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eña Jun 24
The burden, that heavy feeling came without a greeting. It was just here and not ready to succumb.
The towers of books and paper and the flashing technology were once part of a structure. The fixed structure that made me feel comfortable but was suddenly gone.
At first, it felt like something found its way inside my room and tore down everything it touched. The towers fell. There was no structure anymore.
But as time passed, I realized that the towers did not fall. No, the towers grew. They grew and took the space that I desperately needed. The walls that I always felt so comfortable in, that were a place of relaxation and were part of my structured daily life, turned to a space where I feel cornered and anxious. Never could I have imagined that a virus is capable of taking away space.
Just some thoughts about the situation while in quarantine. Normal things, normal rooms suddenly became my source of fear. A fear, a burden that I don’t want to experience again.
911 Carousel
by Michael R. Burch

“And what rough beast ... slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?”—W. B. Yeats

They laugh and do not comprehend, nor ask
which way the wind is blowing, no, nor why
the reeling azure fixture of the sky
grows pale with ash, and whispers “Holocaust.”

They think to seize the ring, life’s tinfoil prize,
and, breathless with endeavor, shriek aloud.
The voice of terror thunders from a cloud
that darkens over children adult-wise,

far less inclined to error, when a step
in any wrong direction is to fall
a JDAM short of heaven. Decoys call,
their voices plangent, honking to be shot ...

Here, childish dreams and nightmares whirl, collide,
as East and West, on slouching beasts, they ride.

Published by The Neovictorian/Cochlea, Mindful of Poetry, Gostinaya and Scholasticus/Fullosia Press. Keywords/Tags: 911, war, violence, retribution, twin towers, terror, terrorism, east, west, dreams, nightmares, error
Pan
Pan
by Michael R. Burch

... Among the shadows of the groaning elms,
amid the darkening oaks, we fled ourselves ...

... Once there were paths that led to coracles
that clung to piers like loosening barnacles ...

... where we cannot return, because we lost
the pebbles and the playthings, and the moss ...

... hangs weeping gently downward, maidens’ hair
who never were enchanted, and the stairs ...

... that led up to the Fortress in the trees
will not support our weight, but on our knees ...

... we still might fit inside those splendid hours
of damsels in distress, of rustic towers ...

... of voices of the wolves’ tormented howls
that died, and live in dreams’ soft, windy vowels ...

Published by The Chariton Review

Keywords/Tags: Childhood, dreams, enchanted, stairs, fortress, trees, damsels, maidens, towers, wolves, howls, oaks, elms, paths, pebbles, playthings, toys, moss
bakunawa Jun 2019
fickle winds
spread across him
with all the strength
of a dying breath

it swallowed him
nearly toppled him

stole from him
whispers, sweet nothings
simply bereft.



it was lifeless a sigh
that was her battlecry
like the once flapped
wings of a butterfly

and so they flutter
and they so try

harken
a heart's sweet
sweet hound

the mutiny to cry.

once, had she
silenced him
and never again—

a whirlwind
a heartbeat
and a teardropped
inkstain...

finger painted
across his chest
lock and key
to way back when—

and a life that's stolen
killed a ghost just
about to begin
still. soulless. slain.

a wreck before
he even rode the train.


feeble breeze,
a warm air
reached his ear

like crashing waves
against a lowly boat

he knew the vastness of the ocean
that anywhere else he'd be in the clear
yet no matter how hard he'd try
away, he just couldn't steer—
water and thirst am i right? what it feels like fighting of your worst primal urge.
thank you for reading~~
Colm Apr 2019
The greatest secret
Allowed to survive in this place
Is that this place is hers
And that I am here
Next to her own
About two tall people
D Lowell Wilder Sep 2018
The moat where we keep watery fowl
afloat feeding them cracked corn
scattered from our parapets.
Repaired the dry rot in the gate, got the
drawbridge working, again…it rusts.
There is dust, makes us sneeze.
Stumble over stones, look at masons
askance.  Threaten grain withholding
(hint:  barley) unless they
make ‘em flush.
How fun to keep
the keep
shiny.
Always interested in  concept of time travel and having to tackle situations with modern skill set.  Never turns out well.
MicMag Sep 2018
|      two       |          |   a nation   |
|      twin      |          |   built on   |
|    towers    |          | ideals and |
|    rising      |          |  grandest   |
|    so high   |          | immigrant |
|    up into   |          |    dreams    |
|    the sky   |          | (and yes...   |
|    repre-     |          |   on slave    |
|    senting   |          |   labor too)  |
|    soaring   |          |    a nation    |
|   ambition  |         |  of mighty   |
|   & wealth  |         |  paradoxes  |
-------------------------------------------------­-----------

                       and then
                      ...BOOM...
                  world changed


             all                              all        
        reduced     ­                broken    
      to heaping                 by hateful  
    piles of rubble          brainwashed
  and raw emotion     men drowned in
tears & fears & rage.tears & fears & rage
------------------------------------------------------------­


we rose from the ashes
united in mourning
national pride swelling
emotions still swirling

we warmly embraced
neighbors and friends
overwhelmed with grief
paralyzed by anguish

we explosively cursed
those enemies who'd hurt us
simmering in anger
engulfed in fiery rage

we boldly surged into war
to defend and protect
blinded by our deep-set fears
dead-set on vengeance

we let the years pass
we still remember
we still recover
we still rebuild

we still rise

from what is clear
but to where?

please let us be wise
Written quite a few years ago reflecting on the terrible, world-shaking events of 9/11.

Still left wondering the same questions.

How will we remember and honor those who died?

How (and to what) will we rise?
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