scroll, The Eclectic Muse, The Best of the Eclectic Muse 1989-2003, Famous Poets & Poems, Poetry Renewal Magazine, Mindful of Poetry, Sonnetto Poesia, Trinacria and Poetry Life & Times

Keywords/Tags: Rhythm, rhyme, meter, beat, music, octave, heart, pulse, watch, numbers
Thomas W Case Feb 2020
I first heard the
lullaby in the
womb.
It has a pulse
and rhythm.
It was embedded in
my tissue and cells.
And when I was shot out,
****** and naked,
the cord was cut.
The journey began.

At five years old,
I remember closing
my eyes, and lying
down to go to sleep,
it felt like I was
being rocked.
I wonder if the
subconscious mind was
remembering the
rhythm of the womb.
My Mom--pregnant with me
walking upstairs--downstairs,
elevators
escalators
movement
pulse,
the eternal lullaby of
the womb.
When I closed my
eyes, it felt like I
was being rocked.
It felt like I was
in a swing;
back and forth.
Easy, like a fragrant
spring night.

I feel and hear the
pulse--the rhythm,
the heart in everything.
In footsteps--in the wind,
in the ancient river, and
in the mermaid's song.
I feel it in
the beating of the
hummingbird's wings.
I see it in
Van Gogh's jagged sky,
in the flight pattern
of the wasp.

There is a rhythm in
death and birth.
Oh my God, the rapture of
the rhythm of love and
joy--so sublime.
The primal beat of a
heartbreak--pain,
like painting with
blood.
So real
too lucid.
Icarus, let's fly into
the sun, drunk on
***** or cheap wine.
We'll escape--liquid smooth,
until our wings melt,
and we fall back down,
crash
to the pulse
the rhythm
***  ***
***  ***
***  ***.

Sometimes,
I wish I were
a rock.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_arvp3Q6C8c
Here is a link to my you tube channel where I read this poem and others from my recent book, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems, available on Amazon.com
Manas Jan 2020
Dreams now supine
Rotting into fantasies
Oblivious to the schism
Preferences decided
By an algorithm
The scorching sun
This burning pyre
What more will it take
To set yourself on fire
Killing your instinct
Shaming is taming
****** oozing
You were born to be
A statutory warning
An inherent cast out.
The fuse is in your hands
Don’t you dare fizzle out.
You feel it
You repress it
A dynamite
Convinced it’s a firecracker.
Time to smell the gunpowder
Clickity click.
Trembles the wicker
To dust off the ashes
You must
Burn down the empire.
Proceed with no caution

Set yourself on fire.
Max Neumann Dec 2019
your warm heart
is the pulse of my life

the sweetest speech is when
i speak to you anna

my salvation
my destiny

the sweetest blood is
your blood anna

your warm heart
is the pulse of my life

the pulse of my life
is your warm heart

my savior
my salvation

the pulse of our lifes
are our hearts

travel with me
i will take you away

forever anna
anna forever

a: absolute love
n: neverlanddreams
n: no other woman
a: absolute love

your name is a
frame

your reflection a
painting

anna+tizzop
tizzop+anna

and this white page has become a bole
our lovenames are engraved in wood

and wood never sinks in water
nothing more to add, baby
Empire Nov 2019
Trigger warning: Suicidal thoughts/ideation


It's ******* me off
Steady, rhythmic
Continuous.
I want it to



F̷̘͇̖̟̟͔͍̜̍͛͑̔̿͗̅͌̅͒̇̚̚ͅȖ̷͚̮̹̪̮͎̻͖͉̖̘̖͔̭̬̹̪̍̅ͅͅC̶͋͒͆̀̍͛͌­̡̧̨̣͉͔̤͉͇̺̠̖̞͖̖͚̇̌̈́̿͑͠K̸̹̹̳̠͉̝̭̭̣̤̤̩̜̈́̈́̏́̽͆̋̆͋͋͐͛̓̆̾̈͜͜͝͝͝I̶̔̅́͠͠­͚͇̠̞̤̹̻̮͍͖͚̱̌̎̾̆̂͊͊̊̄̍͑̍̀͑̈́͘͠N̸̨̨̨͓̣͎̩͙̥̦̐͑̚G̸͙͕̳̥̹̹͍̒͂́̏̈̈́̎̊̃͝͠ͅ­̤̲ ̸̛̹͚̫͆̄̏̅͌̄̎̔̀Ş̸̡̬̼̘͉̦̹̙̉̿͌̍̌͋̓̓̍͑̂̂́̕̚Ṭ̷̨̧͖̗̳͔̮͐̉̍̽̈́͗͂̈́̒̍̊́͘͝͝­Ǫ̵̧̧̨̨̫̰̼̼̲̹̙̻̣̹̭͎͕̞̪̼͑͛̄̽̒̓̃̀̄̎̈́̂̄̾̕͠ͅP̸̱͓̦̰̥̙̗̂̿̾̄̾̀͋̈́́̔͜


­
I'm tired of this
ALL OF IT!!!

None of you want me
None you desire me
None of you!
You don't care for me
You don't care about me
You don't take care of me

YOU ONLY CARE ABOUT YOURSELVES
You care when it makes you look good
You care when it's convenient
But I'm falling
It's dark here
I can feel it in my heart
As it grows colder
...colder...


Ŷ̸̧̡̡͉̥͉̲̲̝͉̟̝̟̤͒́͑̍̄͗͊͛́͗̆̿͠O̶̱̜̭̜̪͈̮̩̯̓͝­͚͓͓̣̦̞Ư̴̟̇̈́̓͊̒͘͝
YOU ALL
YOU'RE SO BUSY
SO WRAPPED UP IN YOURSELVES

YOU CAN'T EVEN ******* SEE


Ḯ̷̛̼̦͋̈́̀̈́̀̓̋͒́̔͌̐͝͠
̵̡̡͕͕͇̥̗̪̭͎̄̅̕
̵̛̝̪̝̙̙̟̹̃̽̑́͑͝ͅA̷͌͝­̢̢͈̜̪̣̪̘̻̖̣͍̪̮̰̬͙̘̪̠̟͆̒̾̃̽̂̐̕͝͝ͅͅM̶̨̡̡̢̛̘̯̞̜̘̼̳̦̭͍̬̪͖̖̯̜̜͍̻̬̙͉̓̃̊­̰ͅ
̵̨͎̫͍͈̗̤͇̻̫̠̖͈͉͈̥̜͆̓̈́͜
̷͉̘͊̈̿̉̐̇͒̈́̌̃̉̅͂͗̾̚͠͝D̵̿̑͗̄͌̇̑͊̿̈́̆͘̚̕̚͘­̲͈̮͉̞̖͖̰͓͇͓̣̙̙̖͔͕Y̴̡̩͉̘̦͔̩͈̤͂͠I̷̢̳͓͇͈̯̼͔̰̲͕̲̠̜̩̾̇̽̂̌͛́̈́̿̐̾̋̑̀͌̌̕­̡̡̢̝̮̙͔̭̠̰͇͔̹͔̖ͅN̷̛̛̰̙̪̥̯̻̦̘̰͖̫͒͋̅̈́͂̃̇̂̎̑̀͛͂̓̔̀̀̏̀̓͗̏̃̏̍̂̈́͘̚͘͜͝G̷­̨̛̞͍̥̤̬̘̲̹̘̻͉̟͐͒̾̎̎̀̐͒͆̒͂̋͆̑̉͘͝͝





and i've come to hate my heartbeat
because it's this constant ******* reminder
that i have to keep ******* living
breathing
though i've no desire to do so
i don't want it
i don't want to keep going
I'M WEARY
just leave me to ******* die
Anastasia Aug 2019
You are bliss
Definition of euphoria
Taste of never-ending perfect
Oh, how I wish you were mine
A kiss from you
Melting me
Into a pool of warm ice
And honey blossoms
Drowning me in dopamine
Flashes of adrenaline
Pulsing through my veins
Laced with sugar
And your perfume
Absolute perfection ❤
Cecil Miller Aug 2019
Sometimes I want to hold.

Sometimes I want to be held.

I'd rather not ruminate upon her face, study it on the canvas in my mind, because I am reminded of the distance between us, separated by seas of immeasurable volume, not unlike my fidelity.

No placemarker could ever feel the same.

There has never been such serenity as the time she let my fingers play in her hair, and dance along her forhead, while she was resting beside me in a bed that was too large for the room.

Did she feel the quickening of my pulse? My recess was not timorous, but rather love, respect, and desire to be who she needed.

It was later that I learned
I waited long and lost my turn.

Energy never dies,
But it changes like the ocean tide.
Like I, evaporated to the sky.

Like she, wonderment in definition."
I wrote the poem this afternoon. The title is just because I cannot think of a decent one. I get busy so I don't write as much poetry as I used to.
Maia Jul 2019
I haven’t quite
Decided
Wether these veins that web my heart
Are roots
Or fault lines,
But I’m starting to believe-
That maybe
They can exist
As both.
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