The Shape of Mourning
by Michael R. Burch

The shape of mourning
is an oiled creel
shining with unuse,

the bolt of cold steel
on a locker
shielding memory,

the monthly penance
of flowers,
the annual wake,

the face in the photograph
no longer dissolving under scrutiny,
becoming a keepsake,

the useless mower
lying forgotten
in weeds,

rings and crosses and
all the paraphernalia
the soul no longer needs.

Keywords/Tags: shape, mourning, bolt, steel, locker, memory, memories, penance, wake, keepsake, memento, rings, crosses, paraphernalia

shadows fiercely
dancing around the fire.

with us twirling

a r                             ar                           ar
    ou               ou            ou           ou
           nd.                              nd.          

                                                                          &

soon
we  s l o w down.
the last of our fiery red streak
faintly visible across the room.

my hometown has a straight edge,
obedient new kid vibe -
one that other cities hate.
yet it resides in my heart,
its memories forming
the shape of who I am today.

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

To all the boys who have ruthlessly clinged themselves upon me, forcing me to make room for them, demanding me to fit into their dreams of me, expecting me to perform, wanting me to take them in.

To all the boys who have made me change for them, rushed my development, taking me out into the wilderness, so far away that I no longer could find my way back home.

To all of you who have shaped me into who I am today, leaving me less naive, so careful of others' feelings after learning to put theirs ahead of my own.

To all of you who have left me shining from all the love, more in touch with my feelings and my gut, a bit harder but beautiful in the adore from your eyes.

To all of you - I am done. I have nothing left to say to you, I've already thought it all. But to myself - I made it home. Bruised, scared and scarred but I made it. And even though it isn't what it used to be, I'm still back and the next time I go, it will be when I want to go and not because of a stupid boy.

i want to be the one
you see in the clouds
when you are feeling
tired & empty
and need a reason
to keep going

People come into our lives at every chapter, shaping us in different ways,
Some good and some bad,
How did you become both?