#antique
Never been ten and three score before
or
never been three score and ten
but when I get to that milestone
I know that for certain
I'll not be alone
It
wasn't like that in the old days
and not
when I fell into bad ways
but as you know
some people grow
and I grew
which gives me time to think
and to say thanks
not only for the age
but
for the good friends
who
helped me on the way.
Jan 29
Jan 29, 2026 at 11:09 AM UTC
Great luck, I must have
For your gallery came in view.
There laid a similar face
That at dawn, my mirror drew.
I looked at every nook and cranny,
Even zoomed in the pitted dust.
By hook or crook, as they say
With every measure I must.
I saw no pictures there,
No proof of your presence at all.
Only your name echoed
In antique cups and dusty hall.
Yet I knew it was yours,
My devotion wasn't merely a cue.
Here I gloss at just your name
In this Gallery made for You
May 9, 2025
May 9, 2025 at 12:05 PM UTC
Peering through a old stone gate,
its face well carved, in prayers attired,
I saw a golden wall of late
before which stood cracked streetlamps retired,
their warming light now long gone
yet they still glow stubbornly on
Oct 8, 2024
Oct 8, 2024 at 1:34 PM UTC
I hide myself away so beautifully,
So I am perceived as an art form and nothing else,
Mimicking a mannequin,
An undeniably inhuman Facade upholds me,
A mere antique is all I can claim to be,
Inhabited in which is a crack,
That i pledges to veil,
Until,
Draps are drawn,
And amused audience embrace their ways to home,
Oct 5, 2024
Oct 5, 2024 at 3:19 PM UTC
I sit on a dusty shelf.
The days go by,
And I watch the children play.
I am sad and alone.
But one day,
A child notices me.
They notice my beauty and elegance.
They carefully carry me down from the shelf.
I now have a friend.
Months pass.
I spend time with my friend every day.
But suddenly,
They drop me on the ground.
My fragile glass skin is cracked.
I am broken.
My friend sees my shattered state,
But they do not care.
I am no longer beautiful in their eyes.
They leave me there.
I am alone again.
Aug 29, 2024
Aug 29, 2024 at 2:50 PM UTC
A rusty cage conceals me
Deep beneath the waves, of another passing day
The blood inside my veins
Is laced with warmth, that erodes away the pain
The needle scratches vinyl
As the pills provide the music, singing sorrow in my brain
Lost on the lamb
Searching for the touch, from my own callused hands
A wind-up ballerina in her box
Doesn’t spin and twirl like she wants
Damaged dancer
Standing still, inside my antique heart
Jul 13, 2021
Jul 13, 2021 at 7:56 PM UTC
Chipped or ***** or dying
and you can't look past it.
What's special about new? Or is it
that it is
unused?
How much beauty
can you see
in damage?
In use?
I'd like to believe you see worth
in the imperfections
of me.
But what do I know
of your soul, really? And who is to say
you will leave me in any better shape
anyway...
All I can do is hope.
Aug 26, 2020
Aug 26, 2020 at 2:51 PM UTC
Spirits and shadows living in obscure extremities
I move freely among them since i was a litlle kid
I am familiar with their world just as they are familiar with mine
Funny mysterious entities looking out for me in the most critical times
And they stare at me, but not with their eyes
Just as i see them without using my sight
And their voice springs out from my belly
Telling me to chase my desires endlessly
I obey and i am awed
For i traded my senses to a merchant disguised as a god
I chase the serpent and i consult death to my left
My time has not yet come , the spirits smile and i know i am blessed.
Words Of Harfouchism
Apr 16, 2020
Apr 16, 2020 at 1:26 PM UTC
A Surfeit of Light
by Michael R. Burch
There was always a surfeit of light in your presence.
You stood distinctly apart, not of the humdrum world—
a chariot of gold in a procession of plywood.
We were all pioneers of the modern expedient race,
raising the ante: Home Depot to Lowe’s.
Yours was an antique grace—Thrace’s or Mesopotamia’s.
We were never quite sure of your silver allure,
of your trillium-and-platinum diadem,
of your utter lack of flatware-like utility.
You told us that night—your wound would not scar.
The black moment passed, then you were no more.
The darker the sky, how much brighter the Star!
The day of your funeral, I ripped out the crown mold.
You were this fool’s gold.
Keywords/Tags: surfeit, light, presence, chariot, Thrace, Mesopotamia, silver, gold, platinum, antique, grace, heirloom, diadem, crown, tiara
Alas, Sir Munchalot!
by Michael R. Burch
You ate too much,
your common lot;
you munched too much,
so now you’ve got
a gut.
Mar 29, 2020
Mar 29, 2020 at 5:49 AM UTC
At Once
by Michael R. Burch
Though she was fair,
though she sent me the epistle of her love at once
and inscribed therein love’s antique prayer,
I did not love her at once.
Though she would dare
pain’s pale, clinging shadows, to approach me at once,
the dark, haggard keeper of the lair,
I did not love her at once.
Though she would share
the all of her being, to heal me at once,
yet more than her touch I was unable bear.
I did not love her at once.
And yet she would care,
and pour out her essence ...
and yet—there was more!
I awoke from long darkness,
and yet—she was there.
I loved her the longer;
I loved her the more
because I did not love her at once.
Published by The Lyric, Romantics Quarterly and Grassroots Poetry. Keywords/Tags: Epistle, love, antique, prayer, pain, shadows, lair, touch, heal, healing, share, sharing, companionship
Mar 28, 2020
Mar 28, 2020 at 11:38 PM UTC
See a rich goblet of gold
Empty and ready to receive
Ancient in style, yet shining bright
This antique treasure of old
Belongs to you. Trust and believe
And claim your prize in calm delight
In your mind
Become the goblet
You are precious indeed
Your lasting worth decreed
Feeling your worth
Made from riches of earth
Fully fulfilled every day
Spark of divine
Your wealth is a sign
Of life surely flowing your way
Jan 18, 2020
Jan 18, 2020 at 8:50 AM UTC
Round and round the graveyard.
Like a headless bear.
One slit , two stabs.
Raise him from the dead.
Mo_poet
Nov 3, 2019
Nov 3, 2019 at 1:10 PM UTC
My sun ,
My brightest star.
You're 147 million km to far.
Although I'm out at night ,
And you at day.
Eclipse in my arms you'll lay.
The only time our love doesn't burn the cornea.
Mo_poet
Aug 18, 2019
Aug 18, 2019 at 3:13 AM UTC
I’m whirling about
There’s fruit I’ve never seen
And chainsaws
Hanging from the ceiling
Collections of rusted
And nostalgic
Remnants
Playthings of my
Past memory
The people here
Mimic the eclectic offerings
Every part of the group
Teems with
Individuality
I feel cherubic laughter
Quiver my lungs again
I head for home
Clutching a book
I acquired
From this impeccable
Trove
Mar 23, 2019
Mar 23, 2019 at 4:11 PM UTC
i swallow hard and the act breaks me in two, a deafening crack and the crease on my neck gives way like grandma's Russian doll i thought would never open again
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 1:50 AM UTC
I'm looking for
love as limitless
as the amount of
antique shops in any
given small town,
where the stories of old
take the form of rickety
milk carton crates
refusing to be sold.
Give me love as strong
as those floorboards
gently cradling the past.
The owner flips the
sign on the door.
"Closed"
Jun 27, 2018
Jun 27, 2018 at 2:05 PM UTC
Silver lining
Antique finding
Intertwined fingers
Browsing eyes
Indoor maze
Shifted gaze
Can't see all
Noticing some
Vintage room
Old spittoon
Strolling past
Items forgotten
Mirror reflects
Dust collects
We evlove
But never change
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 1:46 AM UTC
Ears straining to hear
Skin trying to feel
My eyes can see
The olden times, the antiquity.
Recognizing--your voice, features, habits
Feeling the longing and relief. Familiarity.
We're two energies joining
And with our forces fusing . . . again.
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 7:53 AM UTC
The dirt of dusty decades
Lies upon the lath
Beneath a piece of plaster
I found a photograph
They smiled from the centuries;
Those mysterious three
Sent the musty memories
A message meant for me
Sara’s grave is gone, I guess
So long since laid low,
Yet, despite her ancient death
She smiles and waves ‘hello’
I cannot tell Annie’s age,
The words do not say
The owner wrote only names
Her face has frayed away
The baby in the buggy
Lifts a lively hand
She sits between her sisters
Beside the shining sand
This will be the only piece
From the dust so brown
That preserves their memory
Once we tear this house down
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 3:35 PM UTC
Hope is fragile hope is frail
My hope has aged within years of betrayal
Praying for a longer shelf-life than expected
Despite the cracks glued together with worn edges
Through hail storm and fire burn
Somehow my hope has survived
Despite being tossed around
And thrown from way up high
One night a proud display
The next evening packaged up and boxed away
Hope so strong it used to be worth every penny
Now it's torn clean up
Now I'm lucky to find any
So I'm sending my hope off to be restored
Maybe another's hands can make it shine
Just like before
But for now I go without
And I'm placed with petrifying doubt
Weather hope will be there for me
Once more.
"Fragile Hope" -Jp
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 5:43 PM UTC
Verses:
We encounter many people in our life,
Some are ours whilst others are not.
Sometimes even relatives seem strangers,
And sometimes even strangers seem own.
Such relationships are truly strange,
Close to the hearts they seem sweet.
They seem ages old in spite of being new,
For such love & sweet strangers is this song.
Song:
Hmmm...
Hmmm..
Hmmm.
This is my story,
And your story,
How do I testify?
Words are yours,
Songs are mine,
What is the saga?
Yours...
Mine...
Relation is antique...
Yours...
Mine...
Relation is ages old...
Oh yours...
Mine...
Relation is antique...
Poems are mine,
Inspiration are you,
Still such distances...
From the depths of heart,
And from these clouds,
The calls are emanating...
Yours...
Mine...
Relation is antique...
Yours...
Mine...
Relation is ages old...
**
Laaaa...
La la la...
Ending line:
Yea - that's it!
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 9:37 PM UTC