do you really really know yourself
do you really let it unfold itself
or do you jump the gun
spring and sprung
one and done
love struck
do you really truly know yourself
do you really uphold yourself
or do you pick apart
dissect or repent
hate or peace
love struck
again
oh

Shades of bitter and brittle
Frozen through
In deepening shades of blue
Where away from the powder you see very little
Then at once the melting of frustration
Getting ready for the allium invasion

The pale minty expanse
As blades are sprung
In what has begun
The rays and the petals slowly dance
Then comes the warming of inspiration
Getting ready for the allium invasion

The lavender and lilac beckons
As star stained skies spin
To the blossoming world we are in
Mornings first rays will reckon
Then the joyous of infestations
The dandelions are tourists watching the allium invasion

The cold flames shall fall
Upon once green lands
Soon to be choked by winter’s strong hands
Then we can fondly recall
How we long for the perennial celebration
Dreaming of the next allium invasion.

Myth
by Michael R. Burch

Here the recalcitrant wind
sighs with grievance and remorse
over fields of wayward gorse
and thistle-throttled lanes.

And she is the myth of the scythed wheat
hewn and sighing, complete,
waiting, lain in a low sheaf—
full of faith, full of grief.

Here the immaculate dawn
requires belief of the leafed earth
and she is the myth of the mown grain—
golden and humble in all its weary worth.

I believe I wrote the first version of this poem toward the end of my senior year of high school, around age 18 in late 1976. To my recollection this is my only poem directly influenced by the “sprung rhythm” of Dylan Thomas (moreso than that of Gerard Manley Hopkins). But I was not happy with the fourth line and put the poem aside for more than 20 years, until 1998, when I revised it. But I was still not happy with the fourth line, so I put it aside and revised it again in 2020, nearly half a century after originally writing the poem! Keywords/Tags: sprung, rhythm, myth, gorse, thistles, wheat, mown, grain, sheaf, faith, grief, golden, humble

Who am I?
Why do I feel this hurt
When I've been there
Where heaven only knows
What compels me, return.
How do I feel this hurt
When I purposefully
Buried it under the hole
From which it sprung
I don't want to let low
My other half
Please come back to me
Please make me safe again

I don't know what it is,
But something's missing
Something's missing from me
And I think that's you.

I feel like a defective doll
One that won't operate without being tuned
One that won't laugh
Without unless you put in a battery
I'm like a mute that won't sing
Unless given a tune.

And that tune, and that battery,
They're you.
And I miss the day we spent basically the whole day together
I miss your presence
& I can't help but feeling
Defective without you.