Ordinary Love
by Michael R. Burch

Indescribable—our love—and still we say
with eyes averted, turning out the light,
“I love you,” in the ordinary way

and tug the coverlet where once we lay,
all suntanned limbs entangled, shivering, white ...
indescribably in love. Or so we say.

Your hair’s blonde thicket’s thinned and tangle-gray;
you turn your back; you murmur to the night,
“I love you,” in the ordinary way.

Beneath the sheets our hands and feet would stray ...
to warm ourselves. We do not touch, despite
a love so indescribable. We say

we’re older now, that “love” has had its day.
But that which love once countenanced, delight,
still makes you indescribable. I say,
“I love you,” in the ordinary way.

Published by The Lyric, Romantics Quarterly, Mandrake Poetry Review, Carnelian, Poem Kingdom, Net Poetry and Art Competition, Famous Poets and Poems, FreeXpression, PW Review, Poetic Voices, Poetry Renewal, Poetry Life & Times; also winner of the 2001 Algernon Charles Swinburne Poetry Award

Keywords/Tags: Villanelle, ordinary, commonplace, everyday, love, bed, sheets, warmth, comfort, delight, limbs, night, light, white, hair, back, hands, feet, romance, passion, desire, longing, ***, intimacy

Hangovers
by Michael R. Burch

We forget that, before we were born,
our parents had “lives” of their own,
ran drunk in the streets, or half-******.

Yes, our parents had lives of their own
until we were born; then, undone,
they were buying their parents gravestones

and finding gray hairs of their own
(because we were born lacking some
of their curious habits, but soon

would certainly get them). Half-******,
we watched them dig graves of their own.
Their lives would be over too soon

for their curious habits to bloom
in us (though our children were born
nine months from that night on the town

when, punch-drunk in the streets or half-******,
we first proved we had lives of our own).

Published by Barbitos, Trinacria, Songs and Poems that Changed the World (reference.com), Atomic Publishing and The Eclectic Muse

Keywords/Tags: Villanelle, hangovers, drugs, alcohol, drunk, ******, parents, children, graves, death, habit, bad habits, wasted, drink, drinking, *****, liquor, beer, wine, tombs, gravestones, headstones, lives, deaths, pregnant, pregnancy, pregnancies

The Divide
by Michael R. Burch

The sea was not salt the first tide ...
was man born to sorrow that first day,
the moon a pale beacon across the Divide,
the brighter for longing, an object denied,
the tug at his heart's pink, bourgeoning clay?

The sea was not salt the first tide ...
but grew bitter, bitter ... man's torrents supplied.
The bride of their longing forever astray,
her shield a cold beacon across the Divide,
flashing pale signals: "Decide. Decide.
Choose me, or His Brightness, I will not stay."

The sea was not salt the first tide ...
imploring her, ebbing: "Abide, abide."

The silver fish flash there, the manatees gray.

The moon, a pale beacon across the Divide,
has taught us to seek Love's concealed side:
the dark face of longing, the poets say.

The sea was not salt the first tide ...
the moon a pale beacon across the Divide.

NOTE: "The Divide" is essentially a villanelle despite the non-formal line breaks.

Published by Neovictorian/Cochlea, The Eclectic Muse, Freshet, Better Than Starbucks, Sonnetto Poesia, The New Formalist and Pennsylvania Review

Keywords/Tags: Villanelle, sea, salt, first, tide, moon, pale, beacon, Divide, love, concealed side, dark side of the moon, longing, passion, desire, lust

you breathe in tender dragon smoke–
under the sheets; I’m made of alchemy.
some summer second skin clothes.

drinking me in a 200 milligram dose,
a sweet taste in my mouth that forms a cavity
as you breathe in tender, dragon smoke.

jokingly, you laugh and it rolls into “I’m off the coke.”
it hurts, but I guess that now it’s your mortality.  
some summer. second skin clothes

that remind me I’m in bed and alone.
forget it all, radical acceptance, comfort insecurity.
you breathe. in tender dragon smoke.

you tell me that you think I’ve grown.
I smile secretly, my blood is gold. is reality –
some summer, second skin clothes?

feels closer, even though we’re on the phone.
to you I hope this is a keychain of me,
some summer second skin clothes.
you breathe in a tender dragon smoke.

Another Christmas without you
Joyous Noel spreading warmth and love
And every carol is nothing…just blue

‘It’ll be fine’ I really thought I could chew
Glancing down and anxious to look above
Another Christmas without you

Dazzling lights stabbing through and through
Admirers carrying hues and love
And every carol is nothing…just blue

Soon, it will be the time to start anew
When will you refuse to remain above?
Another Christmas without you

There’s just wait but never adieu
When you return, stay and sing with love
And every carol is nothing…just blue

Remember the happiness we’d pursue?
I would crumble if you remain above
Another Christmas without you
And every carol is nothing…just blue

By Zurine Honoria

Devilish days do well to waste,
with blackout curtains and ink-stained hands,
waiting for sunset when time’s erased.

Those feeble floorboards you often paced,
will creak and moan ‘til you understand;
devilish days do well to waste.

Fight for the feelings that have been replaced,
fight to keep hold of those waning strands,
waiting for sunset when time’s erased.

The sun will set on all you’ve faced,
an eclipse which you cannot withstand;
devilish days do well to waste.

And *****-laced tear tracks chased
by broken glass that pours out sand,
waiting for sunset when time’s erased.

When your thoughts have been misplaced,
I’ll be there to take your hand.
Devilish days do well to waste,
waiting for sunset when time's erased.

Your verbal volcano, ash falls like tainted snow.

You left me staring skyward, grey-streaked tears.

My smothered heart, entrusted to you in escrow.

All your late night exits put on quite a roadshow.

Left alone again in love, what an oxymoron.

Your verbal volcano, ash falls like tainted snow.

I looked for help, there best advice was to lie low.

One look at your broken smile, intoxicating, here we go again.

My smothered heart, entrusted to you in escrow.

This so-called love is a choke hold, will you ever let go.

Your loves a noose, my necks on the line and you're the rope.

Your verbal volcano, ash falls like tainted snow.

Said you love me more than life, but that your dead inside though.

Ironically, only you can save me, heal my soul, set me free.

My smothered heart, entrusted to you in escrow.

You're my bad habit, you're the hurt I'm in love with, who knows.

You shake things up good, but leave me broken inside.
Your verbal volcano, ash falls like tainted snow.

My smothered heart, entrusted to you in escrow.

The summer sun's an auger drilling deep
To sap my will and hasten my decline,
And by the time night falls, I'll pray for sleep.
From when its faintest rays begin to creep
Beyond the long horizon's boundary line,
The summer sun's an auger, drilling deep.
When morning comes, I'll buy my living steep,
But living wilts me 'till I can recline
And by the time night falls, I'll pray for sleep
As if I died, as if I'd get to keep
The scrapings that I'd earned, as if they're mine.
The summer sun's an auger, drilling deep.
Each moment sowing seeds I'll never reap
Comes twisting down around my brain and spine -
And by the time night falls, I'll pray for sleep.
All wisdom, wits, and words ring hollow, cheap,
Some wilted offerings at a broken shrine.
The summer sun's an auger, drilling deep,
And by the time night falls, I'll pray for sleep.