#unfolding
intertwined birthing present moments
umbilical cord to umbilical cord
love feeds into each moment.
May 21
May 21, 2026 at 10:43 AM UTC
You made me independent, but independent of you,
Only in some excitements and in pain, do I think of you,
I am here, lost in this world, since I don't remember you,
Sometimes my eyes get filled with tears in search of you,
My inner voice asks every person I see,” Is it you?”
You want me to return, you might think I am disloyal to you,
All I can say is that my eyes were loyal to you,
I am still here, lost in the process of finding you,
Sometimes my eyes get filled with tears in search of you,
My inner voice asks every person I see,” Is it you?”
Apr 3
Apr 3, 2026 at 11:53 AM UTC
slow thaw
a long hibernation
stretching sinews
heating up muscles
Apr 3
Apr 3, 2026 at 9:23 AM UTC
Am I where I am supposed to be?
Am I on the right path?
Am I serving those I am meant to serve?
Am I loving who I am meant to love?
You think there is a right and wrong child
There is no right or wrong
There is moment by moment alignment
Moment by moment alignment
Feeling in this moment does it feel true
Not oh is there somewhere else I’m meant to be
Someone else I’m meant to be with
Those thoughts takes you away from NOW
Right here, right now is the place
Where you are is exactly where you are meant to be
Commit to each moment
Commit to this place
Love all in
Show up fully and watch as your life becomes an offering
As it becomes what it is meant to become
Meet each moment
Meet the being who is in front of you
And love and laugh and dance
And do all the things that bring you joy
Let go of worrying if you are where you are meant to be
Let go of worrying about am I reading and writing enough
Truth is you love to read and write
It won’t go, it can’t be lost
Even if it’s clouded over for a bit
It cannot be lost
It’s right there
When you can you’ll come to it
Trust the process
Trust it all
Everything that is happening
Everything that has ever happened
And everything that will ever happen
Is in service of the greatest good
It’s bigger than you can comprehend
Trust in that which you cannot see
Aug 25, 2022
Aug 25, 2022 at 3:34 AM UTC
from old unchanging darkly grasped
in story unfolding and the yet untold
but ear strays and heart schemes
the old unheard and story unchanging
Jun 28, 2022
Jun 28, 2022 at 11:25 PM UTC
#
*To inhabit the space within
oneself, to such a degree
that the skin, thins itself out
in order to leave room
for that which is to occupy--
An indwelling
of self, to such a degree
as to stretch the skin
to full capacity..
leaving no room
for ambiguity--
All cells and atoms, within
now fully occupied,
fully inhabited
by the most beautiful
form of indwelling of all--
That, of the self.*
#
Jun 27, 2021
Jun 27, 2021 at 10:43 AM UTC
She carries a past painted with murals of adversity,
She treads towards a future adorned with jewels of potential and prosperity,
She upholds responsibilities with dignified clarity,
A consolidation of the contributions of those transcended,
A goddess embodied; who leaves even broken hearts mended,
Her generosity embarks on a triumph unfolding.
Apr 12, 2021
Apr 12, 2021 at 11:57 AM UTC
Unfoldings
by Michael R. Burch
for Vicki
Time unfolds ...
Your lips were roses.
... petals open, shyly clustering ...
I had dreams
of other seasons.
... ten thousand colors quiver, blossoming.
Night and day ...
Dreams burned within me.
... flowers part themselves, and then they close ...
You were lovely;
I was lonely.
... a ****** yields herself, but no one knows.
Now time goes on ...
I have not seen you.
... within ringed whorls, secrets are exchanged ...
A fire rages;
no one sees it.
... a blossom spreads its flutes to catch the rain.
Seasons flow ...
A dream is dying.
... within parched clusters, life is taking form ...
You were honest;
I was angry.
... petals fling themselves before the storm.
Time is slowing ...
I am older.
... blossoms wither, closing one last time ...
I'd love to see you
and to touch you.
... a flower crumbles, crinkling, worn and dry.
Time contracts ...
I cannot touch you.
... a solitary flower cries for warmth ...
Life goes on as
dreams lose meaning.
... the seeds are scattered, lost within a storm.
Keywords/Tagss: love, roses, petals, unfolding, lips, spring, ****** dreams, time, seasons, storms, summer, drought
Moore or Less
by Michael R. Burch
for Richard Moore
Less is more —
in a dress, I suppose,
and in intimate clothes
like crotchless hose.
But now Moore is less
due to death’s subtraction
and I must confess:
I hate such redaction!
The following translation is the speech of the Sibyl to Aeneas, after he has implored her to help him find his beloved father in the Afterlife, found in the sixth book of the Aeneid ...
The Descent into the Underworld
by Virgil
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The Sibyl began to speak:
“God-blooded Trojan, son of Anchises,
descending into the Underworld’s easy
since Death’s dark door stands eternally unbarred.
But to retrace one’s steps and return to the surface:
that’s the conundrum, that’s the catch!
Godsons have done it, the chosen few
whom welcoming Jupiter favored
and whose virtue merited heaven.
However, even the Blessed find headway’s hard:
immense woods barricade boggy bottomland
where the Cocytus glides with its dark coils.
But if you insist on ferrying the Styx twice
and twice traversing Tartarus,
if Love demands you indulge in such madness,
listen closely to how you must proceed...”
Anna Akhmatova was a great Russian poet, and a personal favorite of mine...
The evening light is broad and yellow
by Anna Akhmatova
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The evening light is broad and yellow;
it glides in on an April rain.
You arrived years late,
yet I’m glad you came.
Please sit down here, beside me,
receive me with welcoming eyes.
Here is my blue notebook
with my childhood poems inside.
Forgive me if I lived in sorrow,
spent too little time rejoicing in the sun.
Forgive, forgive, me, if I mistook
others for you, when you were the One.
Our Sweet Ecologist
by Michael R. Burch
Our sweet ecologist —
what will she do with the ants
and the cockroaches, bedbugs and lice
when they want to live in her pants?
bachelorhoodwinked
by michael r. burch
u
are
charming
& disarming,
but mostly alarming
since all my resolve
dissolved!
u
are
chic
as a sheikh’s
harem girl in the sheets
but my castle’s no longer my own
and my kingdom’s been overthrown!
The Bachelor Spectacular
by Michael R. Burch
One heart? Tossed aside.
The other? A bride’s.
In all his great wisdom, the bachelor decides.
Eeenie, mean-ie, mine-y, mo’,
one gal must stay and one must go.
If she hollers? That’s the show!
No heart can handle such despair!
But hearts get broken, hearts repair.
Next season? The treasoned will rule the air.
Originally published by Light
The Unspectacular Bachelor
by Michael R. Burch
The bachelor is back, he’s black,
and some fair-skinned gals sure want him in the sack!
And, yes, he’s a whole lot smarter
than the previous knights of that peculiar garter.
We can hear the white supremacists stewing:
What the hell are the screenwriters doing?
They know love requires a nice white spark,
and this apprentice is far too dark!
Updated Advice to Amorous Bachelors
by Michael R. Burch
At six-thirty,
feeling flirty,
I put on the hurdy-gurdy ...
But Ms. Purdy,
all alert-y,
kicked me where I’m sore and hurty.
The moral of my story?
To avoid a fate as gory,
flirt with gals a bit more whore-y!
Cut Out the Bachelor Nonsense!
There's a bun in auntie's oven;
now soon you'll have a cousin!
―Michael R. Burch
Time Out
by Michael R. Burch
Time is running out,
no doubt.
Time is running out.
I don’t know what the LORD’s about,
since Time is running out, the Lout!,
and leaving me with gas and gout.
I don’t know what the LORD’s about;
still, it does no good to grouse or pout,
since Time is merely running out,
like quail before a native scout.
’Twill do no good to shout or flout:
Time’s running out,
I have no doubt,
though who knows what the LORD’s about?
No need for faith or even doubt,
since Time is merely running out,
like water from a rusty spout
or mucous from a leaky snout.
Yes, Time is merely running out,
and yet I feel inclined to pout
and truth be told, sometimes to doubt
just what the hell the LORD’s about.
Tr(end)y
by Michael R. Burch
Ain’t it funny how trendy
becomes so dead-endy?
Lava lamps and bell bottoms
soon became “never bought ‘ems.”
While that teenage tattoo
soon’ll have wrinkles too.
This was my first-ever dabble dactyl, my variation of the double dactyl.
Donald Dabble Dactyl #1
by Michael R. Burch
Piggledy-Wiggledy
Ronald McDonald
cursed Donald Trump,
his least favorite clown:
"Why should I try to be
funny as Donald? He
gets all the laughs
claiming upside is down!"
Donald Dabble Dactyls must begin with "Piggledy-Wiggledy" in homage to The Donald's oinkerishness and his 'do. References to clowns, gold-plated toilets and/or diapers are a plus but not required.
Donald Dabble Dactyl #2
by Michael R. Burch
Wond’ringly, blund’ringly
Ronald McDonald
asked, “Who the hell
is this strange orange clown?”
“Why should I try to be
funny as Donnie? He
gets all the laughs
from marks who should frown!”
I see that I violated my prime directive, so "never mind."
Donald Dabble Dactyl #3
by Michael R. Burch
Piggledy-Wiggledy
45th president,
or erstwhile manse resident,
perched on a throne
of gold-plated porcelain
matching his orange “tan,”
bombing Iran
from his twittery phone?
Cowpoke
by Michael R. Burch, circa age 16
Sleep, old man ...
your day has long since passed.
The endless plains,
cool midnight rains
and changeless ragged cows
alone remain
of what once was.
You cannot know
just how the Change
will **** the windswept plains
that you so loved ...
and so sleep now,
O yes, sleep now ...
before you see just how
the Change will come.
Sleep, old man ...
your dreams are not our dreams.
The Rio Grande,
stark silver sand
and every obscure brand
of steed and cow
are sure to pass away
as you do now.
I believe this poem was written around the same time as “Blue Cowboy,” perhaps on the same day. That was probably sometime around 1974, at age 16 or thereabouts.
Blue Cowboy
by Michael R. Burch, circa age 16
He slumps against the pommel,
a lonely, heartsick boy—
his horse his sole companion,
his gun his only toy
—and bitterly regretting
he ever came so far,
forsaking all home's comforts
to sleep beneath the stars,
he sighs.
He thinks about the lover
who awaits his kiss no more
till a tear anoints his lashes,
lit by uncaring stars.
He reaches to his aching breast,
withdraws a golden lock,
and kisses it in silence
as empty as his thoughts
while the wind sighs.
Blue cowboy, ride that lonesome ridge
between the earth and distant stars.
Do not fall; the fiends of hell
would leap to feast upon your heart.
Blue cowboy, sift the burnt-out sand
for a drop of water warm and brown.
Dream of streams like silver seams
even as you gulp it down.
Blue cowboy, sing defiant songs
to hide the weakness in your soul.
Blue cowboy, ride that lonesome ridge
and wish that you were going home
as the stars sigh.
Chixiao (“The Owl”)
by Duke Zhou
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Owl!
You've stolen my offspring,
Don't shatter my nest!
When with labors of love
I nurtured my fledglings.
Before the skies darkened
And the dark rains fell,
I gathered mulberry twigs
To thatch my nest,
Yet scoundrels now dare
Impugn my enterprise.
With fingers chafed rough
By the reeds I plucked
And the straw I threshed,
I now write these words,
Too hoarse to speak:
I am homeless!
My wings are withered,
My tail torn away,
My home toppled
And tossed into the rain,
My cry a distressed peep.
The Song of Roland
by Michael R. Burch, circa age 16
"for spring in retreat"
Rain down,
strange murmurous water...
no, summer is not yet nigh.
Cease your complaining,
for May is,
calling December a lie,
still rocking the high white sky.
Sleep now,
summer hours...
too soon your time shall come.
Softly straining,
the raining
spring begs, "Let me run
one more hour beneath the sun,
for soon I shall be gone."
Lie down,
weary Roland,
for summer is not yet nigh.
Remember a pyre
of stars blazing higher
upon night’s immense dark sky
unsettling as her eyes,
unregretful, even as you died...
Lie down,
weary Roland,
for summer is not yet nigh.
I believe I wrote “The Song of Roland” around age 16.
That Not-So-Mellow Fellow, Othello
by Michael R. Burch
Not sure ’bout that fellow, Othello,
was he a “hero” or merely **** yellow?
He killed his poor wife
over a handkerchief!
Thus Iago proved his heart Jello.
Time Out!
by Michael R. Burch
Time is at war with my body!
am i Time’s most diligent hobby?
for there’s never Time out
from my low-t and gout
and my once-brilliant mind has grown stodgy!
Waiting Game
by Michael R. Burch
Nothing much to live for,
yet no good reason to die:
life became
a waiting game...
Rain from a clear blue sky.
Nipples' Ripples
by Michael R. Burch
Men are scared of *******
that’s why they can’t be seen.
For if they were,
we’d go to war
as in the days of Troy, I ween.
Untitled Epigrams
Teach me to love:
to fly beyond sterile Mars
to percolating Venus.
—Michael R. Burch
The LIV is LIVid:
livid with blood,
and full of egos larger
than continents.
—Michael R. Burch
Evil is as evil does.
Evil never needs a cause.
Evil loves amoral “laws,”
laughs and licks its blood-red claws
while kids are patched together with gauze.
— Michael R. Burch
Poets laud Justice’s
high principles.
Trump just gropes
her raw genitals.
—Michael R. Burch
That Mella Fella
by Michael R. Burch
John Mella was the longtime editor of Light Quarterly.
There once was a fella
named Mella,
who, if you weren’t funny,
would tell ya.
But he was cool, clever, nice,
gave some splendid advice,
and if you did well,
he would sell ya.
Shakespeare had his patrons and publishers; John Mella was one of my favorites in the early going, along with Jean Mellichamp Milliken of The Lyric.
Chip Off the Block
by Michael R. Burch
for Jeremy
In the fusion of poetry and drama,
Shakespeare rules! Jeremy’s a ham: a
chip off the block, like his father and mother.
Part poet? Part ham? Better run for cover!
Now he’s Benedick — most comical of lovers!
NOTE: Jeremy’s father is a poet and his mother is an actress; hence the fusion, or confusion, as the case may be.
Keywords/Tags: Shakespeare, poetry, drama, poet, light verse, humor, life, death, love, Mars, Venus, Othello, Iago, Duke Zhou, Owl, homeless, cowboy, bachelor, Richard Moore, Anna Akhmatova
Apr 16, 2020
Apr 16, 2020 at 1:24 AM UTC
Love Unfolded Like a Flower
by Michael R. Burch
Love unfolded
like a flower;
Pale petals pinked and blushed to see the sky.
I came to know you
and to trust you
in moments lost to springtime slipping by.
Then love burst outward,
leaping skyward,
and untamed blossoms danced against the wind.
All I wanted
was to hold you;
though passion tempted once, we never sinned.
Now love's gay petals
fade and wither,
and winter beckons, whispering a lie.
We were friends,
but friendships end . . .
yes, friendships end and even roses die.
Keywords/Tags: Love, roses, flower, petals, unfolding, blossoms, spring, passion, desire, lust, sin, winter, fade, wither, wind, gay, pink, pinked, blushed, friendships, die, death
Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 12:09 AM UTC
Help. I am unfolding.
Becoming the vast ******* bin that is my mind.
U n f o l d i n g.
Chased by thoughts, memories, and obsessions that need to be gone.
G O N E. G O N E. G O N E. My logical side has left with my ability to cope.
They were cheating on my poor little brain with
Depression, OCD, Anxiety, Diet Bipolar, and the rest.
M y m i n d i s a m e s s
Every thought the same. Every idea, a mess.
I a m a w r e c k
**** me. The waves of icky thoughts stick to me like wet sand.
I have become a tragedy. U N F O L D I N G
Spinning in thoughts, dancing with death.
I've started to roll the 6 sided die, to determine my fate.
I'm waltzing with death itself. Don't get jealous. But we've kissed once or twice.
Hundreds of notes, notes that go to the fiery flames, when I don't use them.
Boy the book I could've written, with my U N F O L D I N G notes.
Mar 2, 2020
Mar 2, 2020 at 11:49 PM UTC
We are all
Intersections in infinity
Meeting at the crossroads
Of each unfolding moment.
Dec 30, 2019
Dec 30, 2019 at 5:16 PM UTC
I don't want to be weak
Don't want to be unfair
Don't want to be confusing
To you or to me
I miss you
I want you in my life
Does it have to be this way
Is there a kinder more compassionate way
To stay open to eachother
To keep loving
To keep being there
Being brave enough to stay
And allow an unfolding
A deepening
To keep learning and growing
Relationships can take many forms
It doesn't have to be black and white
I don't believe it has to be all or nothing
I don't want that
Nov 15, 2019
Nov 15, 2019 at 7:56 PM UTC
He was lying on the floor
She was sat on top of him massaging his back
Giving him what she was able to give
Communicating with him in the way she knew how
Running her hands over his body
Feeling his strength
And how much he'd endured
When her hand found its way to his
He grabbed hold of it
Communicating his love and his pain
Holding on so tight
Her fingers encased in his
She could feel it all
Everything said and unsaid
Baby she silently whispered
Wanting to lay down beside him and never leave
For everything else to melt away
For it just to be simple
For it just to be them
Oct 7, 2019
Oct 7, 2019 at 6:30 PM UTC
The winds and bright dying
of the leaves of fall
have brushed away the turning season
into the callous cold of winter
leaving behind a brown texture
of oak and pecan
scattered on the still green lawn
where they rest humbly,
their identity as living species
shriveling into the fog of memory.
I wonder what I can learn
from those leaves and the trees
who gently let go of all the little lives
and lay them on the ground
first to decay and then transform
from drying aching olding
into a mysterious unfolding.
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 9:47 AM UTC
In the open air of
A night still young
My imagination was
Let loose and the story
I had to tell
Seized me
Free was I to wander
The dark and witness
Mysteries unfolding in
The shadows that
Foretold the coming
Of the light
Remembering that life
Is a remarkable journey
And that we're all
Just one ray away
From being a sun
To someone
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 7:25 PM UTC
My words fail
Futile tears fell
Nothing to feel
You let me go
Now what I see in you
Smile that mocks me
Humour to torment me
Punches of repugnance
Your eyes carry it all
Pain of time with me
My weight lowered you
I couldn't see now
What I use to
Hidden in the layers
My words unfolding
With your touch
This time it is over
Numbness crept in
Nothing to hear
Nothing to say
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 12:38 PM UTC
how can you say I'm beautiful?
the fact is even I can get angry so easily sometimes...
poetry replies:
coz you haven't gotten the right channel
to express
to unfolding
coz the genuine yearning in your soul
since the first
tells
coz you as you were and are
no reason to unreason
it is just be
....
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 8:38 AM UTC
Roads turn bringing hope
To fall or to cope?
Coping is in mind for now
Falling is but to find out how!
Unfolding paper, mystery what it reads...
To seek it, is it curiosity or greed?
Unfolding reveals neither..
Only the anticipation is freed!
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 8:41 AM UTC