#geese
Lions on the dash
**** you, messiah
Role in the sand, and make me an eye lash
Spate and run over, I know the smile in a flower
Save me from, a royal family?
**** and speed to question, is a rather large misery
Sake to a gorgeous star, the smoke I smoke is infinity
Bright as a spot of joy, I will never meet...
Long ways to the shore, with a rage
Sorry albumen, the picture is for the devil
Like a friend in the stare of a shrewd face
My peace has come, with your ******* in the way, still...
Further music, to listen too...
Smiles that took a rhyme to the store, with a cop
The total of seen curses I have made, in the electric zoo
Happy to see the cause take its own time, is a wish in the habit
Of a moon seen, while sitting on a rock...
Play the part, or a phone has an ******
Through and through, the breed of sin has a woman to, smack..
Little people in the way, due the shady pace I am keeping, a lemon...
Sweet Jesus, this prayer is for a war
In the evasion of a dry tear, the craft of kings
Is a somber stare, at a Christ, that women saw on far
With the sword of disease, that has an asked mind, for a lingering...
Smile, press and panic
My ***** are huge and hairy, and staring at you...
And living to meet, a potato with sexier season's, **** and fickle
Call me a fool, but a camera sitting for me, takes the time for a glue?
May 14
May 14, 2026 at 4:04 PM UTC
There was a lurid green sheen
to the ancient creek.
Sweetly haunted by
the secret summer reflections
of the leaves.
The sunbeams form brilliant white ripples
on the surface of the cool languid water.
What a perfect location for peace to loiter.
The gliding geese pepper the creek,
a visual feast of their natural pageantry.
I decided to just be.
In the moment.
In the immediate journey.
Let past and future worries flee.
Apr 15, 2025
Apr 15, 2025 at 7:05 PM UTC
I don’t stream a lot of TV
but once I’m in that mode, I’m down
and I can’t get up.
Best pickup line I heard this week:
“You could be my emergency contact.”
A girl recently called me “weird people.”
She was effusive and I was put in my place.
Apparently, good grammar isn’t legally enforceable.
Her friend apologized, saying—and wrote it down.
“She lives on her phone; it’s a claustrophobic place.”
“Ooo!” I’d said, "Can I use that?” She gave me a blank look.
Leong, lisa and I were walking to class when a lone goose flew over,
honking incessantly, like a New York taxi in heavy traffic.
“That must be a Canadian goose,” I said, because my uninformed comments seem forever welcome—and we are pretty far north.
“I know what it was saying,” Leong offered, in her most inscrutable Asian way. Lisa and I waited to hear some Chinese wisdom, but what she finally said was, “Where IS everyone? I knew I shouldn’t have stopped to ***
There’s a song that goes, “We got married in a fever.”
That line seems so point-on to me. That’s how it happens.
Not, “We got married with a prenup, hotter than a brussel sprout.”
My Grandmère told me Peter and I will need a prenup, if we ever…
.
.
Songs for this:
Feather by Sabrina Carpenter [E]
Head In The Clouds by BabyJake
Jackson (feat. Josh Homme) by Florence + the Machine
Apr 6, 2025
Apr 6, 2025 at 9:21 PM UTC
The geese: vigilant
next to their grass-green droppings --
Sated in the sun.
Dec 14, 2024
Dec 14, 2024 at 2:29 AM UTC
How do you catch the rays of the Sun
And lift the veil of stale Dew
To feel the rush of warm Love
Comfort You
Don't you think if I knew
I'd only want to share it with You
Seek the Sun - Feel the Joy
In the Blue
We could rest on soft Clouds
Spin in the Air - Turnaround
Fly like Geese
Homeward Bound
Dreaming of You Is Poetry
When I shut my Eyes I See
Only what I really want to See
Only You - Only You - Only You - Yes - Only You
© Debra Lea Ryan
27.11.2024
☀♥ƸӜƷ✿♬
Nov 26, 2024
Nov 26, 2024 at 5:58 PM UTC
'pup' is sad and so says
i point out a 'v' of exit geese against the sky
says he's not sad anymore and he's not
a child's power just like that
Sep 26, 2024
Sep 26, 2024 at 6:57 PM UTC
I have titled this collection of ancient Chinese poems SORROWS OF THE WILD GEESE by HUANG E
Sent to My Husband
by Huang E
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The wild geese never fly beyond Hengyang ...
how then can my brocaded words reach Yongchang?
Like wilted willow flowers I am ill-fated indeed;
in that far-off foreign land you feel similar despair.
“Oh, to go home, to go home!” you implore the calendar.
“Oh, if only it would rain, if only it would rain!” I complain to the heavens.
One hears hopeful rumors that you might soon be freed ...
but when will the Golden **** rise in Yelang?
A star called the Golden **** was a symbol of amnesty to the ancient Chinese. Yongchang was a hot, humid region of Yunnan to the south of Hengyang, and was presumably too hot and too far to the south for geese to fly there.
Luo Jiang's Second Complaint
by Huang E
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The green hills vanished,
pedestrians passed by
disappearing beyond curves.
The geese grew silent, the horseshoes timid.
Winter is the most annoying season!
A lone goose vanished into the heavens,
the trees whispered conspiracies in Pingwu,
and people huddling behind buildings shivered.
Bitter Rain, an Aria of the Yellow Oriole
by Huang E
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
These ceaseless rains make the spring shiver:
even the flowers and trees look cold!
The roads turn to mud;
the river's eyes are tired and weep into a few bays;
the mountain clouds accumulate like ***** dishes,
and the end of the world seems imminent, if jejune.
I find it impossible to send books:
the geese are ruthless and refuse to fly south to Yunnan!
Broken-Hearted Poem
by Huang E
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My tears cascade into the inkwell;
my broken heart remains at a loss for words;
ever since we held hands and said farewell,
I have been too listless to paint my eyebrows;
no medicine can cure my night-sweats,
no wealth repurchase our lost youth;
and how can I persuade that ****** bird singing in the far hills
to tell a traveler south of the Yangtze to return home?
These are my modern English translations of poems by the Chinese poet Huang E (1498–1569), also known as Huang Xiumei. She has been called the most outstanding female poet of the Ming Dynasty, and her husband its most outstanding male poet. Were they poetry’s first power couple? Her father Huang Ke was a high-ranking official of the Ming court and she married Yang Shen, the prominent son of Grand Secretary Yang Tinghe. Unfortunately for the young power couple, Yang Shen was exiled by the emperor early in their marriage and they lived largely apart for 30 years. During their long separations they would send each other poems which may belong to a genre of Chinese poetry I have dubbed "sorrows of the wild geese."
Springtime Prayer
by Michael R. Burch
They’ll have to grow like crazy,
the springtime baby geese,
if they’re to fly to balmier climes
when autumn dismembers the leaves ...
And so I toss them loaves of bread,
then whisper an urgent prayer:
“Watch over these, my Angels,
if there’s anyone kind, up there.”
Originally published by Borderless Journal (Singapore)
The Mallard
by Michael R. Burch
The mallard is a fellow
whose lips are long and yellow
with which he, honking, kisses
his ***** boisterous mistress:
my pond’s their loud bordello!
Kindred (II)
by Michael R. Burch
Rise, pale disastrous moon!
What is love, but a heightened effect
of time, light and distance?
Did you burn once,
before you became
so remote, so detached,
so coldly, inhumanly lustrous,
before you were able to assume
the very pallor of love itself?
What is the dawn now, to you or to me?
We are as one,
out of favor with the sun.
We would exhume
the white corpse of love
for a last dance,
and yet we will not.
We will let her be,
let her abide,
for she is nothing now,
to you
or to me.
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-stoned.
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-stoned,
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-stoned,
we first proved we had lives of our own).
Breakings
by Michael R. Burch
I did it out of pity.
I did it out of love.
I did it not to break the heart of a tender, wounded dove.
But gods without compassion
ordained: Frail things must break!
Now what can I do for her shattered psyche’s sake?
I did it not to push.
I did it not to shove.
I did it to assist the flight of indiscriminate Love.
But gods, all mad as hatters,
who legislate in all such matters,
ordained that everything irreplaceable shatters.
Habeas Corpus
by Michael R. Burch
from “Songs of the Antinatalist”
I have the results of your DNA analysis.
If you want to have children, this may induce paralysis.
I wish I had good news, but how can I lie?
Any offspring you have are guaranteed to die.
It wouldn’t be fair—I’m sure you’ll agree—
to sentence kids to death, so I’ll waive my fee.
Like Angels, Winged
by Michael R. Burch
Like angels—winged,
shimmering, misunderstood—
they flit beyond our understanding
being neither evil, nor good.
They are as they are ...
and we are their lovers, their prey;
they seek us out when the moon is full
and dream of us by day.
Their eyes—hypnotic, alluring—
trap ours with their strange appeal
till like flame-drawn moths, we gather ...
to see, to touch, to feel.
Held in their arms, enchanted,
we feel their lips, so old!,
till with their gorging kisses
we warm them, growing cold.
Update of "A Litany in Time of Plague"
by Michael R. Burch
THE PLAGUE has come again
To darken lives of men
and women, girls and boys;
Death proves their bodies toys
Too frail to even cry.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!
Tycoons, what use is wealth?
You cannot buy good health!
Physicians cannot heal
Themselves, to Death must kneel.
Nuns’ prayers mount to the sky.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!
Beauty’s brightest flower?
Devoured in an hour.
Kings, Queens and Presidents
Are fearful residents
Of manors boarded high.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!
We have no means to save
Our children from the grave.
Though cure-alls line our shelves,
We cannot save ourselves.
"Come, come!" the sad bells cry.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!
faith(less)
by Michael R. Burch
Those who believed
and Those who misled
lie together at last
in the same narrow bed
and if god loved Them more
for Their strange lack of doubt,
he kept it well hidden
till he snuffed Them out.
ah-men!
The Cosmological Constant
by Michael R. Burch
Einstein the frizzy-haired
claimed E equals MC squared.
Thus all mass decreases
as activity ceases?
Not my mass, my *** declared!
Ass-tronomical
by Michael R. Burch
Relativity, the theorists’ creed,
claims mass increases with speed.
My (m)ass grows when I sit it.
Mr. Einstein, get with it;
equate its deflation, I plead!
The Hair Flap
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"
The hair flap was truly a scare:
Trump’s bald as a billiard back there!
The whole nation laughed
At the state of his graft;
Now the man’s wigging out, so beware!
Salvation of a Formalist, an Ode to Entropy
by Michael R. Burch
Entropy?
God's universal decree
That I get to be
Disorderly?
Suddenly
My erstwhile boxed-in verse is free?
Wheeeeee!
Keywords/Tags: Chinese poetry, China, sorrow, sorrows, geese, rain, heavens, hills, winter, trees, rivers, mountains, books, birds, spring, springtime, baby, babies, pray, prayer, angels
May 19, 2024
May 19, 2024 at 7:54 AM UTC
Geese fly by in a V
watched by laid back clouds
coloured flamboyant pink
by a sun that says
“See you tomorrow.”
Fat snow tickled us
and we forgot all that
for a string of heartbeats.
Jan 23, 2021
Jan 23, 2021 at 11:23 AM UTC
Wild ducks and grasses mingle so deeply this morn
I saw them beneath the blackish red sunny dawn
The sun rises behind the clouds, to cover it's face
And cry dip dip dip, now and then - this time anytime
Aroma has blown on the air, the message is floating
Everywhere: Night-birds --street-girls, drunk Romeos go back home
O old beggar mom, don't depart your dome and Starve today,
Let your breast-feeding baby quite in fasting by red eyes,
Pray rain, rain, rain, and raining today day and night
Drops on things anywhere, on wild geese, and on grass
Oct 8, 2020
Oct 8, 2020 at 12:55 AM UTC
Two lovebirds snuggle
in the shade of a weeping willow,
oblivious to chastising honks
of Canadian geese.
Blushing buds begin to bloom,
swollen with anticipation
as the solstice draws near
and blood boils beneath the skin.
Weathered voyeurs train watchful eyes
on the short-lived marriage of the flesh,
scoffing at the consummation of seasons,
knowing the fickle nature of the sun.
When the geese fly south, so will he.
Jan 5, 2021
Jan 5, 2021 at 8:30 PM UTC
The geese
Form a procession
in their northern formal dress.
Single file they march down
The hill
Coming from deep out of
the tree line and through
A courtyard of grass and sedge,
Their solemn walk
An act of unison metered by
webbed feet.
And an overdone elegance.
At shore of the pond
They prostrate themselves,
Head bowed to the water.
As if encountering an old
priestess among the
church pews.
Solemnly they shake their
Necks like human hands-
A time honored ritual.
Then, an unknown cue,
Their heads
turn up to the blue sky
launching themselves Into
the water
splash-less, like
Floating clouds blown on
The breeze.
Now moving independently,
leaving ripple paths
across the pond.
The ritual has ended.
Oct 2, 2020
Oct 2, 2020 at 11:00 AM UTC
Geese fly over low
To south, honk, and honk, again
Old weather radar
Aug 14, 2020
Aug 14, 2020 at 1:43 PM UTC
Ducks are the quacking sunshine of a noisy day
geese are moonlight in flight
silent graceful sailors of the clouds
they go where the wind takes them,
free spirits of the air.
Jun 13, 2020
Jun 13, 2020 at 5:53 PM UTC
Tallen the Mighty Thrower
by Michael R. Burch
Tallen the Mighty Thrower
is a hero to turtles, geese, ducks ...
they splash and they cheer
when he tosses bread near
because, you know, eating grass *****
Keywords/Tags: child, children, boy, thrower, throwing, bread, turtles, geese, ducks, grass
Apr 1, 2020
Apr 1, 2020 at 5:15 AM UTC
The geese are standing there
just being geese in the grass
poking through the leaves
going deeper for nourishment
may I follow their example
Jan 4, 2020
Jan 4, 2020 at 2:19 PM UTC
canadian geese honking overhead
ravi shankar in my head
pandora's box
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 8:24 PM UTC
The geese are a honking loose thread across the sky. I can hear them in my wicker chair like they're sitting right next to me and I think their voices carry at least as far above as down below. So loud. The sound of changing seasons on the wing. You'd think a goose-whisper would be enough to keep their conversation going, but no. I need to hear them in my wicker chair too, apparently. I kinda like that. Maybe they are talking to me. Maybe their sounds are like street-songs for strangers, or God-praise, or apple pie cooling on a neighbor's window. Maybe they made something really pretty in their hearts, and it's so big they can't keep it down their noodle-necks anymore. And so they're singing it out, for the whole world to see, like a big grin, and it's just perfect that I hear it in my wicker chair, it makes it even better, and that's why they're so loud. It could be.
Sep 6, 2019
Sep 6, 2019 at 1:18 AM UTC
geese soar
as if they
have nothing
to wor ry about
they just
fly in
the shape
of a
V
Mar 1, 2019
Mar 1, 2019 at 8:44 AM UTC
Looking at the world with new eyes,
today, when I left my home,
I saw a group of geese, flying
in unbelievable symmetry,
with tremendous grace,
My eyes were free of their dirt,
they were clean and beautiful,
and had the capacity to love
whoever they set themselves upon.
And maybe, I was gifted this scene
by god, for the love in my eyes...
© Manan sheel.
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 1:43 PM UTC
I have not always been good.
I have been punished for the smallest mistake
and shown more forgiveness than I deserve.
I have been softer and more vulnerable
than I have been in a very long time
and had my heart ripped out because of it.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the purest water trickles
from a Highland stream and into a tap, far away,
and where I am not.
You are right; I am lonely.
It enfolds me like a cloak, billowing in the wind.
Meanwhile the wild geese are beginning to fly south
and I must head for the north.
When we pass each other, in our flight,
I will smile and nod to them on their way.
They have all that they need
and I am still searching.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 3:35 PM UTC
Golden autumn,
Harmonious autum,
Delicious autumn,
Beautiful autumn,
Graceful autumn.
Colourful autumn leaves fall,
Red, green,brown and gold,
In showers ,
Over little flowers,
A carpet hue,
Moistened by misty dew.
Unmistakable autumn sounds,
Do their rounds,
Crisp leaves along the street,
Rustle beneath the feet.
A gaggle of migrating geese,
Flock the lustrous sky in bliss.
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 10:59 AM UTC
cattails wave softly
arrow of geese split the sky
summer's end coming
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 9:17 PM UTC