#michelangelo
I think of you
Lying on a sandy beach
A light breeze kisses my face
The sea is calm and still
I see you on the clouds in the sky
I see you on the air, hovering over the sea
I see you lying next to me
Yet I know you are very far away
I hear your laughter loud and clear
Your body emits a fragrance
Fresh as the scent of roses and jasmine
I can feel your presence next to me
Yet I know you are very far away
You are a portrait on the surface of the sea
A painting of vivid colours
A painting as only Michelangelo could make
So vivid, so real
Yet so far away you are
Ever in my thoughts you are, ever will remain
My Dream Girl, My Dream Girl
I have never seen you, yet I know you
Like I have lived with you, all my life
I see you so clearly that I could paint you
My Dream Girl, My Dream Girl
Alas, I am no Picasso or Rembrandt, MyLove
Only A Simple Soul From Down Under
Sep 29, 2025
Sep 29, 2025 at 6:56 AM UTC
GO ! BELOVED MAN ~ go c r e a t e
YOU are the CENTRE OF CREATION
see these children in my embracing protection
I will send them when you are ready
we all float flying together confidently
but now you must L E A V E, descend
our forefingers are disengaging, a pattern paternal, forever humanity will remember
this gesture, TWO IN ONE, a HOLDING
and LETTING go, sign of
GRACEFUL DIVINE INSTRUCTION
I birth your progeny, birthing ALL WORLDS
this teen your son says : “BE not afraid”
he becomes angry
as you lounge hesitant, question or plead
he is impatient to elevate what you will manifest
but wait he must ~ ONLY I control TIME
I s t r e t c h Y O U, SON
I O P E N S K Y in the eternal Now
immersing myself in my creations
then letting them GO
this is NO FALL call it ART ~ MY COMMAND FOR YOU IS RISE then F ~ L~ Y
You are my CHOSEN
EYES to eyes
THE TIME IS NOW
recline no more in cloud beauty
endurance is your hallmark
ferocity tangos with LOVE
I will not forsake you
you will soar on my winds
they will carry your shapely limbs
ready groin will create at my bidding
your elegant strong fingers will caress
Question not MY IMAGE
man of man, woman of woman
curved ears hear, wide nostrils breathe life
Heart pumping into infinity
food will flow from hair to toe tip
ACT and RELAX, written into ****** constitution
Forever MICHELANGELO, Sculptor
humble Genius I saLute you, My own Creation
Son of Marbled Art
Yours sincerely, GOD
Sep 14, 2025
Sep 14, 2025 at 4:42 AM UTC
Alabaster hands
I paint like I know you
but I am afraid
I paint like I know
the hours of holy songs he sang
when chip by chip
he broke his David
out of stone
but I mumble with a brush
polluted a tomb
with thievery and doubt
if I return to you
I will do so stollen
rolled up in bay and --
my Florence! I couldn't see you
I was lost
I could not be him
he unleashed, I hold
and now you wear his hands
like a beloved scar
and then you haunt my sleep
with your eyes of old
I am sessile, sterile - I doubt.
I cannot speak.
stone carved inadequate, for
I do not know hands
the venules and the etchings.
I could not learn
fiddling like a cricket
in the arms of leaf
I see him leap through ages
to come and observe
I am an artefact flaw
and him the sound perfectionist
he inspects fingers
as they stumble in paint
ever-looming, giant, bearded
with a broken nose
you, Florence! He steals
movement, instill it, gifts it
you wear it, then you watch me
with museum eyes
Good love,
I am no David
do not ask that of me, I may weep
stone in my hand
I sling stutter over my shoulder
and watch the forever tyrant grow
Dec 17, 2022
Dec 17, 2022 at 3:34 PM UTC
Unlike Michelangelo, whose marble slab
contains an entangled entirety of a crystalline vision of love,
life,
and loss,
the desolation of souls,
the rending of divinity,
the forlorn sacrifice,
only seen by him
until
the sweaty glistening stone,
hewn and chiseled,
sculpted and slashed,
for tedious eons
painstakingly marked by time
and life force sacrificed,
revealed its secret gift,
I attempt to recreate the Pietà
by adding on material to the medium,
rather than by carving it away.
Oct 4, 2022
Oct 4, 2022 at 1:10 PM UTC
MICHELANGELO: Modern English Translations
Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564) is considered by many experts to be the greatest artist and sculptor of all time. These are modern English translations of his poems and epigrams by Michael R. Burch.
SONNET: RAVISHED
by Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Ravished, by all our eyes find fine and fair,
yet starved for virtues pure hearts might confess,
my soul can find no Jacobean stair
that leads to heaven, save earth's loveliness.
The stars above emit such rapturous light
our longing hearts ascend on beams of Love
and seek, indeed, Love at its utmost height.
But where on earth does Love suffice to move
a gentle heart, or ever leave it wise,
save for beauty itself and the starlight in her eyes?
SONNET: TO LUIGI DEL RICCIO, AFTER THE DEATH OF CECCHINO BRACCI
by Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A pena prima.
I had barely seen the beauty of his eyes
Which unto yours were life itself, and light,
When he closed them fast in death's eternal night
To reopen them on God, in Paradise.
In my tardiness, I wept, too late made wise,
Yet the fault not mine: for death's disgusting ploy
Had robbed me of that deep, unfathomable joy
Which in your loving memory never dies.
Therefore, Luigi, since the task is mine
To make our unique friend smile on, in stone,
Forever brightening what dark earth would dim,
And because the Beloved causes love to shine,
And since the artist cannot work alone,
I must carve you, to tell the world of him!
BEAUTY AND THE ARTIST
by Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Al cor di zolfo.
A heart aflame; alas, the flesh not so;
Bones brittle wood; the soul without a guide
To curb the will’s inferno; the crude pride
Of restless passions’ pulsing surge and flow;
A witless mind that – halt, lame, weak – must go
Blind through entrapments scattered far and wide; ...
Why wonder then, when one small spark applied
To such an assemblage, renders it aglow?
Add beauteous Art, which, Heaven-Promethean,
Must exceed nature – so divine a power
Belongs to those who strive with every nerve.
Created for such Art, from childhood given
As prey for her Infernos to devour,
I blame the Mistress I was born to serve.
SONNET XVI: LOVE AND ART
by Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Sì come nella penna.
Just as with pen and ink,
there is a high, a low, and an in-between style;
and, as marble yields its images pure and vile
to excite the fancies artificers might think;
even so, my lord, lodged deep within your heart
are mingled pride and mild humility;
but I draw only what I truly see
when I trust my eyes and otherwise stand apart.
Whoever sows the seeds of tears and sighs
(bright dews that fall from heaven, crystal-clear)
in various pools collects antiquities
and so must reap old griefs through misty eyes;
while the one who dwells on beauty, so painful here,
finds ephemeral hopes and certain miseries.
SONNET XXXI: LOVE'S LORDSHIP, TO TOMMASO DE' CAVALIERI
by Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A che più debb' io.
Am I to confess my heart's desire
with copious tears and windy words of grief,
when a merciless heaven offers no relief
to souls consumed by fire?
Why should my aching heart aspire
to life, when all must die? Beyond belief
would be a death delectable and brief,
since in my compound woes all joys expire!
Therefore, because I cannot dodge the blow,
I rather seek whoever rules my breast,
to glide between her gladness and my woe.
If only chains and bonds can make me blessed,
no marvel if alone and bare I go
to face the foe: her captive slave oppressed.
Michelangelo Epigram Translations
loose translations/interpretations by Michael R. Burch
I saw the angel in the marble and freed him.
I hewed away the coarse walls imprisoning the lovely apparition.
Each stone contains a statue; it is the sculptor’s task to release it.
The danger is not aiming too high and missing, but aiming too low and hitting the mark.
AIM HIGH
The danger is not aiming too high and missing, but aiming too low and hitting the mark.—Michelangelo
If we shoot for the stars
to only end up on Mars,
that's still quite a trip.
The choice is ours.
—Michael R. Burch
Our greatness is only bounded by our horizons.
Be at peace, for God did not create us to abandon us.
God grant that I always desire more than my capabilities.
My soul’s staircase to heaven is earth’s loveliness.
I live and love by God’s peculiar light.
Trifles create perfection, yet perfection is no trifle.
Genius is infinitely patient, and infinitely painstaking.
I have never found salvation in nature; rather I love cities.
He who follows will never surpass.
Beauty is what lies beneath superfluities.
I criticize via creation, not by fault-finding.
If you knew how hard I worked, you wouldn’t call it “genius.”
Keywords/Tags: Michelangelo, Italian sonnet, sonnet, sonnets, epigram, epigrams, epitaph, translation, translations, English, love, affinity and love, love and art, beauty, art, artistic work, light
Apr 4, 2021
Apr 4, 2021 at 7:24 AM UTC
MICHELANGELO TRANSLATIONS
Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni (1475-1564) was an Italian sculptor, painter, architect and poet. He and his fellow Florentine, Leonardo da Vinci, were rivals for the title of the archetypal Renaissance man. Michelangelo is considered by many to be the greatest artist of all time.
Michelangelo Epigram Translations
loose translations/interpretations by Michael R. Burch
I saw the angel in the marble and freed him.
I hewed away the coarse walls imprisoning the lovely apparition.
Each stone contains a statue; it is the sculptor’s task to release it.
The danger is not aiming too high and missing, but aiming too low and hitting the mark.
AIM HIGH
The danger is not aiming too high and missing, but aiming too low and hitting the mark.—Michelangelo
If we shoot for the stars
to only end up on Mars,
that's still quite a trip.
The choice is ours.
—Michael R. Burch
Our greatness is only bounded by our horizons.
Be at peace, for God did not create us to abandon us.
God grant that I always desire more than my capabilities.
My soul’s staircase to heaven is earth’s loveliness.
I live and love by God’s peculiar light.
Trifles create perfection, yet perfection is no trifle.
Genius is infinitely patient, and infinitely painstaking.
I have never found salvation in nature; rather I love cities.
He who follows will never surpass.
Beauty is what lies beneath superfluities.
I criticize via creation, not by fault-finding.
If you knew how hard I worked, you wouldn’t call it “genius.”
SONNET: RAVISHED
by Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Ravished, by all our eyes find fine and fair,
yet starved for virtues pure hearts might confess,
my soul can find no Jacobean stair
that leads to heaven, save earth's loveliness.
The stars above emit such rapturous light
our longing hearts ascend on beams of Love
and seek, indeed, Love at its utmost height.
But where on earth does Love suffice to move
a gentle heart, or ever leave it wise,
save for beauty itself and the starlight in her eyes?
SONNET: TO LUIGI DEL RICCIO, AFTER THE DEATH OF CECCHINO BRACCI
by Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A pena prima.
I had barely seen the beauty of his eyes
Which unto yours were life itself, and light,
When he closed them fast in death's eternal night
To reopen them on God, in Paradise.
In my tardiness, I wept, too late made wise,
Yet the fault not mine: for death's disgusting ploy
Had robbed me of that deep, unfathomable joy
Which in your loving memory never dies.
Therefore, Luigi, since the task is mine
To make our unique friend smile on, in stone,
Forever brightening what dark earth would dim,
And because the Beloved causes love to shine,
And since the artist cannot work alone,
I must carve you, to tell the world of him!
BEAUTY AND THE ARTIST
by Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Al cor di zolfo.
A heart aflame; alas, the flesh not so;
Bones brittle wood; the soul without a guide
To curb the will’s inferno; the crude pride
Of restless passions’ pulsing surge and flow;
A witless mind that – halt, lame, weak – must go
Blind through entrapments scattered far and wide; ...
Why wonder then, when one small spark applied
To such an assemblage, renders it aglow?
Add beauteous Art, which, Heaven-Promethean,
Must exceed nature – so divine a power
Belongs to those who strive with every nerve.
Created for such Art, from childhood given
As prey for her Infernos to devour,
I blame the Mistress I was born to serve.
SONNET XVI: LOVE AND ART
by Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Sì come nella penna.
Just as with pen and ink,
there is a high, a low, and an in-between style;
and, as marble yields its images pure and vile
to excite the fancies artificers might think;
even so, my lord, lodged deep within your heart
are mingled pride and mild humility;
but I draw only what I truly see
when I trust my eyes and otherwise stand apart.
Whoever sows the seeds of tears and sighs
(bright dews that fall from heaven, crystal-clear)
in various pools collects antiquities
and so must reap old griefs through misty eyes;
while the one who dwells on beauty, so painful here,
finds ephemeral hopes and certain miseries.
SONNET XXXI: LOVE'S LORDSHIP, TO TOMMASO DE' CAVALIERI
by Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A che più debb' io.
Am I to confess my heart's desire
with copious tears and windy words of grief,
when a merciless heaven offers no relief
to souls consumed by fire?
Why should my aching heart aspire
to life, when all must die? Beyond belief
would be a death delectable and brief,
since in my compound woes all joys expire!
Therefore, because I cannot dodge the blow,
I rather seek whoever rules my breast,
to glide between her gladness and my woe.
If only chains and bonds can make me blessed,
no marvel if alone and bare I go
to face the foe: her captive slave oppressed.
Keywords/Tags: Michelangelo, translation, translations, English, Italian, epigram, epigrams, art, artist, sculptor, angel, marble, stone, statute, genius, beauty, creation, mrbtran, mrbtrans
Dec 16, 2020
Dec 16, 2020 at 5:08 AM UTC
I told my gf that the Pietà
did not depict Mary & Jesus
as the image of the pieta is nowhere
in the Bible; instead Michelangelo
derived the image from the Grieving
Venus holding the body of the youth
Adonis who had been gored
[in the side] by the enchanted
wild boar sent by her jealous
husband Apollo; Michelangelo,
genius & scholar, seeing the obvious
parallels to the story of the Father
giving his only begotten son;
in ancient times Adonis was the titular
spirit of Lebanon, smallest country
on the Asian mainland. The earliest
evidence of civilization in Lebanon
dates back more than seven thousand
years, predating recorded history.
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 5:02 PM UTC
i never knew that a body could be so intriguing. i never understood the appeal of michelangelo's david statue.
why, i wondered, would a huge naked man draw not only the eyes of millions but be awe insiring and cause people to look at themselves as a part of a larger scheme?
but, oh my god. i look at you and david? he has no chance. he is made of marble, of stone, but i have a real boy, a living boy.
i will swallow my pride for a moment and admit that you are freaking beautiful, more than i, and that is when you are clothed.
i could stare at your smile for hours if it didn't make me feel like i'm dying. if i could do so whilst breathing. i look at you, and i feel like i am a part of a greater scheme.
because, there's a chance that i could some day see the most honest way we compliment each other. more than just touch, more than lust, we could be love.
the fact that i will one day know the map of your body like a home town, like my childhood house- david never got the kind of love i want to give you, i'm sure of it.
i imagine that david tasted like cinnamon and guilt with a little bit of victory, or at least, i imagine that's how he would taste to me.
but you, you taste like freedom and fire / shyness and desire, and i'm telling you i would gaze upon you like you are art.
you **** all of the giants and monsters and evils in my head with your words like flying stones.
david has nothing on you babe.
because while he is crafted form marble, i stole you from the stars.
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 6:21 PM UTC
a colossal marble
was just a huge rock
until you layed eyes
on it and bought
it life in form of David,
the biblical hero,
walls of the heaven
in god's own earthly residence
were figment of imaginations
till you painted the entire bible
on the walls of Sistine chapel
that stands as beacon of hope and faith
for those who want to
follow passions extraordinarily
you were Apollo reborn,
only to return back after guiding humans
about the irrepressible capacity we possess
of which we have gone unaware of somehow,
even today, in shadows of doubts
and the storms of failures.
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 3:42 AM UTC
for i witnessed this death myself-and it brought my soul to life
“My painting is dead” he spoke
in all but falling to his very death
in hopes that the hour ends
painting beauty from such pain
where i see a man there up above
as i do walk these floors beneath the ceiling
footprints soon shall walk the earth-the first time
she comes from rock-his expertise-forte
there in the sculptor's work
see what’s hidden
so study closer
only to the very genius of the painter
seemingly complete
and the story comes to life
like words on a page
whose creations escape surface
by a sculptor
a miracle complete
when the very eyes of Julius did witness
and i marvel at the moment there it time
? i wonder
what do they think of this
yet filled with existence-abundant
the room so silent-so still
holy, holy, holy, lord
the heart that fills with spirit
and so grasps the divine of depth within
the hands feel more than simply flesh
i see in clarity
the first time
of man
whose hand does touch the hand
so loudly to proclaim the word of God
with more than vibrant hues and tones
the craftsman there at work he spoke
spoke he
“I am not a painter”
May 18, 2017
May 18, 2017 at 10:16 AM UTC
We all want to be someone
carved into stone—
assured in our identity
by the admirer taken enough to
etch our jawlines into eternity
from the heart
of a marble slab.
If you work on me as Michelangelo,
I will proudly stand as your David.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 12:07 PM UTC
Admire the proportions, the features, the confidence.
These are supposed to define the ideal male.
These things have nothing to with my perception of ideal.
When I put myself in that position
I call myself Michelangelo, David in front of me.
I admire his proportions, his features, his confidence.
I throw myself so far into the fantasy, reality becomes a fog.
Enamored by him, his features, our closeness.
I am entranced by him, we transcend into the unknown.
I return to reality, and realize that I've gone too far.
I can't take back the words I've said,
or the time I've spent staring into his eyes.
But I'm no Michelangelo and he is not David.
My inspiration is much closer to my heart.
The love in my heart.
The passion beneath the gaze.
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 10:46 AM UTC
#26 | 31 Poems for August
I am a blank page, craving for your ink to bleed onto me.
Your thoughts and secrets are safe with me.
Chain yourself to the idea of freedom and slowly begin to liberate me.
Metaphors and similes hit the page at extremely high velocities.
People should often see your pen in motion, you write your poems differently.
It’s fascinating how you create poetry out of silence.
I’ve felt you, seen you give life to things like love, pain, peace and violence.
As soon as inspiration ignites, you gradually begin to write late in the peaceful hours of the night.
Everyone knows that your words and verses tend to excite.
The day your muse realised that words could touch her, she wanted to become a poem.
The type of poem that Maya Angelou’s ink always dreamt about.
Keep respecting your craft, make it more constructive.
Live life and regret nothing, be completely destructive.
You have spent endless nights, hopelessly staring into the void that you are constantly trying to avoid.
Your mind is constantly being filled up with possible poems, people should really see your pen in motion.
You are the Michelangelo of flow, you paint pictures with your poems.
You are the countless calm moments after months and years of violence.
It’s fascinating how you effortlessly create poetry out of silence.
People should see your pen in motion, you write your poems differently.
But I wish you took more time to write.
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 1:43 PM UTC
And for the first time
Someone made me feel as beautiful
As chiseled Renaissance marble
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 4:06 AM UTC