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James R May 1
a poem never writes itself,
but will guide us.
its sinister intent half-mechanical, as if by formula,
yet imbued with fresh shock
and sound. a word
settles on the bones
and then another--- another.
their emergence rings hollow
before unison and rings
loudly as a whole.
cascading rhythms,
parsed onto pen-pricked page,
gasping for more
and wanting less.
a poem about poetry

this was rushed-- will revisit
Betty Apr 27
A tide of doubt has swept my words

And covered them with sand

A cold and lonely beach

In some forgotten land
Some online abuse has completely thrown me and I am finding it difficult to write at the moment.
The Wonder Boys
by Michael R. Burch

(for Leslie Mellichamp, the late editor of The Lyric,
who was a friend and mentor to many poets, and
a fine and evocative poet in his own right)

The stars were always there, too-bright cliches:
scintillant truths the jaded world outgrew
as baffled poets winged keyed kites—amazed,
in dream of shocks that suddenly came true . . .

but came almost as static—background noise,
a song out of the cosmos no one hears,
or cares to hear. The poets, starstruck boys,
lay tuned in to their kite strings, saucer-eared.

They thought to feel the lightning’s brilliant sparks
electrify their nerves, their brains; the smoke
of words poured from their overheated hearts.
The kite string, knotted, made a nifty rope . . .

You will not find them here; they blew away—
in tumbling flight beyond nights’ stars. They clung
by fingertips to satellites. They strayed
too far to remain mortal. Elfin, young,

their words are with us still. Devout and fey,
they wink at us whenever skies are gray.

Originally published by The Lyric. Keywords/Tags: poets, wonder boys, stars, lightning, electricity, sparks, shock, shocks, smoke, cosmos, cosmic song, celestial music, music of the spheres, Peter Pan, Neverland, flight, fly, flying, soaring, elves, elfin, magic, fey, immortal
by Michael R. Burch

It was early in the morning, in the forming of my soul,
in the dawning of desire, with passion at first bloom,
with lightning splitting heaven to thunder's blasting roll
and a sense of welling fire and, perhaps, impending doom—

that I cried out through the tumult of the raging storm on high
for shelter from the chaos of the restless, driving rain . . .
and the voice I heard replying from a rift of bleeding sky
was mine, I'm sure, and, furthermore, was certainly insane.

Published by Penny Dreadful, The Eclectic Muse, Fullosia Press and Poetry Life & Times. Keywords/Tags: shock, nightmare, insanity, dream, dreams, storm, rain, lightning, thunder, rift, sky, red, bleeding, ******, voice
Betty Mar 26
Grief is a sea

A lonely place

First comes the shock

That slap in the face

It tells your brain

You can't take the pace

Leave the pain for a while

Drop out of the race

Sit on the side

Watch the world go by

Numb and chilled

Too stunned to cry

It will be too much

When Reality hits

Let's take it slow

Face the news in bits!
John James Mar 25
If my eyes were a camera, and my eyelids the shutters.
I'd never be able to take your picture.
Shoot the shell in the sky
Up up and away
To fall far over there
On enemy positions
Blowing them up
The way its meant to be
Long range fires aimed
At the enemy who does
Exactly the same to us
We are not the same
His blood is not red
Not are his thoughts pure
Or intent good
For he is our enemy
And must be defeated
Totally by all means
Lonely Heart Feb 14
Cast in my shadow is someone else
Neither darker or lighter than myself
Seeing unhappiness in everything else
Why would I ask for any wealth?
When my heart is emptier than death
The wincing shock in my chest
Leaves me without rest
Shattered illusions
Ripples on a wave
Glass embeded in my flesh
Gushing bleeding turning and grieving
All for a chance to escape this steel mesh
It's 11 o'clock; I'm at park
with dreadful shock
hear some banger & truck
_night!are you crazy to invite the ghost to
ride th bicycle on my mind?
can't wait til the miracle jot down
"turned verb of a noun"
let me get rid of the vand!
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