in an old blue car
driving on the highway
in the snow
i gripped the steering wheel
my knuckles turned white
like the road
my heart didn't beat
it trembled
crying, mirroring
the weather
i think
god would've wept today
if he
were
here at all

With friends and family near,
Holiday cheer is here
Even though it's been a trying year.
And though we've shed some tears,
With more to come I'm sure,
Let's raise our wine, eggnog, or beer
In honor of us for making it
And in honor of those who aren't with us physically anymore.

isa pa, itagay mo pa
tatlong ikot na lang ubos na.
hindi malamig,
ubod ng lamig.
iisa lang pala ang tama.
ibigay ang pulutan
doon sa malakas kumain.
pagkatapos nito, isusuka rin.

Not one person in this lonely world
Walks on some singular path alone
But every once in a horrible while
There are those that come up and push you along

Here is a toast
To those that boast
And say they wish you well
When all along
They sing some song
And march you straight to hell

May they rot and grow crazed
In their shallow graves
For what they did in life
And know that sin
Is what fills the graves in
Even if they don’t remember it right

morning: my least favourite time
of day, is made not so bad by
a slice of buttered toast and a
black coffee.

morning: when my hair is a mess and
my sheets cling to my damp
skin, is made not so unhappy
by the sunlight spilling in.

morning: when my eyelids are
heavy and i’m too tired to speak,
when my lips are dry and my
thoughts are static;

i think i’ll put the kettle on, and
sink into the day: slowly, slowly,
slowly, so that the hours trickle
away.

Standing by the gate to admire green grass view,
I saw a traveler passing by.
Not knowing where she came from,
Her question startled my heart.
Answering my doubt,
She handed me a wine jar.
Not looking at her departing back,
I smiled and took a gulp.
Today, I made a friend.

The Toast
by Michael R. Burch

For longings warmed by tepid suns
(brief lusts that animated clay),
for passions wilted at the bud
and skies grown desolate and grey,
for stars that fell from tinseled heights
and mountains bleak and scarred and lone,
for seas reflecting distant suns
and weeds that thrive where seeds were sown,
for waltzes ending in a hush,
for rhymes that fade as pages close,
for flames’ exhausted, drifting ash,
and petals falling from the rose, ...
I raise my cup before I drink,
saluting ghosts of loves long dead,
and silently propose a toast—
to joys set free, and those I fled.

Originally published by Contemporary Rhyme. Keywords/Tags: toast, death, time, passages, dreams, clay, flesh, ash, sun, sunset, age, grave, end

When I first discovered hot buttered toast I caught a glimpse of heaven.
I was 15 and visiting friends.
I had only been allowed stork margerine at home and had grown to tolerate it.
But that was a poor reflection of the real thing.
Now I knew heaven:
Standing by the toaster, with tea in a mug and hot, butter-dripping toast.

Success!
by Michael R. Burch

for Jeremy Michael Burch

We need our children to keep us humble
between toast and marmalade;

there is no time for a ticker-tape parade
before bed, no award, no bright statuette

to be delivered for mending skinned knees,
no wild bursts of approval for shoveling snow.

A kiss is the only approval they show;
to leave us—the first great success they achieve.

I wrote this poem after fixing my son Jeremy some toast and getting a kiss in return. Keywords/Tags: children, success, parents, toast, jam, marmalade, skinned, knees, kiss, approval

here's to every **** poem
i do, have
and
will write.

- thanks
for all the fertilizer.