#ohio
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Apr 1
Apr 1, 2026 at 10:54 AM UTC
You were created to ****
I was Killed to create
This - caught between our chests -
Now, Still rested by fate
As our souls wait - and breath - Abate
We cast these stones - At each other's feet
We each take part - in this construct
Each side our own - Ye, Defeat
Yet - Take this heart - Before we again -
SELF-DESTRUCT
You killed the concience
I created little souls
You created catastrophy
I killed fears toll
You speared carrions
I constructed dreams
We shared moments
In the schemes
Within the Between
Between the glares
Between our words
Before the pages dark and bold
Between the ages of sages - untold
Between the table and dice at play
I found a man I would love - til the grave
Yet I fear beyond fear and hope beyond hope
That he loves me and keeps me - even if only as slave
I care not in what manner you speak
If like kisses like lilac or sharp like raven beak
All I know is you are the rope
The one that I climb out of the dark with
You are the hope that loosed the knot
You are the best way to cope
You are everything...That I am not.
But most of all
At the end of this fall
I am so happy for the trip that we had
I will take you at your best - Good with the Bad
I am so sorry for the words thrown like ache
That got stuck in some ice riddled lake
I am sorry for the times that I walked
I am sorry for the times I couldn't talk
Or the times I carry on
Like that wistful whistling song
Trapped in your heart
When the night grows too long
You are the words to every poem I wrote
You are the song with no final note
You are the moment I was found
I want to be your coat
I wish to be your shelter from storms
I need to be by your side
I am the cool to your stride
Thank you, My Kith, My Kin
My Kaynine - and Fae
The dark elf girl
Who cackles through the smoke
You. Are. My. World.
Jan 15
Jan 15, 2026 at 1:37 AM UTC
I've been pacing from room to room
Waiting for the world to stimulate
Something other than haunting gloom
Scroll unrolling a new series of emotions
Trends are mountaintops so better follow
The path is winding and this high peaked
Enjoy the view of this digital landscape
As the rest of the world crumbles at your
Feet
Feb 24, 2023
Feb 24, 2023 at 10:53 AM UTC
peep this...you can't see the forest or the trees because of material in the way, and when you hold up a mirror, you see perfection...i never liked mirrors, because i want to see something new...yes i was born and raised in ohio
up up in ohio
two brothers got together
to talk about some wings
to talk about the weather
thanks for the wind lord
we have to spread the word
eagles can't even speak
we need wings like a bird
on orville's death bed
his wishes were his plan
please use this bird for good
and let the pilot only be a man
moral of this story is that the female was trying to prove something and landed near cannibals, who only thought of living and not proving
the wright brothers doing for fellow man...women aren't evil, but will be used as a vessel until they accept their role...to be whole...i know it's offensive to women, but it's logical to religion and science alike. My favorite writer ever is Mary Shelley, and one of my favorite poets and singers is Chrissy Hinde. Women aren't less than men, so when they don't feel a need to prove it, things will change. Just trying to think of a whole, and what it takes, Because that will make me whole. Love.
look at their names
the wRIGHT brothers
amelia AIRheart
drones controlled by women refer to documentary "america's bird"
sinister
maybe someone else invented flight...maybe god maybe nasa
Sep 7, 2021
Sep 7, 2021 at 8:54 PM UTC
One day I hope to put these feelings down in writing
To find a way to simplify the way these carry me
The smell of worn leather and pine trees in December
A cold wind and a creek half frozen
The line of trees that separate my house from the wilderness
And how some days I wish I could disappear in there with you
We would hunt and forage
forge a path of our own
Play an out of tune guitar around a smoldering fire
We would live in the trees and hide in the grass
You would braid my hair and we would dance barefoot in a clearing
To the sound of cicadas and leaves underfoot
I love, I miss, I want you.
I hope for you.
More than I will ever be able to tell you.
Dec 12, 2020
Dec 12, 2020 at 12:01 PM UTC
The town I’m from
has a history
an excommunication
of diversity
at the helm
of self-serving
Caucasian propriety.
My sister is 50 percent
black -
her ancestors once
ran towards the freedom
promised
in the small towns
like this one.
This small town -
97.4 percent white -
instead hung her ancestors
in the town square,
jeered at their attempts
to live among the same people
who were proud
to live in a land of freedom.
Only certain freedoms
are allowed, however,
in towns like this one -
only a freedom
of a certain color.
Jun 6, 2020
Jun 6, 2020 at 3:32 PM UTC
Ali's Song
by Michael R. Burch
for Muhammad Ali
They say that gold don't tarnish. It ain't so.
They say it has a wild, unearthly glow.
A man can be more beautiful, more wild.
I flung their medal to the river, child.
I flung their medal to the river, child.
They hung their coin around my neck; they made
my name a bridle, "called a ***** a *****
They say their gold is pure. I say defiled.
I flung their slave's name to the river, child.
I flung their slave's name to the river, child.
Ain't got no quarrel with no Viet Cong
that never called me ****** did me wrong.
A man can't be lukewarm, 'cause God hates mild.
I flung their notice to the river, child.
I flung their notice to the river, child.
They said, "Now here's your bullet and your gun,
and there's your cell: we're waiting, you choose one."
At first I groaned aloud, but then I smiled.
I gave their "future" to the river, child.
I gave their "future" to the river, child.
My face reflected up, dark bronze like gold,
a coin God stamped in His own image—BOLD.
My blood boiled like that river—strange and wild.
I died to hate in that dark river, child,
Come, be reborn in this bright river, child.
The poem above has been set to music in a YouTube video by Lillian Y. Wong.
You are free to copy the poem for noncommercial use, such as a school project, essay or report, or just because you like it and want to share, but please credit Michael R. Burch as the author.
NOTES: (1) Muhammad Ali said that he threw his Olympic gold medal into the Ohio River after experiencing racism in his hometown of Louisville, Kentucky. Confirming his account, the medal was recovered by Robert Bradbury and his wife Pattie in 2014 during the Annual Ohio River Sweep. The Ali family paid $200,000 to regain possession of the medal. Ali later made a joke about the incident that caused him to toss his medal into the river. He said that he took his medal into a white downtown restaurant and ordered a cheeseburger. The waitress told him, "We don't serve negroes." Ali replied, "I don't eat them either. Just bring me a cheeseburger!" (2) When drafted during the Vietnam War, Ali refused induction, reputedly saying: "I ain't got no quarrel with those Viet Cong; no Vietnamese ever called me a ****** (3) The notice mentioned in my poem is Ali's draft notice, which metaphorically gets tossed into the river along with his slave name. (4) The poem was originally published by the literary journal Black Medina. It has since been published by Other Voices International, Thanal Online, Freshet, Poems About and Poem List.
For Ali, Fighting Time
by Michael R. Burch
So now your speech is not as clear . . .
time took its toll each telling year . . .
and O how tragic that your art,
so brutal, broke your savage heart.
But we who cheered each blow that fell
within that ring of torrent hell
never dreamed to see you maimed,
bowed and bloodied, listless, tamed.
For you were not as other men
as we cheered and cursed you then;
no, you commanded dreams and time—
blackgold Adonis, bold, sublime.
And once your glory leapt like fire—
pure and potent. No desire
ever burned as fierce or bright.
Oh Ali, Ali . . . win this fight!
Me?
Whee!
(I stole this poem
From Muhammad Ali.)
—Michael R. Burch
The poem above was written in response to the Quora question: “Can you write a poem titled “Me”?
In My House
by Michael R. Burch
I was once the only caucasian in the software company I founded and managed. I had two fine young black programmers working for me, and they both had keys to my house. This poem looks back to the dark days of slavery and the Civil War it produced.
When you were in my house
you were not free—
in chains bound.
Manifest Destiny?
I was wrong;
my plantation burned to the ground.
I was wrong.
This is my song,
this is my plea:
I was wrong.
When you are in my house,
now, I am not free.
I feel the song
hurling itself back at me.
We were wrong.
This is my history.
I feel my tongue
stilting accordingly.
We were wrong;
brother, forgive me.
Published by Black Medina
Poet to poet
by Michael R. Burch
This poem imagines a discussion between Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., who spoke so poetically about his dream of equality, and a poet who speaks in parentheses.
I have a dream
(pebbles in a sparkling sand)
of wondrous things.
I see children
(variations of the same man)
playing together.
Black and yellow, red and white,
(stone and flesh, a host of colors)
together at last.
I see a time
(each small child another's cousin)
when freedom shall ring.
I hear a song
(sweeter than the sea sings)
of many voices.
I hear a jubilation
(respect and love are the gifts we must bring)
shaking the land.
I have a message,
(sea shells echo, the melody rings)
the message of God.
I have a dream
(all pebbles are merely smooth fragments of stone)
of many things.
I live in hope
(all children are merely small fragments of One)
that this dream shall come true.
I have a dream . . .
(but when you're gone, won't the dream have to end?)
Oh, no, not as long as you dream my dream too!
Here, hold out your hand, let's make it come true.
(i can feel it begin)
Lovers and dreamers are poets too.
(poets are lovers and dreamers too)
I, Too, Have a Dream
by Michael R. Burch writing as “The Child Poets of Gaza”
I, too, have a dream ...
that one day Jews and Christians
will see me as I am:
a small child, lonely and afraid,
staring down the barrels of their big bazookas,
knowing I did nothing
to deserve their enmity.
I, too, have a dream ...
My Nightmare ...
by Michael R. Burch writing as “The Child Poets of Gaza”
I had a dream of Jesus!
Mama, his eyes were so kind!
But behind him I saw a billion Christians
hissing "You're nothing!," so blind.
Less Heroic Couplets: Miss Bliss
by Michael R. Burch
Domestic “bliss”?
Best to swing and miss!
Less Heroic Couplets: Then and Now
by Michael R. Burch
BEFORE: Thanks to Brexit, our lives will be plush! ...
AFTER: Crap, we’re going broke! What the hell is the rush?
Less Heroic Couplets: Dear Pleader
by Michael R. Burch
Is our Dear Pleader, as he claims, heroic?
I prefer my presidents a bit more stoic.
Less Heroic Couplets: Less than Impressed
by Michael R. Burch
for T. M., regarding certain dispensers of lukewarm air
Their volume’s impressive, it’s true ...
but somehow it all seems “much ado.”
Less Heroic Couplets: Poetry I
by Michael R. Burch
Poetry is the heart’s caged rhythm,
the soul’s frantic tappings at the panes of mortality.
Less Heroic Couplets: Poetry II
by Michael R. Burch
Poetry is the trapped soul’s frantic tappings
at the panes of mortality.
Less Heroic Couplets: Seesaw
by Michael R. Burch
A poem is the mind teetering between fact and fiction,
momentarily elevated.
Less Heroic Couplets: Passions
by Michael R. Burch
Passions are the heart’s qualms,
the soul’s squalls, the brain’s storms.
Keywords/Tags: Muhammad Ali, boxing, violence, The Greatest, race, racism, racist, discrimination, black, slave name, Vietnam War, Olympics, gold medal, God, Muslim, Islam, Islamic, tribute, mrbali, mrbrace, mrbsport, mrbsports, mrbsong
Mar 7, 2020
Mar 7, 2020 at 5:17 AM UTC
My wife holds my hand tightly as we enter the tiny church
The harsh odor of wet wool, cotton and dust fills the foyer
The pews are full. The signature book thick with names
Sifting through, we find a seat as the dirge comes to a close
The preacher is loud and sweaty and a distant cousin, I’m told
His mud-brown suit and tie clash against the stage’s ornate bouquets
He assures us there’s a heaven and that my grandfather was a good man
His thick southern draw a slow assault; the eulogy, a battleground
Stories are shared, and they are sweet. He paints a righteous man
Hands are raised, amens shouted. A relative grips me hard and weeps
In Jesus name, hallelujah, the lord giveth; the lord taketh away
Bow your head in prayer, he says. Let us remember our brother
And I remember. Images enter my head, and I clench my teeth
The drunken fights with grandma, the hammer used to defend herself
The scar on his palm, the knife mom drove through his calloused hand
The dark coat closet, the sound of the lock his children heard, the cries
The line to his casket is long. The sobs overpowering the morose hymn
His children are lined next to him. My grandmother is holding his hand
I lean in to see him one last time. His red nose has vanished
He smells of embalming fluid, and his shirt is wet with tears
Jan 8, 2020
Jan 8, 2020 at 4:46 PM UTC
he tackle
the law
that wrestle
the modernity
with pain
like Lysander
when politics
wrangle the
Star-Spangled Banner
when it
drew the
hep of
carols there's
an honest
girl to
sing granola
Oct 27, 2019
Oct 27, 2019 at 10:25 AM UTC
An hour away, a petal falls
A petal, a petal, a petal
They fly to Utah, they fly to Maine
They fly to Brazil, they fly to Spain
A petal falls, a petal falls.
Watch them drift, watch them land
They are passed from hand to hand
Across our minds, across our home
We watched it grow, we let them go
A petal, a petal, a petal
Aug 6, 2019
Aug 6, 2019 at 6:08 AM UTC
He did not deserve me-
Though he ended up with me, out of pure loneliness
On one end,
And horiness on the other-
He didn’t deserve me.
I am a strong and free woman,
Head held high,
Walking proudly through the crowd
Of judgement.
He wanted to cage me,
To tame me.
Maim me when I misspoke
With the ****** misconduct
Of his ****
Left his mess for me to mop
And drug his palm against my face
When I didn’t do it quick enough.
I’m into some sick and twisted stuff,
But that doesn’t mean I have to dedicate my life
To a sick and twisted person.
He saw an opportunity and abused it,
Completely.
Ruined a Led Zeppelin album
Because he needed quick pleasure.
A sin.
To me, it was torture
Beyond any measure.
There is no safeword to stop him
From using me that the repeated
Shouting of the word “no”
Shouldn’t override.
Sobs and dry heaving
And unlimited tears that darted down my cheeks
Every time he forced himself
Deeper inside of me
Couldn’t trump a measly “safeword”.
Sneering down at me,
Forcing my legs open
As he stole the one thing
I’d always asked him not to take away-
My trust in men as an entire gender.
And of course,
Something as simple as getting off quick
Could never seem that complicated,
That complex,
In his miniscule male mind.
He came and went-
Dipped to college,
Got with new girls after
Shaving his beard off once he left,
Revealing that he was still a boy
All along.
Under the dad *** of the year
And sneer that was covered
In ****** hair,
Starred a scared boy
Right back at me.
He drinks to numb his pain
While I’m back at home with
A broken liver.
And it’s more of a slap in the face
Than finding out earlier
That he was cheating on me
The entire time
Anyway.
Stings.
More than the quick slaps
Across the face
I’d receive for
Disrespecting him.
He texts me-
On the day my crush,
My other half that I’ve yet to meet
Sends me an update on his life.
Cuffed in Mississippi
For a plant.
Mississippi-
The same place my sister went
After getting strung out.
The place I was at
When my little survivor pup
Was hit by a pickup.
There’s nothing good
In the big Miss.
Only terrible roads and greasy food.
On the other end, the runaway ******
Was telling me he was trying to
“Better himself”.
Asked if we were okay,
And then proceeded to make the conversation
About himself,
As he’d proudly done so many times before.
How stealth-
Can’t find a better man, she lies.
Hands tied,
Just like i’d asked you to,
But more than that.
In my mind, as well.
You’ll rot in hell
For what you did to me.
No, I didn’t go after him.
No, I didn’t tell anyone at first.
No, I never told his college.
What the **** would you even go to college
In Ohio for?
Cornologist?
No, I didn’t pursue him further after…
It.
Karma is my friend.
And I have all the time in the world,
Curing myself,
Not drinking myself to death
And sleeping with every man
Big enough to swing his **** around.
I’m bettering myself, too.
Even if I’m not allowing him to see.
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 10:10 AM UTC
There's a girl from Ohio.
She's only searchin' for true love,
but her hands are tied
to the whipping post
in the town square
where she grew up.
And there's a boy
who lives next to her.
He walks past her nearly every day.
But he thinks that she's
lost her little mind,
so he just turns from her
and walks away.
Her father is a minister,
and her mother is a ghost now.
She never learned to say hello,
but she prob'ly wouldn't anyhow.
Well, there's a girl from Ohio.
She's only searchin' for true love,
but her hands are tied
to the whipping post
in the town square
where she grew up.
Now her tears mix
with the raindrops
fallin' on top of her.
Her heart's caving
like a cabin roof,
and you know
there's no saving her.
And you can hear her
moaning in the night
if you bend your ear
to her, hear her yell.
And even though you
don't know her name,
you know her story
all too well.
And there's a girl from Ohio.
She's only searchin' for true love,
but her hands are tied
to the whipping post
in the town square
where she grew up.
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 2:00 PM UTC
Ohio sunsets in late summer are amazing.
The sky becomes cotton candy with pinks and blues and the temperature begins to drop.
The clouds swirl and stretch.
You can hear a train in the distance with a faint breeze.
It feels great to drive around with the windows down and listen to music.
Ohio sunsets in late summer are amazing.
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 8:37 PM UTC
Toledo money
has made
tv honey
wherein Tupelo
love is
luxury and
the maid
so revolutionary
that swept
the air
there constantly
but suddenly
she sipped
where Saint
Joseph on
her trip
from earthwork
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 3:18 PM UTC
And just like the weather in Ohio your love will never be consistent.
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 8:53 PM UTC
I woke up to the falling snow
it is gentle and quiet
as if it holds the breath of the world
hostage with heavy silence
twirling and swaying, so
trance-like in the dance
unsure of whether to
rest crystal droplets upon
the branches or
to settle and expand into a sea
of glistening winter white—
reflecting ribbons of early light that
crash through the pale branches
of the still sleeping trees
in the distance
I can see the sparkle of
their halos standing out against
a wisp of clouds.
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 10:16 PM UTC
as she's
taken awestruck
that her
inhibitions tuck
her smoothly
that post
her triumph
where silky
swivels exclaim
how willingly
her mantra's
buck begin
this cool
tale only
beguile this
gristle or
a snook
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 2:50 PM UTC
young lassies near and far
were subjected to looking
at his personal bar
he'd stage the exhibits
on mobile phone devices
all those groinal tid-bits
exposing his wares
in a devil may care way
of indecency to the eyes
he'd frequently flay
on a particular poetry forum
the fellow can be found
advertizing his kit bag
so unedifyingly around
a sixty year old man
would in time be
getting a nab
for putting out there
his wayward
tab
somewhere inside
the Ohio state
law authorities
will pinpoint
the repugnant gate
Oct 6, 2017
Oct 6, 2017 at 8:13 PM UTC
All this must disappear -
crosswise minor roadways and
State Road with its bleating traffic,
plazas where pennies melt into
palms of Middle Eastern merchants,
Chinese, Nepalese, Indian or
what have you,
road signs for New York, Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Toledo, Youngstown, Columbus, Sandusky or
what have you.
All this must disappear -
the ****** gardens
on Ohio River banks, railways rusted retired and ready to
sink silently into the soil and stone,
back yard above-ground swimming pool algae beds and front porch
family-festival fetanyl parades,
All this must disappear -
gas station dollar altars and
decaying or decayed Irondale tennant building windows, *****
community college self-defined
street scientists gathered in old
high school parking lots discussing
politics and the Pleiades and the fastest way out of the galaxy or the
slowest way into an easy death.
All this must disappear,
from Walnut Beach to Wheeling,
and the rust lift and assemble
into something lovely tomorrow's youth can work with, can love and
can sit atop the hills and smile and
be content in knowing while I
sit on the sidewalk and be
glad the future finally showed up.
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 6:40 PM UTC
I left my home
in the hands
of estranged friends
only to find it again
nearly two years later,
a weekend in Cleveland.
I made it to the door
with the last sleepy tendrils of sun
flaking from drooping eyes.
Communion is served
at 5:30 sharp by hands
adorned with hard work.
The elements are passed,
fire and glass,
'round a table with seats for 6.
It is then I realized...
in the half-light
it was decided.
I never left the pew.
My religion is still community.
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 11:48 PM UTC
In the gray light of this late autumn morning
a young mother with holiday bags on her arms
and another set underneath her eyes, carries on
– assuming with positive intent – the American
tradition of some overweight man crawling
through chimneys. Stepping out unscathed by soot.
Her son, barely three and giddy with trust, hungrily
eats this up like a peaceful Thanksgiving meal.
These lies that we carry cautiously like gifts
and pass onto our children like genes who
then pass them onto his or her friends always
(in the end) come back unpleasantly to hurt us.
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 4:42 PM UTC