#pool
I try swimming in the deep end
Y
Am I kidding
When I can barely crawl?
Aim high to feel low
Shoot for the stars; I'm somewhat moronic
hypochondriac psychotic asthmatic
Can you tell by the scars I've drawn on
And my masochistic vehicle?
Got a list of what I'm tryna do
Tryna reach my goals;
An exaggeration of my fragmented mind
onethingtwothingthreebacktoonethingbecauseIcantforgetonething
My perilous thoughts.
No concentration makes for just conversation
In that I lose myself
Mar 1
Mar 1, 2026 at 2:11 PM UTC
let’s play pool
so I can watch you under the bar lights
the way the pool stick slides
between your fingers
the way your muscles flex when
you pull your arm back to aim
the way your face looks when
you are concentrated
focused
determined
let’s play pool
so I can see the way your lips
wrap around your cigarette
and the way your eyes
gently close
as you breathe in
the way your hand grazes mine
for more than an appropriate time
as you hand it over to me
so I can take a smoke too
but the real buzz I’m getting
is from being near you
let’s play pool
so we can exchange music
and I can take home
another piece of you
through my headphones
after we part ways
at the end of the night
let’s play pool
so I can get just an hour or two
of alone time with you
Feb 16
Feb 16, 2026 at 2:51 PM UTC
I can see your hands in
The Sun's eternal view
The silence of your warm skin
Waking up with you
We can burn our clothes and
I'd still walk you to the moon
I'll turn all my thoughts
Into a world named after you
Jan 19
Jan 19, 2026 at 1:09 AM UTC
Pouring out the rest of your drink
You shouldn't be wasting it
I embarrass myself at the pool
You say that's alright with you
You embarrass yourself when you talk
I say, "You're a lot like me"
Secret is we'll never have time
I say, "You're a lot to me"
Secret is you’re a lot like me
Jan 19
Jan 19, 2026 at 1:07 AM UTC
you, me
sunscreen lines
hot concrete
public pool
wasps clinging to hazy poles supporting scratched-up waterslides
that made us scream:
both the slides
and the wasps
but we always laughed it off
in the end.
when we sit down the sunset will follow.
i hope we do it all over again, tomorrow...
pretzel cup cheese-induced teenage chlorine dreams
the summer i turned fifteen
i thought you
i thought we
were everything
Jun 19, 2025
Jun 19, 2025 at 11:45 AM UTC
I've got a magic hat,
That'll take you back in time.
So we can go shoot pool,
In 1999.
Or back to the 80's,
We can dance, dance baby!
Do the robot all the way back,
To the 50's.
That's where I left my I-pod,
Hope they haven't found that. . .
Mar 24, 2025
Mar 24, 2025 at 8:57 PM UTC
the overwhelming chlorine enfolds itself unto my skin,
the fluorescent lights paste themselves to the back of my eyelids,
the cold salt-less waves lap against the harsh brown concrete,
over and over and over again.
every monday.
every thursday.
it's one thing to be plunging in the water,
shuddering and choking on that awful taste,
falling behind since elementary because--
no matter how hard you kick or how intently you listen,
you're the slowest one there--
and--
you. can't. get. better.
that's all fine.
it's another to stand on the deck,
awkwardly shift your body to look smaller, fold inwards,
smooth out your eyebrows until a few fleck into your fingers,
dig your nails into your arms (but, careful! don't be obvious about it),
try to smile and--
every monday.
every thursday.
i go back to that awful awful pool deck
that reeks of chemicals and humiliation
that always makes me retreat into my cells
and
every monday.
every thursday.
i reconsider the possibility of
drowning myself,
in the pool.
Dec 3, 2024
Dec 3, 2024 at 8:10 PM UTC
I am a ball falling into
A corner pocket.
Hit and sent flying.
The clatter of hopes and dreams
Knocked into each other.
I tumble into darkness
A world I've never known.
Unsure of where I am going.
But I roll.
Sent spinning across a velvet tongue.
I feel the rush.
Direct from the cue stick.
Pushed by the cue ball.
A crisp crack and I am sent flying.
Seamlessly waiting in line
Not knowing what number I am.
A shot aimed into netted lips.
As I tumble and swirl.
It turns out it's not so dark
In here after all.
Love is a game, and here I am.
Waiting to be placed back
Into the rack
Nov 5, 2024
Nov 5, 2024 at 5:12 PM UTC
before we grew apart
i dreamt of you dying
of your mother
clutching your voice, crying
in the chlorinated stands
where we met for the first time
she holds out the phone,
says “say goodbye”
and i’m running
railing flying by
reaching through thick air
to the mother who buries her boy
and i don’t know
if i made it in time
and i mustn’t have
cause we haven’t talked in a while
and i woke up smelling chlorine
and i never got a goodbye
Sep 26, 2024
Sep 26, 2024 at 3:19 AM UTC
Though cue-balls are glossy and smooth
The felt has been rough since my youth.
Some dimples assist
When fairways resist
But putting on tables is uncouth.
Mar 30, 2024
Mar 30, 2024 at 10:22 PM UTC
It’s Tuesday morning. I’d thought, until Leeza corrected me, that Thanksgiving was today.
“Thanksgiving always falls on Thursday, dorkus,” Leeza said Sunday, at breakfast (extirpating my hopes). “Besides, notice we haven’t been cooking?” She added.
“Good point.” I chuckled disappointedly.
Later, Lisa, Leeza and I had just got back from the pool where we saw John Krasinski and Emily Blunt. Leeza told me that Paramount studios has a condo, somewhere - on the 29th floor - where celebs stay (When you don’t know where something is, it’s on the mysterious 29th floor). Peter missed it. He didn’t join us because it’s a saltwater pool and it stings his warm but delicate, deep brown eyes.
I wondered what Peter was doing - push-ups on the balcony or something probably. Who knew he exercised so much? There’s a whole state-of-the-art gym but he likes exercising outdoors. I checked and yeah, there he was, on the balcony in the 46° wind, doing curls or something with elastic bands.
I sipped on some of Karen’s (Lisa & Leeza’s mom) nummy cinnamon-apple-cider and watched him for a few delicious minutes. Peter really is kind of fire, I decided. Then I popped my head out, “Come shower, Lisa wants to go out,” I announced. He just nodded and began packing up. I ran for my room to shower first (we share a shower).
Nov 22, 2022
Nov 22, 2022 at 2:48 PM UTC
the pool filled with all my doubts
sits outside a quiet unoccupied beach house
hopefully one day, i will get to fill it with my certainties
Jul 17, 2022
Jul 17, 2022 at 1:11 PM UTC
I was at a friend's pool after school.
She loaned me this impossibly tiny bathing suit.
I looked at it skeptically but I didn’t ask whose it was.
It smelled faintly of chlorine.
We were supposed to be alone.
Her older brother came home.
His eyes settled on my skin,
like a wash of immediate sunburn.
It was awkward and thrilling to be watched.
I pretended not to notice,
behind my sunglasses,
I ignored him.
My friend noticed. “Perv alert, let’s go in.” she said.
I didn’t want to go but I didn’t let it show.
Jan 5, 2022
Jan 5, 2022 at 6:05 AM UTC
the stone had been left alone
to trek in search of a pool
that when a child offered the stone a floatie
the stone turned down the offer
to drown
in the “stone’s special pool”
maybe the insecurity/pride/resentment
adding a extra ton or two
Dec 19, 2021
Dec 19, 2021 at 8:37 PM UTC
by which I of course am referring to this keyboard
that i’m writing on now
funny how that works ain’t it
62 minutes until my shift ends
John Prine & the Korean war don’t quite match where I am
clicking pool cues penetrate my headphones
I wonder how many bad games of pool it takes to shake a man’s confidence
by my estimate the answer is never enough
guys that can’t shoot love teaching girls how not to shoot
but the girls don’t usually seem to mind
how very 60’s highschool of it all
maybe Mr. Prine does have something here to say
47 minutes until my shift ends
people trust engineers warns my engineering professor
people trust you to know things he furthers
people trust us to explain
I wish they wouldn’t
tech support & translators for parents & grandparents
people want answers but only when they thought they already knew
40 minutes until my shift ends
pretty good, not bad, I can’t complain
seeing my old highschool teachers at the burrito place where I worked
sinking in the mire of chicken, brown rice, & black beans for minimum wage
ain’t it funny
I can smell the 45 pieces of steak & chicken I grilled when I get home
ain’t it funny
the outrage over the price of guacamole
33 minutes until my shift ends
Dec 5, 2021
Dec 5, 2021 at 5:31 PM UTC
Twinoak beloved.
The long and winding road
That leads to your door
Will never disappear
I've seen that road before
It always leads me here
Lead me to you door
The wild and windy night
That the rain washed away
Has left a pool of tears
Crying on and on.
Why leave me standing here?
Let me know the way
Many times I've been alone
And many times I've cried
Anyway, you'll never know
The many ways I've tried
And still they lead me back
To the long winding road
You left me standing here
A long long time ago.
Don't left me standing here.
Lead me to your door.
you pledged love to me
our heart was treasure
ask and it shall be given.
knock it shall be opened..
I got it way too late dear
~~~~
glad you came alone
my once upon time true love
ending sadly at crossroads
again again to revolving turned
your chosen sad lyrics
I treasure thanks for the ride
my greatest teacher you are.
~~~~~
By: Karijinbba
Sep 27, 2021
Sep 27, 2021 at 2:01 AM UTC
8 billion people in the world—
and here i am drowning in an infinity pool of self-pity.
i tell myself one day i will stop.
swim back towards the edge, gasping for breath, a new life to transform into.
and here i am drowning in an infinity pool of self pity.
Apr 28, 2021
Apr 28, 2021 at 10:07 PM UTC
Cigarettes and coffee and you.
If I had to name three things I couldn't live without,
I guess those would be the things. But it’s not an addiction,
per say. I only like cigarettes when your callused fingers
offer them to me,
your wordless expression showing concern and contentess.
I blow away our pain and worries and pass it on for later,
thinking I’ll make some coffee again today.
For both of us like I usually do.
Coconut milk in yours and creamer in mine, right?
My toes are suddenly cold
I dip them in these tender aqua waters,
juxtaposing itself with the Tampa humidity
that laces my cup. I can't tell if
you resting your arms around my waist
brings a fire within me
or if it gives me chills.
I start swaying to some synonymous tune
that happens to play in both of our heads at this moment,
even though the only music is
the wind whistling
through the shells and stems of the palm leaves.
My lips are, coffee and cigarette and you stained.
The painful heat always disrupts this heavenly time for us.
So we’ll meet here, same time tomorrow.
I wouldn't want to live without it.
Mar 18, 2021
Mar 18, 2021 at 4:49 PM UTC
Splish Splash with Tired arms
Inhale Exhale with Tired breath
Yell and Argue with Tired coach
Whine and Complain with Tired swimmers
Loud Static from a Tired radio
Bubble and Pour from a Tired coffee ***
At the pool,
sound became music, and music
a Tired cane for them to rest their weary limbs
Feb 25, 2021
Feb 25, 2021 at 10:01 AM UTC
When I was a kid, Summer was so much fun
Playing and laughing all day in the sun
We would all gather for a game of tag
Or running a race to the finish flag
We would think of ways to try and stay cool
Like going for a swim at the public pool
Drinking tall glasses of cold lemonade
While sitting under a tree in the crisp shade
Riding our bikes up and down the street
Waiting for the ice cream truck for a popsicle treat
Staying up late with my best friend
Hoping that Summer would never end
I'm grown up now but it's just not the same
The loss of innocence is such a shame
It's been a long time but they're still very clear
Those summertime memories that I hold so dear
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 9:08 PM UTC
Oh, the sweet warm nights of summer;
barefoot on the pavement but for once it doesn’t burn,
walking side by side under the newly born night.
I reach out to hug you and i laugh as i realize
your hair still smells of chlorine from the pool.
Dec 27, 2020
Dec 27, 2020 at 1:21 AM UTC
Happiness is an empty street
And a fast car.
Happiness is a clean, cold pool
You plunge into on a hot day.
Happiness is someone in your bed
Who’s gone in the morning
If you don’t want company
Or who stays if you do.
It’s someone who is happy to read the paper
Or take a hike with you.
It’s not worrying what others think
About you and your beliefs
And the wisdom to know who counts.
Happiness is strength,
Enough to fight the world
Or luxuriate in things gone well.
Happiness is attracting and repelling
Without having to try.
Happiness is a an aching fist
And an attacker’s black eye.
Happiness can be a warm gun,
Depending who gets hit.*
Happiness is not waiting for love,
Then falling in love in seconds.
It is knowing that you are fine
With or without a vow,
Yet being able to say “yes”,
When lightning strikes
And “no” when it’s just a cloud.
Yet happiness is not being sure
And bathing in uncertainty,
Of the pleasure in mystery.
Happiness is loving, faults and all,
An intensity so focused
That you’d gladly die for the one
Who was sent by some mixture
Of sunlight and shade,
On an ordinary afternoon,
Happiness is his body in yours,
His sweat on your skin in summer,
And body heat on cold nights.
Happiness is loving a little boy
Who looks like both of you
And knowing that love can transfigure
Time, exceed itself and encompass
More than one.
Happiness is contentment
In realizing how much you’ve had
And say you’ll feel rewarded
When your random life is done.
Happiness is the legend they tell
About you when you are gone;
The feeling is theirs and maybe yours.
Happiness is knowing that, if you go too far,
That there is no heaven or hell,
Or if there is,
Then anyone can play guitar.
September 9, 2020
Nov 9, 2020
Nov 9, 2020 at 1:08 PM UTC
NOTE: The Natchez Trace is the Nashville bar where I met my future wife Beth. We invented a game called "twister pool" which involved billiards, drinking and a fair bit of physical contortion ...
At the Natchez Trace
by Michael R. Burch
for Beth
I.
Solitude surrounds me
though nearby laughter sounds;
around me mingle men who think
to drink their demons down,
in rounds.
Beside me stands a woman,
a stanza in the song
that plays so low and fluting
and bids me sing along.
Beside me stands a woman
whose eyes reveal her soul,
whose cheeks are soft as eiderdown,
whose hips and ******* are full.
Beside me stands a woman
who scarcely knows my name;
but I would have her know my heart
if only I knew where to start.
II.
Not every man is as he seems;
not all are prone to poems and dreams.
Not every man would take the time
to meter out his heart in rhyme.
But I am not as other men—
my heart is sentenced to this pen.
III.
Men speak of their "ambition"
but they only know its name . . .
I never say the word aloud,
but I have felt the Flame.
IV.
Now, standing here, I do not dare
to let her know that I might care;
I never learned the lines to use;
I never worked the wolves' bold ruse.
But if she looks my way again,
perhaps I will, if only then.
V.
How can a man have come so far
in searching after every star,
and yet today,
though years away,
look back upon the winding way,
and see himself as he was then,
a child of eight or nine or ten,
and not know more?
VI.
My life is not empty; I have my desire . . .
I write in a moment that few man can know,
when my nerves are on fire
and my heart does not tire
though it pounds at my breast—
wrenching blow after blow.
VII.
And in all I attempted, I also succeeded;
few men have more talent to do what I do.
But in one respect, I stand now defeated;
In love I could never make magic come true.
VIII.
If I had been born to be handsome and charming,
then love might have come to me easily as well.
But if had that been, then would I have written?
If not, I'd remain; **** that demon to hell!
IX.
Beside me stands a woman,
but others look her way
and in their eyes are eagerness . . .
for passion and a wild caress?
But who am I to say?
Beside me stands a woman;
she conjures up the night
and wraps itself around her
till others flit about her
like moths drawn to firelight.
X.
And I, myself, am just as they,
wondering when the light might fade,
yet knowing should it not dim soon
that I might fall and be consumed.
XI.
I write from despair
in the silence of morning
for want of a prayer
and the need of the mourning.
And loneliness grips my heart like a vise;
my anguish is harsher and colder than ice.
But poetry can bring my heart healing
and deaden the pain, or lessen the feeling.
And so I must write till at last sleep has called me
and hope at that moment my pen has not failed me.
XII.
Beside me stands a woman,
a mystery to me.
I long to hold her in my arms;
I also long to flee.
Beside me stands a woman;
how many has she known
more handsome, charming,
chic, alarming?
I hope I never know.
Beside me stands a woman;
how many has she known
who ever wrote her such a poem?
I know not even one.
Keywords/Tags: Natchez, Trace, love, relationship, relationships, pool, billiards, rhyme, hope, pain, painful, solitude, drink, drinking, enigma, angel, stranger, ambiguity, woman
Rounds
by Michael R. Burch
Solitude surrounds me
though nearby laughter sounds;
around me mingle men who think
to drink their demons down,
in rounds.
Now agony still hounds me
though elsewhere mirth abounds;
hidebound I stand and try to think,
not sink still further down,
spellbound.
Their ecstasy astounds me,
though drunkenness compounds
resounding laughter into joy;
alloy such glee with beer and see
bliss found.
Swiftly the years mount
by T'ao Ch'ien (365-427)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Swiftly the years mount, exceeding remembrance.
Solemn the stillness of this spring morning.
I will clothe myself in my spring attire
then revisit the slopes of the Eastern Hill
where over a mountain stream a mist hovers,
hovers an instant, then scatters.
Scatters with a wind blowing in from the South
as it nuzzles the fields of new corn.
Con Artistry
by Michael R. Burch
The trick of life is like the sleight of hand
of gamblers holding deuces by the glow
of veiled back rooms, or aces; soon we’ll know
who folds, who stands . . .
The trick of life is like the pool shark’s shot—
the wild massé across green velvet felt
that leaves the winner loser. No, it’s not
the rack, the hand that’s dealt . . .
The trick of life is knowing that the odds
are never in one’s favor, that to win
is only to delay the acts of gods
who’d ante death for sin . . .
and death for goodness, death for in-between.
The rules have never changed; the artist knows
the oldest con is life; the chips he blows
can’t be redeemed.
Late Frost
by Michael R. Burch
The matters of the world like sighs intrude;
out of the darkness, windswept winter light
too frail to solve the puzzle of night’s terror
resolves the distant stars to salts: not white,
but gray, dissolving in the frigid darkness.
I stoke cooled flames and stand, perhaps revealed
as equally as gray, a faded hardness
too malleable with time to be annealed.
Light sprinkles through dull flakes, devoid of color;
which matters not. I did not think to find
a star like Bethlehem’s. I turn my collar
to trudge outside for cordwood. There, outlined
within the doorway’s arch, I see the tree
that holds its boughs aloft, as if to show
they harbor neither love, nor enmity,
but only stars: insignias I know—
false ornaments that flash, overt and bright,
but do not warm and do not really glow,
and yet somehow bring comfort, soft delight:
a rainbow glistens on new-fallen snow.
I had Robert Frost in mind when I wrote this poem, and thus the title. Frost was fond of the word “arch,” and it’s here because of that fondness. The poem imagines him as an old man and a skeptic, but one who never really made a complete break from his childhood faith. The rainbow created by the “artificial stars” was not something I had planned ... in fact, I believe I wrote that line before I understood that the Christmas tree ornaments were creating the rainbow.
The Poet-Midwife
by Michael R. Burch
A poet births words,
brings them into the world like a midwife
then wet-nurses them from infancy to adolescence.
Oct 24, 2020
Oct 24, 2020 at 5:44 AM UTC
I’m the pain in your back
I’m the soreness in your throat
I’m the cramp in your feet
I’m the ache in your teeth
I’m the grass on your lawn
I’m the water in your pool
I’m the ice in your drink
I’m the water when you sink
Sep 6, 2020
Sep 6, 2020 at 2:18 AM UTC