In Praise of Meter
by Michael R. Burch

The earth is full of rhythms so precise
the octave of the crystal can produce
a trillion oscillations, yet not lose
a second’s beat. The ear needs no device
to hear the unsprung rhythms of the couch
drown out the mouth’s; the lips can be debauched
by kisses, should the heart put back its watch
and find the pulse of love, and sing, devout.

If moons and tides in interlocking dance
obey their numbers, what’s been left to chance?
Should poets be more lax—their circumstance
as humble as it is?—or readers wince
to see their ragged numbers thin, to hear
the moans of drones drown out the Chanticleer?

Published by Poetry Porch/Sonnet Scroll, The Eclectic Muse, The Best of the Eclectic Muse 1989-2003, Famous Poets & Poems, Poetry Renewal Magazine, Mindful of Poetry, Sonnetto Poesia, Trinacria and Poetry Life & Times

Keywords/Tags: Rhythm, rhyme, meter, beat, music, octave, heart, pulse, watch, numbers

A baby eagle
flies
in wake
of the sun
A quiet sea lies
in wait
I write letters
to my friends
and
slip them under the rug
For,Love cannot be expressed
A sentient truth
moves through
the crevices
of somewhere
Winter has almost died
‘it’s all fading’,
they tell me
‘Even if
you tried’
I sit and watch
as times passes
a baby eagle’s flight

Hitting you up side the head,
concussion from my lyrical spread.
You got cerebral haemorrhaging as
my words hit you with a even spread.

Your ears are bleeding,
            dry mouth as nothing said.
My words drip from your ears
                       enough you said.

But im not the one taking
                weak **** shoots.
You tried an failed,
now your get syllable assaulted.

But no prosecution,
cos the only
          witness is incoherent mumbling.

If you come at me again,
better get those words sharpened,
       cos they need to get  past

your breath.

As they blunt at the moment.

My words are a razor cutting your throat,
     you'll bleed out but, ill smother your

Haemorrhaging silence,
On bottom of my shoe.
As i throat choke you,
                  listen to that...

Its the silence of you,

And I looked at my watch,
      your the last second past,
uninteresting and not worth remembering.

let me know
when you will go
as you take with you
everything even my soul

i search for my self
my eyes  will give
answer that it might go

the time will pass
the time comes
my watch annoys
as i look at times
she finally stops

my heart knocks
in spite of its knocks

the lamp is off
as the electricity was off
my brain was light
waiting her bright

Melancholy ain't making me poetical,
Instead, more panglossian!
I need thy cwtch for now and
I'll show how the rest of it is played
with boisterous swagger
Kicking back those icy fangs.
          
*   Don't tell me there's a twist again!
         Come on! Burst the bubble!  *

Every bowl has its day Forget not!
Aaha now that's why i say:
"LIFE IN A FINGER BOWL"
The one in winter, most cosiest!!
Oh u didn't understand ?
It's ok. Don't have to !!
Not everything is ment to be understood

listen to the sounds
the sound of my breath
the sound of my heart
the sound of my whispers
watch the world
as it slowly spins
the fireflies in the dark
the moon with her eyes closed
the shadows dancing

Animated by twitch of muscle,
Electric spark through live wire,
Humming rail and synapse,
Wheels spin at the fingertips of maybe
An ineffable humorist,
The mastermind of this beautiful prank
Pocketwatch of silver and gold
That explodes in the hand
And leaves you stranded on the platform
The second you go to check the time.