Venice’s Commemorative Monument to Bartolomeo Colleoni - 1488



The general glares downwards from his horse,

faithfully keeping watch over the mundane,

the tedious progression of centuries.

A sentinel, he had imagined himself—a noble,

intended to become immortal,

traveling ever forward in time,

defying the erasure of memory.



But time is the enemy of all things.

The pigeons and the rain could be tolerated;

time, however, has become relentless and unyielding.

It has eroded his heroic relevance,

he watches unblinking as his glorious benevolence

fades from all memory.

Generation after weary generation

manifests the ruinous decay of collective forgetfulness.

Come said the woman,
To the statue who stood by the falls.
"Come great statue, come with me."
"For the falls are flooding and soon they will take you too."
The statue looked down upon the woman,
Then silently shook his head.
And though she pleaded for him to leave,
The statue remained, arms spread to embrace the flood.

After I saw her, I knew she was the one. 
I knew, oh I knew well about her

She breathed as a being I wanted to preserve in my art. 
She possessed power over me that summoned me without surrender.

I'd go mad without her;
I want to kiss her beauty so well, 

Only my lips can entertain a supple soul like hers, 
Desperate for someone like me.

I have acquired dreams of planting kisses, 
Holding her delicately in my arms as I strum her hair.

I want to love her, making her my statue.

the snail shells lie empty
they dried up and burnt
on the longest day
while limestone bathing lovers
chipped by fleshy hands
with great intention
don’t miss slimy snails

they are still in embrace
in stony waves
stopped and gazing
the light empties even
on the longest day
lovers and shells alike
eventually take storms
on their cheeks

a statue quietly lurks
in the corner of my mind,
waiting until all is calm.
when the dark shroud
falls over the blue sky,
the statue comes to life
as a vicious, fang-bearing,
red-eyed, gnarly demon.
the demon pulls a dream apart
with its long, pointy claws,
injecting the shreds with poison
until they tangle up in each other
to become a tight, infectious knot
that can only be untangled...by waking up.

I walk in beauty
As if Venus has bestowed her wings on my back.
Her frolicked hair in oil paint
perhaps I am her redemption?
To seek both answer and truth
In an age without stone cut statues?

But I do not resemble the sliced abdomen of statues
and I am not gilded in beauty
nor do I tell the perfect truth.
I tend to look back,
craving redemption
illustrated in paint

My fingers tremble in paint
frozen at the canvas like a statue.
There is no point in a redemption
when I cannot see beauty.
So I learn that I will not be back
until I have learnt the truth.

And when I have learnt this truth,
so stark as oil paint,
I must make the decision to come back.
Of course I will change, for I am not a statue,
but I will be shrouded in my own beauty
for Venus will get her redemption.

Mother of Cowards
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

So unlike the brazen giant of Greek fame
With conquering limbs astride from land to land,
Spread-eagled, showering gold, a strumpet stands:
A much-used trollop with a torch, whose flame
Has long since been extinguished. And her name?
"Mother of Cowards!" From her enervate hand
Soft ash descends. Her furtive eyes demand
Allegiance to her ****'s repulsive game.

"Keep, ancient lands, your wretched poor!" cries she
With scarlet lips. "Give me your hale, your whole,
Your huddled tycoons, yearning to be pleased!
The wretched refuse of your toilet hole?
Oh, never send one unwashed child to me!
I await Trump's pleasure by the gilded bowl!"

NOTE: My sonnet is a parody of the famous poem "The New Colossus" written about the Statue of Liberty by Emma Lazarus. Keywords/Tags: America, American history, liberty, United States, Emma Lazarus, The New Colossus, Statue of Liberty, Lady Liberty, torch, freedom, beacon, lamp, light, door, golden door, liberty, immigrants, immigration, refuse, homeless, poor, rich, discrimination, huddled masses, yearning, breath free, giant, fame, free, freedom of speech, independence day, New York, patriotic

standing like this
(they call it immortality)
with a frozen smile and ponderous medals
is more barbaric
than lying in state
with a red rose on my chest

at dawn, two lovers awakened at my feet
and began reciting the beautiful engraved lies
between kisses and laughs
there was a sharp pain in my chest
at the very spot where the first ray of light hit
at the very spot where they pinned the red rose