Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Laokos Oct 2020
i am Orpheus in the clouds
playing clown for the masses.

i'm half of the shaft of light
breaking mosaically into
millions of pieces across the kitchen floor.

i'm a smoky chandelier swaying with
the bravado of a censure on high-holy-day.

i'm the royal velvet lining your blood.

i am a poem, without reason, read to you
by a stranger.

i am 200 tons of cracked granite one thousand
feet above you splitting off from the face of
the mountain.

but more so than any of that,

i'm a peculiar kind
of nothing

typing words onto
screens before
i die.
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
by Michael R. Burch

The hazy, smoke-filled skies of summer I remember well;
farewell was on my mind, and the thoughts that I can't tell
rang bells within (the din was in) my mind, and I can't say
if what we had was good or bad, or where it is today ...
The endless days of summer's haze I still recall today;
she spoke and smoky skies stood still as summer slipped away ...
[We loved and life we left alone and deftly was it done;
we sang our song all summer long beneath the sultry sun.]

I wrote this poem as a boy, after seeing an ad for the movie "Summer of ’42," which starred the lovely Jennifer O’Neill and a young male actor who might have been my nebbish twin. I didn’t see the R-rated movie at the time: too young, according to my parents! But something about the ad touched me; even thinking about it today makes me feel sad and a bit out of sorts. The movie came out in 1971, so the poem was probably written around 1971-1972. But it could have been a bit later, with me working from memory. In any case, the poem was published in my high school literary journal, The Lantern, in 1976. The poem is “rhyme rich” with eleven rhymes in the first four lines: well, farewell, tell, bells, within, din, in, say, today, had, bad. The last two lines appear in brackets because they were part of the original poem but I later chose to publish just the first six lines. I didn’t see the full movie until 2001, around age 43, after which I addressed two poems to my twin, Hermie …

Listen, Hermie
by Michael R. Burch

Listen, Hermie . . .
you can hear the strangled roar
of water inundating that lost shore . . .

and you can see how white she shone

that distant night, before
you blinked
and she was gone . . .

But is she ever really gone from you . . . or are
her lips the sweeter since you kissed them once:
her waist wasp-thin beneath your hands always,
her stockinged shoeless feet for that one dance
still whispering their rustling nylon trope
of―“Love me. Love me. Love me. Give me hope
that love exists beyond these dunes, these stars.”

How white her prim brassiere, her waist-high briefs;
how lustrous her white slip. And as you danced―
how white her eyes, her skin, her eager teeth.
She reached, but not for *** . . . for more . . . for you . . .
You cannot quite explain, but what is true
is true despite our fumbling in the dark.

Hold tight. Hold tight. The years that fall away
still make us what we are. If love exists,
we find it in ourselves, grown wan and gray,
within a weathered hand, a wrinkled cheek.

She cannot touch you now, but I would reach
across the years to touch that chord in you
which sang the pangs of love, and play it true.

Tell me, Hermie
by  Michael R. Burch

Tell me, Hermie ― when you saw
her white brassiere crash to the floor
as she stepped from her waist-high briefs
into your arms, and mutual griefs ―
did you feel such fathomless awe
as mystics in artists’ reliefs?

How is it that dark night remains
forever with us ― present still ―
despite her absence and the pains
of dreams relived without the thrill
of any ecstasy but this ―
one brief, eternal, transient kiss?

She was an angel; you helped us see
the beauty of love’s iniquity.

Keywords/Tags: young, love, summer, smoke, smoky, haze, fog, foggy, cloudy, sky, skies, heat, summer heat, ****** heat, smog, mist, sultry, Summer of '42, Jennifer O’Neill, Hermie, sky, skies, cloud, clouds, cloudy, farewell, goodbye, memory, memories, teen, teenage, teen love, boy, boyfriend, first love, World War II,
confusion, regret, recall, recollection, memory, remembrance
rgz Mar 2019
This smoke in my throat
The fire in my teeth
The wires of my bones
Slowly tugging at me

Withered webs of my eyes
Covet all that I see
The light from your skin
Meets the fall in my knees

The warmth of my breath
A glass guarantee
Tattered wind of my faith
Cast off with the sea
Lucius Furius Aug 2018
I left my mittens in the Smokies.
It was that night at Maddron Bald on the ridge
after we'd hiked from Davenport Gap --
12 miles, 4,000 feet.
The girl gave us icicles.
Dazed and breathless, we pitched the tent
and scrambled into our sleeping bags.
The morning sun felt good -- Sterling Ridge
on our left, Cosby far below to the right;
Mt. Guyot with its spruces and firs;
lunch at Tri-Corner ****; then down through
the rhododendrons and mud to McGhee Springs.
Raven Fork -- the beech tree, the icy water,
the boulders, the sunlight.
Cabin Flats and Smokemont -- the rain,
the people with pancakes.
Campfires, backpacks, flapjacks, barley;
sunshine, lichens, blisters, . . . wood-smoke.
Hear Lucius/Jerry read the poem: .
This poem is part of the Scraps of Faith collection of poems ( )
Dark n Beautiful Apr 2017
The ugly poetess
Over the housetops,
Above the dry blades of the sugar cane husks
I have known fear, I have known hunger
I felt the pain of a nail wound deep in my foot
I belted out the blues like Nina Simone
An era of reform: the moments of truth,

On top of the hill, lies a village in Barbados
Acid rain, rooftop leaks on to my bed
It was a rough year:
only food sources were rice and breadfruits
We lived through it all:

It was my destiny:
To love and to hate them:
those old fruit loops

Through the eyes of a uprising poet
The curving of his pen,
Somehow, he made amends, he purge
the smoky air,
the disgusting sight of the pig pens
out of his mind

lack of personal dental hygiene,
the elders lost their teeth
Grinding down on sugarcane, while they
awaits the big meal of the day

With innocent eyes and achy feet
I read so many books for inner peace

My stomach was empty,
but my mind was at ease
To dream big while aiming high

Marlene, Delores, and Linda
Known as the vanishing three
Migrated to North America
Where a Barefooted child
like me wasn’t supposed to be
Eventually, I know I would have followed

I have woven my feathers,
while looking upwards,
In my little corner under the old rusty galvanizes
At the old country shop the vanishing three mothers
told me that I wasn’t pretty enough to leave the island
Words of hatred, mere words of discomfort
I felt my wings tighten against my rib cage,
My tongue, glued against my jaws

From that day forward the poet smile against stupidity
And spitefulness, she too had come to
Eat her words, the old shopkeeper

The poetess enter another line from that era
Uncaring beauty without brains
Where are they now?

I walked with confident down that street
The misty air moist my skin
The poetess return to the Island of Barbados
Without the sugar in her blood..
Moet Kogano Sep 2015
the soft white circle lights up my face
it's a smoky moon tonight

what I see is what you saw
we are apart now

if you puff a tobacco up to the moon
it'll be a smoky moon over here

if I cry for you under the moon
it'll be a smoky moon over there

we are living in different time
we are apart now
fix it if you find something wrong
Niveda Nahta Apr 2015
Did not know who you were
Your name or your birthday
Voice of yours was all i heard
We dint even spend a day
Three hours of chatting
Two hours of play
One hour of clarity
And another hour of day,
Lips smelling like cigarettes 
Body so husky and light
In an aura of musk
Bodies touching like night 
Stars kissing the sky
I heard your voice
You felt mine
I touched your heart
You blew my mind
We saw light coming in
Through the curtains
It was night yesterday
Today everything's uncertain
Maybe it was new
So it attracted me
Maybe it was me
That attracted you
Like a cannibal
We ate up our sorrows
Into a shadow of lustre
And no tomorrow
What happened this time
I cheated perhaps
It was one time thing
Its time to relax
Maybe I forgot how much someone loves me
Maybe it was infatuation that caught me
Love or lust
It no longer matters
As my thoughts include 
You as all that matters
Lust for you
Maybe love for me
But these 6 hours were
Enough for me
One night of regret
One day of lust
One time of sorrow
One game of mistrust
Maybe I am sorry
Maybe it was meant
A six day love story 
That never came to an end..
yes I regret it..
kyla marie Mar 2014
I hate the type of goodbyes
where nothing is said
just things are forgotten

like the smell of my perfume dabbed slightly on my collarbone
applied softly, wishing you would notice

or how you ran your fingers down my neck
giving me goosebumps every time I inhaled the sweet aroma of rain lingering outside

and now
the beautiful words that flowed dangerously fast out of our mouths
are no longer spoken

you gracefully faded from my life

like how foggy breath fades in the winter

— The End —