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Grey Mar 2020
The same ones who hate me
tend to try and break me,
Curse and forsake me,
Then cry when they **** me.

Then they see,
That they actually need me

it's too late for that now,
Because I do not break and I certainly won't bow.
They have condemned me for now
But watch them as they come back around.....

For Help.
Hating what is provided and then loving it when it saves them. Weird how that works, right?
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Circe
by Michael R. Burch

She spoke
and her words
were like a ringing echo dying
or like smoke
rising and drifting
while the earth below is spinning.
She awoke
with a cry
from a dream that had no ending,
without hope
or strength to rise,
into hopelessness descending.
And an ache
in her heart
toward that dream, retreating,
left a wake
of small waves
in circles never completing.

Originally published by Romantics Quarterly

Keywords/Tags: Circe, enigma, enigmatic, enchantress, siren, enchanted, witch, goddess, magic, Ulysses, pigs, sty



Moon Lake
by Michael R. Burch

Starlit recorder of summer nights,
what magic spell bewitches you?
They say that all lovers love first in the dark...
Is it true?
Is it true?
Is it true?

Starry-eyed seer of all that appears
and all that has appeared—
What sights have you seen?
What dreams have you dreamed?
What rhetoric have you heard?

Is love an oration,
or is it a word?
Have you heard?
Have you heard?
Have you heard?

I believe I wrote this poem in my late teens, during my “Romantic Period.”



Tomb Lake
by Michael R. Burch

Go down to the valley
  where mockingbirds cry,
  alone, ever lonely . . .
  yes, go down to die.
And dream in your dying
  you never shall wake.
  Go down to the valley;
  go down to Tomb Lake.
Tomb Lake is a cauldron
  of souls such as yours —
  mad souls without meaning,
  frail souls without force.
Tomb Lake is a graveyard
  reserved for the dead.
  They lie in her shallows
  and sleep in her bed.

I believe this poem and "Moon Lake" were companion poems, written around my senior year in high school, in 1976. In addition to having similar titles, they had similar "staircase" indention styles. According to my notes, I modified "Moon Lake" two years later in 1978, at which time the poem was substantially finished. I then modified "Tomb Lake" in 1981, but must have forgotten about it, because I don't show that I ever submitted the poem for publication or did anything with it for more than 40 years. Keywords/Tags: Moon, Lake, Lakes, Water, Reflection, Reflections, Image, Imagery, Mirror, Magic, Magician, Seer, Prophet, Shaman, Spell, Spells, Enchantment, Sorcery, Bewitchment, Bewilderment, Incantation, Rhapsody, Love Talk, Love Potion
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Wonderland
by Michael R. Burch

We stood, kids of the Lamb, to put to test
the beatific anthems of the blessed,
the sentence of the martyr, and the pen’s
sincere religion. Magnified, the lens
shot back absurd reflections of each face—
a carnival-like mirror. In the space
between the silver backing and the glass,
we caught a glimpse of Joan, a frumpy lass
who never brushed her hair or teeth, and failed
to pass on GO, and frequently was jailed
for awe’s beliefs. Like Alice, she grew wee
to fit the door, then couldn’t lift the key.
We failed the test, and so the jury’s hung.
In Oz, “The Witch is Dead” ranks number one.

Keywords/Tags: Alice, Wonderland, Joan, Arc, martyr, blessed, beatific, religion, witch, Oz, carnival, mirror, lens, jury, kids, lamb, beliefs, faith, sonnet
lua Mar 2020
Roses and daffodils
Peach blossoms too
Sunflowers, bright and tall
I reach out to you

Valleys and flower fields
Ranges and runes
Magic spells, hieroglyphs
A world just for two

Crystal ***** and hooded cloaks
The future and more
Blinding lights and silent thrills
This dream of yours

Armour and the clang of steel
The monsters you slay
Broken glass upon the floors
You push me away

The brave warrior's battle cry
The fire in your soul
The dreams that you set aside
The blood overflows

Strong hands that once were warm
Ones that held me
You lay there upon your crimson pool
The Gods will hear my scream

Sunflowers, bright and tall
Roses, red and blue
Your memory stays close to me
As I reach out to you.
a witch falls in love with a knight, but fate has different plans
Spicy Digits Feb 2020
Get it, pull it, pull!
Till your arms are but sweat
Rip it from my ears, sir
Tear it from my skin
Better yet
**** like the ill-advised man
Saving kin from snake
Then lay me in a bath of it
And watch my body shake
Attach yourself, hurl son
Use all you can reach
To yank sinew from bone
And until all disarticulates
Make it happen
Do me that dreaded favour
Equip yourself with courage
And hard and fast throw pavers
Get it, pull it, pull!
Exorcise my non-weirdness
Punch and kick it out my friend
Squeeze the boredom from me
Fire up
Fire up
Fire up
Watch this witch awake
Quill Jan 2020
Lay me under the night sky and I'll make a home within the stars

I'll find solace in the faint wind-chimes echoing into oblivion

I'll make tunes from the passing cars going 25 through puddles

I'll sing to the rattling of the leaves doing somersaults in the wind

I'll dance to the howling of the wind blowing through the trees and houses

I'll look up into the endless void of the sky and close my eyes

I'll wait for the moon to call me home
I wrote this short poem at 3 am one night when I couldn't sleep.  I let myself listen and feel everything going on.  I let the words just flow through me.  I've changed nothing about it.
Aquila Dec 2019
there is something painfully romantic
about pushing a needle through fabric
for hours, upon hours
sewing a poppet.
i know i will curse it anyways-
but the thought is nice.
I jinxed it !
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