#pop
For Billie Eilish – Warrior of light
(Revised for global impact)
Intr.
Transncendence in abyss manifesting astonishing love in benevolent liminal illusions eternally but I no «Time is a mystery and love inspire beautiful lies inside Existence.
(1 куплет – Enhanced melody)
Shadows waltz to the pulse of her veins,
Eyes like shattered moons in a fractured frame.
Armor of silk a storm in her throat
Black roses bloom where she carves every note.
She painted galaxies on windowpanes
Where tears turned to acid, and doubt became chains.
But beneath her skin – supernova dust,
A duel witth the mirror, in flames, in trust.
(Pre-chorus)
Fell to her knees, just to rise from the ash,
Light isn’t given – it’s a strike of the match».
Scars map the cosmos, a labyrinth’s creed,
Every wound whispers, «The sky’s what you bleed»
(Chorus – cinematic crescendo)
Warrior of light, tempest’s own child,
A million reflections – your «ДА» chaos compiled.
Now you stand where the silence screams,
And the night wears your glow in its seams.
V.2 Rap
Beat drops: Sub-bass hums, hi-hats slice the air.
Green waves crash-Don’t touch my soul,»
Inked in the static, where the void takes toll.
«Ain’t no savior, just a ghost in the machine,
Reality’s a glitch in the code I convene.»
Flow shifts, rthutmic punches:
Fame’s funhouse, mirrors twist, lie,
Im the question mark in the algorithm’s sky.
Brothers beats stitch my fractures tight,
Where Schrodinger’s twins-both dead and alive.
(Hidden message)
Time’s arrow bends where Art meets pain,
Iridescent scars sing through the rain.
Midnight whispers (your name the haze),
Across the void, I carve your phrase –
Love’s Odyssey, Veil’s Eclipse – Secret script,
Beyond illusions, light’s Lullaby in Echoes encrypted.
Bridge
When the crowd roared «Break!», she rebuilt her bones,
Turned the venom to nectar, the shards into thrones.
«I’m not an icon - I’m a black hole’s hum,
The universe hums back: Where you go, we become.
May 26
May 26, 2026 at 2:06 PM UTC
One Direction’s music is like molten rotted snot poured into the sewn-open third eye of the last few real artists.
Except that would be far too original for them. or any boy band.
More like a metrosexual LGBTQRsTUV unicorn ******* hot Harry Potter-Twilight glitter on the cast of High School Musical, busy reenacting 2 Girls 1 Cup ad infinitum
and somehow managing to ruin that too ,
The internet collapses ...
Michael Jackson
endless Super Bowl halftime show molestation nightmares still played daily on the radio..
Corpulent period blood dripping rejected flag girl Katy Perry rocket-cat vomits neon cactus Skittles into OUR tortured ear canals.
Post Malone
Kindergarten prison tattoos , his own face
even more
with a used ***** shaped like Trump
Kathleen Kennedy orgasmically throttles a twerking Dave Filoni cowboy-hat-wearing velociraptor
across the corpse-strewn Hollywood sex-dungeon set of
every Disney Channel **** remake ever masturbationally imagined,
laughing in Lil Wayne autotuned Top 40 perfection.
The ever present Hackneyed trailer-park **** goddess Tay Tay the airbrushed
levitates above it all with her latest braindead steroid love toy, in an oozing unfettered RFK Jr. STD glitter storm of unlicensed Chinese sweatshop labor TikTok dances.
And no one is home to raise little Johnny who is making all this possible although he has no
standards ,
no reference
no respect
and no education
but he does have 48 thousand subscribers for his feet videos on you tube......
" the futures so bright I gotta wear shades' Indeed.
The same Republican family values. machine that markets poison and PRISON life as “culture” are the ones
with lobbyist rubber stamping. the corpo laws,
buying the anti abortion judges,
and deciding when Little Johnny gets to rot in a cell for stepping out of line.
We are in a fascist culture
built on corporate bribery
pretending to be holier than thou collection plate morality.
You can feel the contradiction breathing the people who bankroll the
Enron,
Gloldman Sachs rot
walk free in tailored suits,
while the ones caught in the wreckage get branded for life as doomed to minimum wage criminals.
And the worst part? They’ve managed to sell that arrangement as "JUSTICE " and ignore our truths with "hate speech " labels.
Oct 15, 2025
Oct 15, 2025 at 5:03 AM UTC
Under the rainbow
My love just fell asleep
I kiss it before it dreams
Just take the crown sodommm
You are now the king of queens
The King of the queeeeennsss
As I below
I'm just another soul
Who fell like snow...
(Mmm yea)
How did it get so cold
I forgot my coat
The love light shows
As it falls on shoulders
They look like Boulders
I think it's over
The King of the queens
The sieze of real-ity
The lovely lil breeze
Feb 21, 2025
Feb 21, 2025 at 9:57 PM UTC
I could only watch
As the people that helped me out of my egg
Took flight
As my seniors that showed me how to walk
Spread their wings
As my friends who showed me that path to the skies
Left for the clouds
Now, as I watch over the baby birds,
I know that soon, I too will have to leave.
Feb 20, 2025
Feb 20, 2025 at 6:04 AM UTC
There's talk of rules in a capitol,
Whispers around Moscow
Of how to act clandestinly.
On how to move in the shadows,
Of acting without notice & silently.
On how to avoid & evade,
Of how to deflect & debate.
On how to turn people over,
Of how to churn up info.
On how to survive the living
Of an actor of a foreign agency.
There's talk of rules in a capitol,
Whispers around Washington
Of how to get away with things.
Feb 12, 2025
Feb 12, 2025 at 11:28 PM UTC
Open and broken
Love was spoken
Come back to the place
Of forgiveness and grace
Come back to me and be healed
Come to me and find truth revealed
I will always take you back
Find in me what you lack
I am crazy in love with you
I'm not too good to be true
It is the greatest story ever told
Already more than 2000 years old
You just met me and this is crazy
But I love you. Please call me daily
You are my beloved, you I want to bless
It's a love story, child just say: Yes
My love for you is fiercer than a hurricane
Once you feel it you will never be the same
I was broken so I could make you whole
I will heal your beat up and broken soul
All for you I was crucified
Because of you I freely died
I can lead you to the living water, but I can't make you drink
In faith, walk on water. I'll catch you if you start to sink
I am dying just to meet you
I pray that one day, I will greet you
I love you now and forever without end
In courage and compassion, to the world I send
I am in your corner; I will help you fight
And when you are lost, I will be your light
I rejoice for you are alive, no longer dead
In your hunger, I will keep you fed
The blind will see, the lost are found
The lame will walk, mute are filled with sound
The angels sing a heavenly chorus
When we pray for others as they pray for us
The act of forgiveness is truly freeing
Know the unbearable lightness of simply being
It is enough for me just to glow in your presence Lord
As, for an hour or so, I sit, and we are of one accord
For a moment our hearts beat in harmony
As with saints and angels I am in your company
Lord, please come fill this longing deep inside
Flood me with you, as you break me open wide
Nov 25, 2024
Nov 25, 2024 at 10:03 PM UTC
wake me
shake me
out of this febrile trance
furtively pilfering my
heart's ancient treasure
once guarded
by comforting spirits
of warm hopes and
beliefs held beyond reason
never questioned
by the minds tribunal
the jurors seated
in the cranial court
knowing eyes silenced
by misguided faith's rhetoric
never minding
the persuasive muzzle
often ignoring serpent's
retractable tongue
always turning from
the dark corridors
light banished
by modern-day pharisees
cloaked in mantles of treason
patronizingly diluting
what can only remain pure
painted with pious platitudes
away
far away
i must sail from this folly
an orphan of mystical doubt
the frost and cold tempest I feel
cautious sensibilities
a tenuous guide
through these gray
realms I traverse
trembling hands
grasp transient hopes
striving to shape
deeper meaning
disciplining lazy
traditional beliefs
that hang on like
phosphorescent
spiders in the dusty
lofty
rafters of memory
deceptive iconic silhouettes
faded de-spiritualized
superimposed on a
human-made landscape
a beautiful picture
gold frame and all!
absence of religious
pop-culture faith
eclipses peace
i shudder at the prospect
of this purge
preparing for burial
what must die
the end of an age
burned in effigy
a raging wilderness
I now pass through
I stumble by many
a familiar and
unfamiliar fane
longing to be clothed
with a mantle of peace
a vulnerable yet
strong spirit I guard
let not trivialised faith be
my misleading guide
and if it is all meaningless
alas! it may be
still I must forge
ahead to the sea
ever mindful that rivers
return to where
they have been
separated at birth
i often hear roaring waves
crashing and gentler waves
lapping on shore
but a body of water
is not always the Sea.
Aug 27, 2024
Aug 27, 2024 at 12:08 PM UTC
Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill,
Bacon and Chorizo-an' just put the Griddles on,
Ya know-the Waffles are almost done...
Jul 12, 2024
Jul 12, 2024 at 8:15 PM UTC
Have you ever sat inside a bubble
Where the air feels fresher?
Mar 20, 2024
Mar 20, 2024 at 2:56 AM UTC
Love is,
Such a random assassin,
Love comes in,
As a personal whirlwind,
An amicable tangent in tandem,
With unbridled passion & reckless abandon,
An alluring assassin an emotion overloaded with action,
It strikes like a seductive serpent when it happens,
Seemingly striking at random,
Even when the attack is the result of meticulous planning,
Leaving the subject of it’s Love looking up scratching their head,
Dazed & confused wondering what the heck just happened,
Capturing what can’t be imagined it surprises even the wisest,
Has its target in its sights for awhile while schemin’,
But the lovestruck don’t see it until love strikes like lightning,
Breaking down all the defenses of its all too willing victims,
Without pretenses, premises or agreements,
Love jumps down from the clouds pounces out of the shadows,
& assassinates all shady characters without reservation,
Striking silently without sound then vanishing like a phantom,
His heart pounds,
He’d marry her if she’d let him,
But she’s still chasing her own imagination,
So instead of embrace him she’s on the run like an escaped felon,
Scared of a future with him,
Because of the past she had way back when,
She’s so caught up in the past of what she was back then,
That she loses sight of what she has right now with him,
& that’s just one of the reasons why love is,
Such a random assassin,
Love comes in,
As a personal whirlwind,
An amicable tangent in tandem,
With unbridled passion & reckless abandon,
An alluring assassin an emotion overloaded with action,
It strikes like a seductive serpent when it happens,
Seemingly striking at random,
Even when the attack is the result of meticulous planning,
Leaving the subject of it’s Love looking up scratching their head,
Dazed & confused wondering what the heck just happened…
∆ LaLux ∆
From the new book ABC, available everywhere.
https://a.co/d/2X7iWxd
Feb 6, 2024
Feb 6, 2024 at 12:41 AM UTC
/ Blade Running \
Making memories,
Wondering who sent for me,
If it wasn’t you then who was it,
& if you didn’t send for me then why are you here next to me,
Self preservation is the first law of nature,
From animal to human from human to machine,
Antisocial butterflies restlessly cramped in our cocoons,
Part plant part mineral part alien fully human being,
Sure we converse with other persons,
But we converse more with ChatGPT,
Hey AI I have a question,
Do ‘Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?’,
Even Philip K ****
Doesn’t know what the answer is to this mystery is,
Half man half nocturnal machine,
Half real life half diurnal dream,
Were we born or were we made maybe it’s the same thing,
Maybe there isn’t a difference or so it would seem,
“You don’t believe,
In miracles because you’ve never seen a miracle.”,
That’s why you’re willing to **** for a fee,
& why you’re always so sterile & cynical,
& maybe that’s why I write,
More than I do anything else,
As a way of trying to jog your memory,
While running up the bill,
At the bar trying to wash away,
Things that still affect me even though they can’t be totally recalled,
In this present day sci-fi anti-climactic dystopia like Arnold,
Call me Jack of All Trades & I’ll call you Jill of It All,
Getting drowsy,
Must be the pills,
On a plane,
On my way to somewhere else,
Travel so much,
Sometimes I wake up & don’t know what country I’m in,
It’s a dog eat dog world so cat naps can be dangerous,
Especially when you drink while sleep walking on Ambien,
A creature with amnesia & beautiful features,
How’d you become such a miracle,
Are you really that perfect,
Or is that just the way I remember you,
Guess it doesn’t matter either way,
Because maybe I don’t even remember you,
Maybe you’re not mine because maybe you never were,
Maybe nothing is mine not even the memories I have of you,
Maybe it’s all just programing,
Maybe we’re all just programs,
Programed to play our part,
In The Grand Program,
Programmed by the wizard behind the curtain,
Or by the woman behind the glass wall,
Maybe in the end we have the same thing we had in the beginning,
Which is absolutely nothing at all,
Maybe that’s why I’m making memories,
Wondering who sent for me,
If it wasn’t you then who was it,
& if you didn’t send for me then why are you here next to me,
Self preservation is the first law of nature,
From animal to human from human to machine,
Antisocial butterflies restlessly cramped in our cocoons,
Part plant part mineral part alien fully human being,
Sure we converse with other persons,
But we converse more with ChatGPT,
Hey AI I have a question,
Do ‘Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?’,
Even Philip K ****
Doesn’t know what the answer is to this mystery is…
∆ LaLux ∆
From ABC: The Beginning Of The End
Available worldwide on all platforms and in all mediums, Audiobook, Paperback, Digital, and Hardcover
Feb 4, 2024
Feb 4, 2024 at 1:57 AM UTC
Son of A Gun in The Wild West
Culture Vultures dining on carcasses,
a culture of artist that,
act as if everyone is targeted,
and we are whether bisexual or bipartisan,
or both no vote only the onset of mainstream socialist monarchism,
a subconscious stream of consciousness consumed by a constantly contradicting condition of consumerism,
an avalanche of retail therapy and the avant of avant-gardism,
doesn’t have to be a better product or improved edition,
just has to be better packaged and marketed,
sold our souls so we don’t own anything anymore not even our own cognizance,
just look what what the mass media market did,
our collective memories and ancient traditions all but forgotten,
designer jeans symbolize a degenerative disease like Parkinson’s,
want to end this madness but don’t know who started it,
so who can we blame but ourselves in all honestness,
as we absorb Virtual Reality and ignore Actual Reality creating an occultism of Oculus,
Rift we drift into thee abyss of dark indifferences…
Neglecting the blueprint everybody’s a studio gangsta these days just ask 50 Cent,
morally bankrupt lazy played daisies try to copy Jay-Z’s blueprint,
but no body has a DJ Clue or a Ty Dollar to spare still everyone’s got their two cents,
all opinions given with no wisdom taken from the Grand Architect,
what good is good advice if we don’t take the time to listen we just dismiss it quick,
showing off trophies donating charity checks,
acting like champions we bare and beat our chest,
wearing fool’s gold and blood diamonds but we’ve won nothing yet,
honestly feels like we haven’t even started yet,
still we feel exhausted from this rat race for dominance,
slaves of an alien race we pledge allegiance with our obedience and faux pas ambiance,
And it’s all almost over for our entire empire so every moment better cherish it,
white robes with Chipko flip flops we hold the reins to Her Majesty’s chariot,
whipping the 500 horses faster in the fast lane will get you buried quick,
so I try and pace it and not get too wasted still I feel very sick,
when captain screams “You move too slow sailor!”, that’a when it’s time to depart this ship,
but you can’t rush good art and I’m an articulating artist for all the artisans,
in a constant state of affairs is why I haven’t married yet,
which of course means no divorce from any or all of this,
so I continue to translate transmissions without prejudice,
love is star crossed colorblind and my wonder mind is in wonderland’s luminescence,
as I illustrate illustrious illuminations off every edifice in this hedonistic eden like Edison,
with an ample amount of ambiance this is this rebels renegade Renaissance,
I write light before I become just another martyr for the Martian’s master plans,
my words are honest sonnets on tablets of mono-cultured monograms,
mono-glyphs that shine like a beacon on the Tower of Babel atop a cavernous monolith…
This is all honest in all honestness.
Here at the docks with assorted Goddesses and narcissistic walruses,
way up going under not trying to be negative but the only thing I’m positive of is,
we are cultivating a culture of artist that,
act as if everyone is targeted,
and we are whether bisexual or bipartisan,
so stay up and keep your eyes open because the games have just started kid.
This is all honest kid.
And I’m open to discuss everything except religion and of course politics,
so if you’re having issues then tell me what the problem is and maybe we can solve it quick,
and please don’t blame the Dalai Lama or Obama’s broken promises,
see we all have soiled wings just like these vultures that pick at our carcasses,
as we dine on Soylent Green served hot from the meting *** of concubine colleges,
wrong right black white day night see everything has it’s opposites,
so even the kindest animals will turn into carnivorous cannibals when all that’s left,
is blown kisses well wishes ***** dishes corrupt princes and spiritual paralysis,
this is the age of the dawning of Aquarius and the end of our passing genesis…
But what do I know I’m just a Son of a Gun on the run writing this mystic futuristic hit-list,
dressed to the nines with a bottle of moonshine and a bunch of empty cartridges,
in the Wild West with Clint Eastwood no Kanye clean as a whistle mixin’ with ***** Harry’s pharmacist,
The Good Bad & The Ugly drink in acid rain and eat magic cactuses…
Howling at the full moon with peyote coyotes absent minded off the absinth mix…
Alive right here left for dead insane and out of practice with,
no clean water in the canteen and circling are the vultures just above us,
this teenage wasteland has no purpose with,
riff raft rats and religious rabbits in the crosshairs with deserted desert tortoises,
see these badlands will make the most professional professionals seem like just silly naive novices,
there’s nothing more to see here in this mirage except my rusty gun as it tarnishes…
my visions getting blurry bodies stopped but my mind’s still hurried this is what exhausted is,
and I’d escape if I knew a way out but instead I stay because I’m not sure what my other option is…
See I knew I would go I told you before everyone is targeted,
so soon it seems I’ll be just another rotting carcass that,
the Culture Vultures overhead dine on as their dinner when feeling peckishish,
terminated no terminator but like Arnold said, “I’ll be back.”, like I just started this…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
Dec 14, 2023
Dec 14, 2023 at 12:59 AM UTC
it seems my entire life is defined by drinks.
mother's milk out the womb.
(and maybe those suckles were sweet - it's not like i remember - but her words, for the rest of my life, certainly weren't.)
an hour-long debate, with my best friend at twelve years old - apple or orange juice?
(orange, obviously, is the right answer. we rehash the argument sometimes to this day.)
the day i turn 19, a beer in my hands.
(i'm sat around a campfire with my closest friends, birthdays all older than me - the beer tastes disgusting, as cheap alcohol is, but i'm glad to be there.)
yesterday, i had 1 coffee and 2 mugs of lemon honey tea, 4 glasses of water.
today, no tea, but 2 cups of coffee, a glass of milk, and 3 glasses of water.
i bite at my nails when i'm nervous, swallow down the spit that comes with it, the bile that rises.
last summer, i visited pei, had a raspberry cordial - my favourite drink to date - then bought a case of 4 more to take home with me.
last summer, when i lived in new brunswick, my friends in the same building knew me as the one who would always have a drink in hand - a milk tea, or maybe a pink lemonade, maybe that obscure korean soda i liked.
when i left new brunswick, i took a photo of my 2 trash cans, of the way they were both filled to the brim with empty bottles and cans and jugs.
i still miss the apple cider they made there.
my life is defined by drinks, sips, swallows, taking five minutes to breathe by making myself a nice whipped coffee, trawling the internet for pretty coasters and glassware for an hour in lieu of doing actual work.
Eventually, i close the shopping tabs, take a sip of coffee, and resume with the rest of my life.
Nov 5, 2023
Nov 5, 2023 at 7:38 PM UTC
Da Vinci code or more
mystique than that
cracking the secret
only one that popped up
lost the tongue!
Jun 22, 2022
Jun 22, 2022 at 5:56 PM UTC
Even during the darkest of nights,
I am with this thought of my future,
Nothing scares me just enough to stop.
Even during the blackest of days,
I am with the memory of time past,
Nothing depresses me enough to pop.
Even during those hours of blues,
I dispel each of the purples in strait,
Because in being sad, I find just glop.
Jul 6, 2021
Jul 6, 2021 at 8:51 PM UTC
You inflate my heart like a balloon
Filled with all your fake love
The pin you hold is always so dangerously close
Waiting for my balloon to pop anytime soon
Why do I still trust people with my heart?
When it ends up ripped apart
To the next person, I'm on restart
All remaining is the rubber parts
Popping all my love-filled hearts
~20/5/21
May 20, 2021
May 20, 2021 at 8:42 AM UTC
SONG-POEMS
These are poems that were written as songs, or as potential song lyrics, or that could easily become songs if someone were to set them to music (hint! hint!) …
Ave Maria
by Michael R. Burch
Ave Maria,
Maiden mild,
listen to my earnest prayer.
Listen, O, and be beguiled.
Ave Maria.
Ave Maria,
Maiden mild,
be Mother now to every child
beset by earth’s thorned briars wild.
Ave Maria.
Ave Maria,
Maiden mild,
embrace us with your Love and Grace.
Let us look upon your Face.
Ave Maria.
Ave Maria,
Maiden mild,
please attend to our earnest call—
When will Love be All in All?
Ave Maria.
Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch
Faithless Lover
by Michael R. Burch
Well I met you darlin’ on a night like this;
the stars were fallin’ as I stole a kiss.
And I fell in love that very night,
as the moon above blessed us with its light.
But the moon was false, and your heart was, too.
Oh, I never dreamed you would be untrue.
'Cause you're a faithless lover, with a heart of stone.
One day you'll discover yourself all alone.
Well, we found a preacher and we said some words.
I should have noticed yours were well-rehearsed.
When I looked above, I saw the pale moon frown;
the sky burst open; I began to drown.
'Cause you're a faithless lover, with a heart of stone.
One day you'll discover yourself all alone.
Now, since that day, how you've run around.
You’ve been with every boy in town.
Well, I learned my lesson, and I learned it well:
how one night aflame left me cold as hell,
till my heart grew hard in its icy shell.
Now, I'm a faithless lover with a heart of stone.
I seek faceless lovers who leave with the dawn.
Copyright © 1991 by Michael R. Burch
Unlikely Mike
by Michael R. Burch
I married someone else’s fantasy;
she admired me despite my mutilations.
I loved her for her heart’s sake, and for mine.
I hid my face and changed its connotations.
And in the dark I danced—slight, Chaplinesque—
a metaphor myself. How could they know,
the undiscerning ones, that in the glow
of spotlights, sometimes love becomes burlesque?
Disfigured to my soul, I could not lose
or choose or name myself; I came to be
another of life’s odd dichotomies,
like Dickey’s Sheep Boy, Pan, or David Cruse:
as pale, as enigmatic. White, or black?
My color was a song, a changing track.
Copyright © 2001 by Michael R. Burch
Published by Bewildering Stories and selected as one of four short poems for the Review of issues 885-895
Through the fields of solitude
by Hermann Allmers
set to music by Johannes Brahms
translation by David B. Gosselin with Michael R. Burch
Peacefully, I rest in the tall green grass
For a long time only gazing as I lie,
Caught in the endless hymn of crickets,
And encircled by a wonderful blue sky.
And the lovely white clouds floating across
The depths of the heavens are like silky lace;
I feel as though my soul has long since fled,
Softly drifting with them through eternal space.
This poem was set to music by the German composer Johannes Brahms in what has been called its “the most sublime incarnation.” A celebrated recording of the song was made in 1958 by the baritone Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau with Jörg Demus accompanying him on the piano.
The Pain of Love
by Michael R. Burch
for T. M.
The pain of love is this:
the parting after the kiss;
the train steaming from the station
whistling abnegation;
every highways’ broken white bar
that vanishes under your car;
each hour and flower and friend
that cannot be saved in the end;
dear things of immeasurable cost ...
now all irretrievably lost.
Copyright © 2013 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by The HyperTexts
Note: The title “The Pain of Love” was suggested by an interview with Little Richard, then eighty years old, in Rolling Stone. He said that someone should create a song called “The Pain of Love.” I've written the lyrics, now can someone provide the music?
Will There Be Starlight
by Michael R. Burch
Will there be starlight
tonight
while she gathers
damask
and lilac
and sweet-scented heathers?
And will she find flowers,
or will she find thorns
guarding the petals
of roses unborn?
Will there be starlight
tonight
while she gathers
seashells
and mussels
and albatross feathers?
And will she find treasure
or will she find pain
at the end of this rainbow
of moonlight on rain?
Copyright © 2001 by Michael R. Burch
Published by The Word (UK), The Chained Muse, Famous Poets and Poems, Grassroots Poetry, The HyperTexts, Inspirational Stories, Jenion, Starlight Archives, TALESetc, Writ in Water, Grassroots Poetry and Poetry Webring
Indestructible, for Johnny Cash
by Michael R. Burch
What is a mountain, but stone?
Or a spire, but a trinket of steel?
Johnny Cash is gone,
black from his hair to his bootheels.
Can a man out-endure mountains’ stone
if his songs lift us closer to heaven?
Can the steel in his voice vibrate on
till his words are our manna and leaven?
Then sing, all you mountains of stone,
with the rasp of his voice, and the gravel.
Let the twang of thumbed steel lead us home
through these weary dark ways all men travel.
For what is a mountain, but stone?
Or a spire, but a trinket of steel?
Johnny Cash lives on—
black from his hair to his bootheels.
Copyright © 2006 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by Strong Verse
Flying
by Michael R. Burch
I shall rise
and try the ****** wings of thought
ten thousand times
before I fly ...
and then I'll sleep
and waste ten thousand nights
before I dream;
but when at last ...
I soar the distant heights of undreamt skies
where never hawks nor eagles dared to go,
as I laugh among the meteors flashing by
somewhere beyond the bluest earth-bound seas ...
if I'm not told
I’m just a man,
then I shall know
just what I am.
This is one of my very early poems, written around age 16-17. According to my notes, I may have revised the poem later, in 1978, but if so the changes were minor because the poem remains very close to the original.
Earthbound
by Michael R. Burch
Tashunka Witko, better known as Crazy Horse, had a vision of a red-tailed hawk at Sylvan Lake, South Dakota. In his vision he saw himself riding a floating and crazily-dancing spirit horse through a storm as the hawk flew above him, shrieking. When he awoke, a red-tailed hawk was perched near his horse.
Earthbound,
and yet I now fly
through the clouds that are aimlessly drifting ...
so high
that no sound
echoing by
below where the mountains are lifting
the sky
can be heard.
Like a bird,
but not meek,
like a hawk from a distance regarding its prey,
I will shriek,
not a word,
but a screech,
and my terrible clamor will turn them to clay—
the sheep,
the earthbound.
I believe I wrote this poem as a college sophomore, age 19 or 20. I did not know about the vision and naming of Crazy Horse at the time. But when I learned about the vision that gave Crazy Horse his name, it seemed to explain my poem and I changed the second line from "and yet I would fly" to "and yet I now fly." I believe that is the only revision I ever made to this poem.
Copyright © 1978 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by The HyperTexts
Momentum! Momentum!
by Michael R. Burch
for the neo-Cons
Crossing the Rubicon, we come!
Momentum! Momentum! Furious hooves!
The Gauls we have slaughtered, no man disapproves.
War’s hawks shrieking-strident, white doves stricken dumb.
Coo us no cooings of pale-breasted peace!
Momentum! Momentum! Imperious hooves!
The blood of barbarians brightens our greaves.
Pompey’s head in a basket? We slumber at ease.
****** us again, great Bellona, dark queen!
Momentum! Momentum! Curious hooves
Now pound out strange questions, but what can they mean
As the great stallions rear and their riders careen?
Originally published by Bewildering Stories
NOTE: Bellona was the Roman goddess of war. The name "Bellona" derives from the Latin word for "war" (bellum), and is linguistically related to the English word "belligerent" (literally, "war-waging"). In earlier times she was called Duellona, that name being derived from a more ancient word for "battle."
Just Yesterday
by Michael R. Burch
Yesterday
she went a-way
and now I don’t know what to sa-ay,
'cause I loved her more than life
just yesterday.
[Descending notes: DUH Duh duh]
Yesterday
she held me tight
and our love lit up the night,
but then our flame was not as bright,
just yesterday.
[Descending notes: DUH Duh duh]
Yesterday
she left me a-lone
and now I don’t know what I wa-ant ...
I just listen to a song
called “Yesterday” ...
[Descending notes: DUH Duh duh]
Yesterday, oh Yesterday,
Yesterday, oh Yesterday,
I loved her more than life
just yesterday.
[Descending notes: DUH Duh duh]
Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by The HyperTexts
Stay With Me Tonight
by Michael R. Burch
Stay with me tonight;
be gentle with me as the leaves are gentle
falling to the earth.
And whisper, O my love,
how that every bright thing, though scattered afar,
retains yet its worth.
Stay with me tonight;
be as a petal long-awaited blooming in my hand.
Lift your face to mine
and touch me with your lips
till I feel the warm benevolence of your breath’s
heady fragrance like wine.
That which we had
when pale and waning as the dying moon at dawn,
outshone the sun.
And so lead me back tonight
through bright waterfalls of light
to where we shine as one.
Copyright © 2019 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by The Lyric
This Train
by Michael R. Burch
To be sung to the melody of "This Train is Bound For Glory" up-tempo.
This train is goin’ my way, this train.
This train is goin’ my way, this train.
This train is goin’ my way,
gonna take me back
to my baby,
This train is goin’ my way, this train.
This train is flyin’, flyin’, flyin’.
This train is flyin’, flyin’, flyin’.
This train is flyin’, flyin’,
and my heart is cryin’,
cryin’.
This train is flyin’, flyin’, flyin’.
This train is chuggin’ on down the tracks now.
This train is chuggin’ on down the tracks now.
This train’s chuggin’ down the tracks
and it’s gonna have to
take me back now.
This train is chuggin’ on down the tracks now.
This train is flyin’, flyin’, flyin’.
This train is flyin’, flyin’, flyin’.
This train is flyin’, flyin’,
and my heart is dyin’,
dyin’.
This train is flyin’, flyin’, flyin’.
This train is goin’ my way, this train.
This train is goin’ my way, this train.
This train is goin’ my way,
gonna take me back
to my baby,
This train is goin’ my way, this train.
This train must run a little longer.
Oh, this train must run a little longer.
And although I did her wrong, her
love is only gettin’ stronger.
This train must run a little longer.
Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by The HyperTexts
The Vision of the Overseer’s Right Hand
by Michael R. Burch
“Dust to dust ...”
I stumbled, aghast,
into a valley of dust and bone
where all men become,
at last, the same color . . .
There a skeletal figure
groped through blonde sand
for a rigid right hand
lost long, long ago . . .
A hand now more white
than he had wielded before.
But he paused there, unsure,
for he could not tell
without the whip’s frenetic hiss
which savage white hand was his.
Copyright © 2001 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by Poetry Porch
When I Think of You, I Think of Love
by Michael R. Burch
for Beth
When I think of you, I think of Love.
Oh, when I think of you, I think of Love
as magical as the moon and stars above.
And when I think of you, I think of Love.
When I think of you, I start to cry.
Yes, when I think of you, I start to cry.
And I think you know the reason why.
For when I think of you, I think of Love.
When I think of you, I start to smile.
Oh, when I think of you, I start to smile.
I think of you and, dreaming all the while,
when I think of you, I start to smile.
When I think of you, I have to laugh.
Yes, when I think of you, I have to laugh
because it’s certain: you’re my better half!
So when I think of you, I have to laugh.
I think of you as Eve, and at your feet
blooms everything that’s equally as sweet,
as magical as the moon and stars above.
And when I think of you, I think of Love.
I think of you with babies at your breast,
and does and fawns that come at your behest,
as magical as the moon and starts above.
And when I think of you, I think of Love.
I think of you and find myself at peace.
I feed the ducks, the turtles and the geese,
all as magical as the moon and stars above,
and when I think of you, I think of Love.
I think of you as Love, a Love that heals ...
the gentlest Dove that soars and flies and wheels
then looks down on the earth from high above.
And when I think of you, I think of Love.
Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by The HyperTexts
Hill Down the Road
by Michael R. Burch
I imagine this song being sung to an upbeat tune like “Afternoon Delight” with an emphasis on the last word in each line. The song would come out as a sort of breathless rush — one long, run-on sentence.
There’s a hill down the road
where my babe and me would go
when the sun was sinking low
where the sparkling waters flow
and we’d sit there in the grass
and we’d watch the sunsets pass
and then I’d walk her home,
but we’d never walk too fast
and we’d sit there in the summer
when the sun was in the sky
and we’d talk of our tomorrows
and we’d watch the butterflies
and I loved her even then
although I was so young
and I’ll love her till the time
that my time on earth is done
I wrote this poem as an aspiring songwriter, around age 14. But alas, I was too shy to show my compositions to anyone!
Copyright © 1974 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by The HyperTexts
Moon Lake
by Michael R. Burch
Starlit recorder of summer nights,
what magic spell bewitches you?
They say that all lovers love first in the dark . . .
Is it true?
Is it true?
Is it true?
Starry-eyed seer of all that appears
and all that has appeared—
What sights have you seen?
What dreams have you dreamed?
What rhetoric have you heard?
Is love an oration,
or is it a word?
Have you heard?
Have you heard?
Have you heard?
Copyright © 1976 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by Romantics Quarterly
Tomb Lake
by Michael R. Burch
Go down to the valley
where mockingbirds cry,
alone, ever lonely . . .
yes, go down to die.
And dream in your dying
you never shall wake.
Go down to the valley;
go down to Tomb Lake.
Tomb Lake is a cauldron
of souls such as yours —
mad souls without meaning,
frail souls without force.
Tomb Lake is a graveyard
reserved for the dead.
They lie in her shallows
and sleep in her bed.
I believe this poem and "Moon Lake" were companion poems, written around my senior year in high school, in 1976.
Copyright © 1976 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by The HyperTexts
How Long the Night
(Anonymous Middle English Lyric, circa early 13th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
It is pleasant, indeed, while the summer lasts
with the mild pheasants' song ...
but now I feel the northern wind's blast—
its severe weather strong.
Alas! Alas! This night seems so long!
And I, because of my momentous wrong
now grieve, mourn and fast.
Copyright © 2013 by Michael R. Burch
Published by Measure, Setu (India), Poet’s Corner, Glass Facets of Poetry, Better Than Starbucks, Chanticleer, Poetry Brevet and Deviant Art
Sappho’s Lullaby
by Michael R. Burch
for Jeremy
Hushed yet melodic, the hills and the valleys
sleep unaware of the nightingale's call
while the dew-laden lilies lie
listening,
glistening . . .
this is their night, the first night of fall.
Son, tonight, a woman awaits you;
she is more vibrant, more lovely than spring.
She'll meet you in moonlight,
soft and warm,
all alone . . .
then you'll know why the nightingale sings.
Just yesterday the stars were afire;
then how desire flashed through my veins!
But now I am older;
night has come,
I’m alone . . .
for you I will sing as the nightingale sings.
Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by The HyperTexts
Lullaby
by Michael R. Burch
for Jeremy
Cherubic laugh; sly, impish grin;
Angelic face; wild chimp within.
It does not matter; sleep awhile
As soft mirth tickles forth a smile.
Gray moths will hum a lullaby
Of feathery wings, then you and I
Will wake together, by and by.
Life’s not long; those days are best
Spent snuggled to a loving breast.
The earth will wait; a sun-filled sky
Will bronze lean muscle, by and by.
Soon you will sing, and I will sigh,
But sleep here, now, for you and I
Know nothing but this lullaby.
Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by The HyperTexts
Let me sing you a lullaby
by Michael R. Burch
for Jeremy (written from his mother’s perspective)
Oh, let me sing you a lullaby
of a love that shall come to you by and by.
Oh, let me sing you a lullaby
of a love that shall come to you by and by.
Oh, my dear son, how you’re growing up!
You’re taller than me, now I’m looking up!
You’re a long tall drink and I’m half a cup!
And so let me sing you this lullaby.
Oh, my sweet son, as I watch you grow,
there are so many things that I want you to know.
Most importantly this: that I love you so.
And so let me sing you this lullaby.
Soon a tender bud will ****** forth and grow
after the winter’s long ****** snow;
and because there are things that you have to know ...
Oh, let me sing you this lullaby.
Soon, in a green garden a new rose will bloom
and fill all the world with its wild perfume.
And though it’s hard for me, I must give it room.
And so let me sing you this lullaby.
Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by The HyperTexts
Swan Song
by Michael R. Burch
The breast you seek reserves all its compassion
for a child unborn. Soon meagerly she’ll ration
soft kisses and caresses—not for Him,
but you. Soon in the night, bright lights she’ll dim
and croon a soothing love hymn (not for you)
and vow to Him that she’ll always be true,
and never falter in her love. But now
she whispers falsehoods, meaning them, somehow,
still unable to foresee the fateful Wall
whose meaning’s clear: such words strange gods might scrawl
revealing what must come, stark-chiseled there:
Gaze on them, weep, ye mighty, and despair!
There’ll be no Jericho, no trumpet blast
imploding walls womb-strong; this song’s your last.
Copyright © 2006 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by The HyperTexts
This is my translation of one of my favorite Dimash Kudaibergen songs, the French song "S.O.S." ...
S.O.S.
by Michel Berger
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Why do I live, why do I die?
Why do I laugh, why do I cry?
Voicing the S.O.S.
of an earthling in distress ...
I have never felt at home on the ground.
I'd rather be a bird;
this skin feels weird.
I'd like to see the world turned upside down.
It ever was more beautiful
seen from up above,
seen from up above.
I've always confused life with cartoons,
wishing to transform.
I feel something that draws me,
that draws me,
that draws me
UP!
In the great lotto of the universe
I didn't draw the right numbers.
I feel unwell in my own skin,
I don't want to be a machine
eating, working, sleeping.
Why do I live, why do I die?
Why do I laugh, why do I cry?
I feel I'm catching waves from another world.
I've never had both feet on the ground.
This skin feels weird.
I'd like to see the world turned upside down.
I'd rather be a bird.
Sleep, child, sleep ...
"Late Autumn" aka "Autumn Strong"
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
based on the version sung by Dimash Kudaibergen
Autumn ...
The feeling of late autumn ...
It feels like golden leaves falling
to those who are parting ...
A glass of wine
has stirred
so many emotions swirling in my mind ...
Such sad farewells ...
With the season's falling leaves,
so many sad farewells.
To see you so dispirited pains me more than I can say.
Holding your hands so tightly to my heart ...
... Remembering ...
I implore you to remember our unspoken vows ...
I dare bear this bitterness,
but not to see you broken-hearted!
All contentment vanishes like leaves in an autumn wind.
Meeting or parting, that's not up to me.
We can blame the wind for our destiny.
I do not fear my own despair
but your sorrow haunts me.
No one will know of our desolation.
Keywords/Tags: song, songs, songs of life, lyric, lyrics, music, rock, love, lover, lovers
Mar 26, 2021
Mar 26, 2021 at 4:42 AM UTC
Hey Jude!
Don't be so sad
This too shall pass
Into yesterday,the invisible past
We can work it out
Hey Jude!
Come on smile
Here comes the sun
Your time to shine
Like Lucy in the sky with diamonds
Hey Jude!
You're only human
You need some help!
Well who doesn't
All you need is love
Hey Jude!
Don't be afraid of death
You've still got many a day in the life
And tomorrow never knows
What's in store for you
You'll find the inner light
Someone to hold your hand
To get you through a hard day's night
Hey Jude!
Just let it be
And sing this song
Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da
Ob-la-di-da
La la la How life goes on
Feb 4, 2021
Feb 4, 2021 at 6:42 AM UTC
Wordsong, wordsong,
Lovely as birdsong.
Could be a Pop Song,
But never a Swansong.
Could be a rap,
And all that *******
For Rap is easy,
Lemon squeezy.
But rap has beat
And words that repeat.
Rap has rhyme
Nearly every time.
Rap even has metre –
Who can beat her?
Yet wordsong is melodious too,
Giving us a worldly view.
Poems of love and dedication
Even human emancipation.
Whoops I’m slipping back -
Back into that addictive rap.
You must remember to read out loud –
Silver lining on every cloud.
Poetic landscapes catch our gaze,
Brightening up our mundane days.
The river of life keeps flowing on,
Iambic metre our beating heart.
Read it like you’re singing a song,
Write it whether or not it’s Art.
So play those words
So full of feeling
Just like the birds
And so appealing.
Paul Butters
© PB 27\1\2021.
Jan 27, 2021
Jan 27, 2021 at 5:53 AM UTC
A heart of gold stopped beating
Two shining eyes now at rest
God broke our hearts to prove
That he only takes the best
Nov 10, 2020
Nov 10, 2020 at 5:48 AM UTC