"mages" poems
Passages on Fatherhood
by Michael R. Burch
for Jeremy Michael Burch
He is my treasure,
and by his happiness I measure
my own worth.
Four years old,
with diamonds and gold
bejeweled in his soul.
His cherubic beauty
is felicity
to simplicity and passion—
for a baseball thrown
or an ice-cream cone
or eggshell-blue skies.
...
It’s hard to be “wise”
when the years
career through our lives
and bees in their hives
test faith
and belief
while Time, the great thief,
with each falling leaf
foreshadows grief.
The wisdom of the ages
and prophets and mages
and doddering sages
is useless
unless
it encompasses this:
his kiss.
Keywords/Tags: father, fatherhood, child, childhood, children, son, time, years, wisdom, kiss
Apr 6, 2020
Apr 6, 2020 at 3:36 AM UTC
I'm a Disney princess
A pretty, pretty actress
Sought by handsome princes
and by ugly wicked witches
My hair is blonde
and shiny and smooth
or soft and long
and fragrant and strong
I'm just like my hair
Shining bright like a flare
In a world of unfair
I'd get even and square
(Grr, grr!)
'Cause I'm a Disney princess
My skin is white and lovely
So are my eyes and my teeth
And everything about me
Because I am perfect
I'm created to win
I'm the hero of your dreams
Armed with my tears and high-pitched screams
Sometimes I'd only sleep
Then there comes his charming kiss
It's hot, it's sweet, it's salty
Thanks for waking me up!
Sometimes I'd sneak on a ball
Dancing 'til I hear my midnight call
And leave one of my silver slippers
For my curious prince to ponder
Then he'd seek and find me
And we'll live happily ever after!
Wait, why am I here
In this sad forgotten tower?
With my evergrowing golden hair
Can't even find a single stair
I wanna go down
I wanna go down so badly
I wanna go down so deeply
Somebody please help me
Please help me go down
And my wish is granted:
A prince had just appeared
He pulled down my slender hair
Saved me from my lonely despair
But “ouch! That hurts!”
No it didn't! I'm just trying to flirt!
(Wink, wink!)
'Cause I'm a Disney princess
I can have all that I want
I can make all those mistakes
And fix them with a magical wand!
My life is a dazzling fairy tale
Packed with curses and magic spells
Who really cares about moral lessons
If everyone's happy like a bunch of morons?
Because I'm a Disney princess!
Everybody loves me
Whatever I do
You still wanna be me!
Curtain closes,
bells go chimes
My story ain't over,
it's just begun
Countdown starts,
five times the fun
Four times the thrill,
the Evil Queen awakes
Thrice made the chill,
the dragon is unleashed
Twice turn the pages,
here come the mages
Once upon a time,
I'm a Disney princess!
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 4:19 AM UTC
Singing of children
in the night silence:
Light of the stream, and
calm of the fountain!
THE CHILDREN
What does you heard hold,
divine in its gladness?
MYSELF
A peal from the belltower,
lost in the dimness.
THE CHILDREN
You leave us singing
in the small plaza.
Light of the steram,
and calm of the fountain!
What do you hold in
your hands of sprintime?
MYSELF
A rose of blood, and
a lily of whiteness.
THE CHILDREN
Dip them in water
of the song of the ages.
Light of the stream,
and calm of the fountain!
What does your tongue feel,
scarlet and thirsting?
MYSELF
A taste of the bones
of my giant forehead.
THE CHILDREN
Drink the still water
of the song of the ages.
Light of the stream,
and calm of the fountain!
Why do you roam far
from the small plaza?
MYSELF
I go to find Mages
and find princesses.
THE CHILDREN
Who showed you the road there,
the road of the poets?
MYSELF
The fount and the stream of
the song of the ages.
THE CHILDREN
Do you go far from
the aerth and the ocean?
MYSELF
It's filled with light, is
my heart of silk, and
with bells that are lost,
with bees and with liles,
and I will go far off,
behind those hills there,
close to the starlight,
to ask of the Christ there
Lord, to return me
my child's oul, ancient,
ripened with legends,
with a cap of feathers,
and a sword of wood.
THE CHILDREN
You leave us singing
in the small plaza.
Light of the stream, and
calm of the fountain!
Enormous pupils
of the parched palm fronds
hurt by the wind, they
weep their dead leaves.
4.1k
I wish you lower your Glasses a bit
Then try to witness what you have Ignored
For Praises Sundry are much apt to meet
Though such Configuration keeps you bored
That you, a Technocrat I'm not surprised
Such Mages and Bards you kindly eschew
For whatever Purpose which you advise
I'll take as the Brother I always knew
And I'll LOVE you still; No Set Values bake
Since your Blessed Genesis I do voice
This is not a Tomb; Nor white-painted make
But another Graced Name I will rejoice.
Now it's up to you, which you interpret
On Pop's Face-Memos the Meaning you get.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 7:03 PM UTC
I’m meeting a friend tomorrow, one I haven’t seen in some years save for the incidental meeting a week ago that sparked this reunion
My thoughts, Reminiscent, tinged with melancholy for that time dotted with puffs of whip cream, sugar, sparkles, and joy spilling from the sky
We were mages one moment,
The elements at
Our beck and call
With a flick of our hands
Warrior cats the next
Loyally guarding
Bravely scarring
We lives in our world of monsters, and magic, and peach fuzz
None of the extra complications, the insecurities, the splotches marring our once vibrant and lovely canvas, turning it from a rainbow sparkle unicorn pony...to a mare
More time for text books
Less time for novels
More time for homework
Less time for TV
More time for crushes and heartbreak and insecurities and tears
Less time to run straight ahead without a care in the world
Reality, setting in like large boulders, so heavy and present, jutting into your life, impossible to unsee
But,
It’s not all planes crashing and burning, because now that she’s no longer made up into a sparkle pony, you can see the mare for the
beauty she is
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 11:36 PM UTC
Naught the mages
Elm yellows plough
feigning eternities
dream of man;
the cradle of time
the realm of night,
Scathing Hekates
piacular restitution
heralded papally
upon Seven Hills
cradling Hades
tau cross-roads;
Eliciting with the iron
seminal sickle,
gifting the servants
of the servants of God
and slaves of slaves alike;
dismembering the boughs
of war- elsewhere,
Building broken bridges
Carving the lullabies
of humanity grafting
a sprig of Yggdrasil.
ELEETE J MUIR
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 7:26 AM UTC
*Good sir, I remember when our adventure first began
At that party, among many hugs and the odd “I love you man!”
After that life has never been quite the same
You brought another sun into my world, for me to bask in its flame
In time we got to know each other and it grew brighter until
You made me a Protagonist, and I joined you in battling evil
However, you were so sad for reasons only you can really know
For its true the greatest enemy lies within, and it’s not easy to show
But we all cared for you so much, and again our days grew brighter
After all, you are a Protagonist, and at heart the greatest fighter
Together we overcame all, defeating the darkness we ever faced
With the mages power, the warriors skill, the ninjas stealth and haste
And while you may sometimes feel sad, as the good-hearted often do
I will always say; this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you
For when you tire from life’s battles, and all others fail or flee
I will always be by your side, for you to lean on me
Even when I leave the world, and am set free of this mortal coil
My spirit will be there to guide you, through all hardships and toil
Though I think you will seldom need me, no matter your feelings hue
Because you possess a unique soul, one Beautiful, Strong, and True
Though yet many sunny days and moonlight night lay ahead, filled with laughter, good times and a friendship most epically won
I think our adventures, Sir Brandin, have only just begun*
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 8:04 AM UTC
Today, I am among the half-dead again
Wandering the halls with a gaze that could disintegrate the sun
The world around me is painted in an elephant grey
But this safari feels empty and yet so congested
With a smile that’s been sloppily and gruelingly painted on,
I face the challenges of everyday life once more
Half of me is tuned in to the things around me,
Scribbling words and deciphering the text at a snail’s pace
But the other half is still dreaming,
Waging war against the strongest mages of our time
Or drowning among a school of clownfish
Either way I’m not here and I’m begging to be free
Today, I am among the half-dead again
I imagine that someday a dragon will take me away
This may simply be my dreaming side taking over again
But if I said it could burn away all my worries,
Wouldn’t you wish for that as well?
I would hop onto its scaly back and point towards the sky,
Chanting as if I had been rehearsing for this moment,
“Anywhere is fine, as long as it’s not here”
But until then, I am drenched in my own rain
And the smile has run off with it, off to somewhere far away
Today, I am among the half-dead again
With weights tightly chained to my fingers
I’m dragging my thoughts along with my spirit
I’m a little bit tired but maybe if I wait, tomorrow will be a much better day
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
Let's not be one but two separate beings working towards one goal. Not about you or me but what we achieve. Kind of like an epic adventurers love story. Temptation will be dragons and obstacles will be evil mages for us to battle and conquer! Over the years and through the Boss fights our exp and levels will grow. Reward will be plenty with treasures and material things.
Let's not be one but two separate beings working towards the same goal. When ever it ends if it ever does at least we will be known as Heroes to the young because we where adventurers until we where gone.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 8:35 PM UTC
Naked, destitute, confused;
My soul bares itself-
Empty to life's troubling ruse.
Mongrels snarl and scream
As I am chased away from-
Tattered dreams.
Misfortunes cast out
Like fishing line to a sea;
Empty woes hollow and prim
Opine shallow heresies.
Poverty and paradise bellow-
Deep through the glistening
Shaft of temporal demise.
Time is a tempest of sorcery
Fueled and filed by wild mages
Scrawling these white pages
Like a shaman on tenement walls:
"Forgive my kiss and forget my lips,
Death's call has me after all."
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 4:11 PM UTC
When Building the cities, roads, bridges and dams,
Blood, toil, sweat and tears
will never suffice;
The Romans, Phoenicians, the Hitites and Egyptians,
they all knew the score, they used it for years:
Mortar, water and stone were never enough.
Foundations were crumbling, the bridges fell tumbling, the roads went asunder, the cracked dams' water pouring;
Rulers and Chieftains, Pharaohs and Mighty Heads of the State,
Convened with their Wizards, Druids, Grand Mages and Magicians:
"Solutions", they clamored,
" Solutions at once!".
Bonfires were lit, the goat's blood spilt, the entrails were read, the tea leaves deciphered.
The Oracle rose, in a whispering murmur, She muttered:
"When Building the cities, roads, bridges and dams,
Blood, toil, sweat and tears will never suffice".
The Gods, in their infinite wisdom, had spoken:
" the elemental truth" they said
"that runs at the core, of all human enterprise
since the days of Gog,
for the formula to be true,
It needs a special glue,
a magical brew,
a mixture of fear, innocence
and tears
that can
only be found,
in the wide-eyed
Son of Man;
An infant is needed,
for Stone, Water and Gravel,
will eventually unravel."
"When Building the cities, roads, bridges and dams,
Blood, toil, sweat and tears
will never suffice".
So it has been said, it has long been sung, the basis of Civilisation
is Human Sacrifice...
The Romans, Phoenicians, the Hitites and Egyptians;
they all knew the score, they used it for years,
Mortar, water and stone were never enough...
J Eduardo Ramos©
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
Deep in the chalk of gloaming flame,
The tawn and pale, of moan and loon,
Where under leaves of forest shades,
The crescent rails of the riding moon,
Here is when the quick blood running
Drains with shear seepings and looks,
With eyes agape, small game stunned
Over pines and green hemlock wood,
The ferryman wings and clawing tears,
Whose silent strike and low red raking
Blasts unto an indifferent lane of peers,
This is the house of apparition's name,
A mages fugue, muffled muses reprise;
The **** song which creeps as sun dies.
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 3:42 PM UTC
My friends call me by Sim Salobin my enemies dont speak my name
I have spent Eons so I wouldn't be known, its only through others you would see my fame
I don't ask for very much, you may not know me by touch, but if you are a friend you can call my name
I can be gentle or I can rage very quickly
I have killed and have brought rain to places where there is terrible drought
Judge me if you will for its empty boots I fill in fact you will never see me
I have been all around the world in every possible way the Earth (Mother) is round
from around the equator or from North to South Pole I am everywhere
I am called cruel and it is said I just dont care
But without the trees and Plankton and me, what would you do for your air?
I dont try to hurt people or the trees who are my good friends
Yes Wizards and Mages can stir me, they even may be able to call me, but they will get very little for their trouble
So if you dont think of me or even know where I might begin
Remember this if you will? it's quite Elemental, and try to understand. I mean I mean no one ill,
so if you need to give me a name just call me the Wind
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 6:58 PM UTC
SORCERER 1
Fell prince, what can we say? Shall we
Wring fingers, gazing nervously
Into our black, obsidian mirror?
SORCERER 2
Or, in our water jugs, to peer,
Unbinding and retying twine,
In hope epiphanies shall shine?
SORCERER 3
Or shall we three, like puzzling mages,
Cast bright corn-kernels ‘cross the pages
Of scripture, wincing to descry
Some omen there?
SORCERER 1 Or shall we lie?
SORCERER 2
Were not your lethal gaze forbidden,
Our eyes from yours no longer hidden,
SORCERER 3
These mirrors unfilmed to windows-
SORCERER 1 Wink
We not, you might their contents drink.
They look at Motecuhzoma.
TLACAELEL
Bold, brass, and bungling open-sesames,
Whose saucy tongues shall spice my hangman’s stew,
You dare let sink your cataracted gaze
Upon the solar luminance of our king?
Who meets these eyes, beholds the face of death.
MOTECUHZOMA
Shackles shall seal their eyes. Clap them away.
My hopes were stillborn by these blind-man’s bluffs.
SORCERER 1
A grand charade shall come to pass,
As marching mysteries amass,
And urgently these lurkings gather.
SORCERER 2
If that is what your lord had rather
Hear from us, so be it, then.
SORCERER 3
We’ll break our seal and thus unpen
Two breeds of vision we may show:
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 1:02 PM UTC
Deep in the chalk of gloaming flame,
The tawn and pale, of moan and loon,
Where under leaves of forest shades,
The crescent rails of the riding moon,
Here is when the quick blood running
Drains with shear seepings and looks,
With eyes agape, small game stunned
Over pines and green hemlock wood,
The ferryman wings and clawing tears,
Whose silent strike and low red raking
Blasts unto an indifferent lane of peers,
This is the house of apparition's name,
A mages fugue, muffled muses reprise;
The **** song which creeps as sun dies.
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 10:45 PM UTC
It’s no longer the escape it used to be,
My thoughts- they’re too full,
They can’t let me be free.
The gift of deliverance,
How I cherished it long,
The hours of relief;
All those times I was gone.
I was taken away,
With people I trust,
But the gate- it won’t open,
I’ve allowed it to rust.
All those places I travelled;
That wonderful feeling of welcome,
It’s all starting to fade now,
No…I can’t let this happen.
But I know it’s no use,
I’ve tried again and again,
Reality keeps intruding,
I can still see its grin.
Oh, how I wish I could go back,
To how it was before,
When I could walk freely in that realm,
When there was no lock on the door.
But instead I’m sitting, staring,
And all I see are pages,
It’s not like it used to be,
Where are all the dragons and mages?
I stare intently at the words,
But register only spaces,
There’s no one there to greet me,
No familiar faces.
This is when it happens,
When my reality takes the wheel,
It scares away my one reprieve,
It tells me what to feel.
No longer is there comfort here
Between this tattered cover,
My real life is weighing down on me;
Begging that I take over.
I gently close the book I love,
And resist the urge to cry,
But it’s time to focus on myself right now,
It’s time to say goodbye.
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 2:22 AM UTC
Deep in the chalk of gloaming flame,
The tawn and pale, of moan and loon,
Where under leaves of forest shades,
The crescent rails of the riding moon,
Here is when the quick blood running
Drains with shear seepings and looks,
With eyes agape, small game stunned
Over pines and green hemlock wood,
The ferryman wings and clawing tears,
Whose silent strike and low red raking
Blasts unto an indifferent lane of peers,
This is the house of apparition's name,
A mages fugue, muffled muses reprise;
The **** song which creeps as sun dies.
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 2:59 PM UTC
Deep in the chalk of gloaming flame,
The tawn and pale, of moan and loon,
Where under leaves of forest shades,
The crescent rails of the riding moon,
Here is when the quick blood running
Drains with shear seepings and looks,
With eyes agape, small game stunned
Over pines and green hemlock wood,
The ferryman wings and clawing tears,
Whose silent strike and low red raking
Blasts unto an indifferent lane of peers,
This is the house of apparition's name,
A mages fugue, muffled muses reprise;
The **** song which creeps as sun dies.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 12:56 PM UTC
I can burn you down,
or scare you with a howl,
I am the wonder of the ages,
say the witches, the wizards and the mages,
Many warrior have had to fight my might,
a valiant attempt to set the scores right,
.
.
.
I love gold, and lust for treasures,
I am invincible, and there is nothing left for a measure,
How dare you compare me to a pterodactyl?
a feeble, birdbrained projectile,
My birth was kindled in a volcano fire,
and once I dance, you will soon be on a burning pyre
.
.
.
Alas! That is all a fad,
My reality is not really too glad,
I am confined to the tales which grandfather told on a rainy day,
and the farmer sang as he cut the fresh dewy hay,
You can also find me in books, movies and computer games,
as an emptiome of 'hard to tame'
.
.
.
I wish there was more to myself,
than just stories of gnomes, goblins, and elves,
I will never spit fire and smoke,
nor will I scare the townsfolk,
Enjoy reading about my feat
be it with popcorn, or from under the bed-sheet
.
.
.
As I wag my tail
only to find my place in another telltale.
Aug 13, 2019
Aug 13, 2019 at 3:15 PM UTC
Deep in the chalk of gloaming flame,
The tawn and pale, of moan and loon,
Where under leaves of forest shades,
The crescent rails of the riding moon,
Here is when the quick blood running
Drains with shear seepings and looks,
With eyes agape, small game stunned
Over pines and green hemlock wood,
The ferryman wings and clawing tears,
Whose silent strike and low red raking
Blasts unto an indifferent lane of peers,
This is the house of apparition's name,
A mages fugue, muffled muses reprise;
The **** song which creeps as sun dies.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 2:02 PM UTC
( Sonnet )
Deep in the chalk of gloaming flame,
The tawn and pale, of moan and loon,
Where under leaves of forest shades,
The crescent rails of the riding moon,
Here is when the quick blood running
Drains with shear seepings and looks,
With eyes agape, small game stunned
Over pines and green hemlock wood,
The ferryman wings and clawing tears,
Whose silent strike and low red raking
Blasts unto an indifferent lane of peers,
This is the house of apparition's name,
A mages fugue, muffled muses reprise;
The **** song which creeps as sun dies.
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 4:14 PM UTC
Deep in the chalk of gloaming flame,
The tawn and pale, of moan and loon,
Where under leaves of forest shades,
The crescent rails of the riding moon,
Here is when the quick blood running
Drains with shear seepings and looks,
With eyes agape, small game stunned
Over pines and green hemlock wood,
The ferryman wings and clawing tears,
Whose silent strike and low red raking
Blasts unto an indifferent lane of peers,
This is the house of apparition's name,
A mages fugue, muffled muses reprise;
The **** song which creeps as sun dies.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 1:04 PM UTC
I've watered this garden for ages
Yet nothing ever grows
I've consulted botanical mages
They haven't the time for my trivial woes
I've pruned with bloodied fingertips-
Soil so stubborn, refusing to shift
I've given every pamphlet a flip
Still no signs of a horticultural gift
May 26, 2025
May 26, 2025 at 12:18 AM UTC
Près des ruisseaux, près des cascades,
Dans les champs d'oliviers fleuris,
Sur les rochers, sous les arcades
Dont le temps sape les débris,
Sous les murs du vieux monastère.
Dans le bois qu'aime le mystère,
Sous l'ombre du pin solitaire,
Sous le platane aux frais abris ;
A l'heure où, sous l'humble chaumière.
Le chevrier prend son repas,
A l'heure où brille la lumière,
A l'heure où le jour ne luit pas ;
L'été, quand sous le vert ombrage
Tu viens t'asseoir après l'ouvrage :
L'hiver, par le froid, par l'orage ;
Toujours, partout, je suis tes pas.
Lorsque les cloches argentines
Réveillent l'oiseau dans son nid,
C'est moi qui te suis à matines :
Et quand la prière finit.
Au sortir du temple gothique,
C'est moi qui vais sous le portique
T'offrir, suivant l'usage antique.
L'eau sainte et le rameau bénit.
Quand, vers la fin de la journée,
Tu vas près du saint tribunal,
Devant l'ermite prosternée.
Incliner ton front virginal,
C'est moi qui d'un air humble et tendre.
Quand l'Angélus s'est fait entendre,
Esclave assidu, vais t'attendre
Auprès du confessionnal.
Viens, je te dirai le cantique
Que je suis allé, ce matin.
Choisir pour toi dans la boutique
D'un colporteur napolitain,
Et contre la dent meurtrière
Des loups errants dans la clairière,
Je t'apprendrai quelle prière
Il faut réciter en latin.
Je mettrai dans ton oratoire
Un missel à fermoirs dorés,
Où des moines ont peint l'histoire
De nos anciens livres sacrés ;
Des apôtres les douze images,
La bonne Vierge, et les trois Mages
Au Christ apportant leurs hommages,
Et baisant ses pieds adorés.
Oh, regarde-moi sans colère !
Promets-moi que tu m'aimeras :
Ne me défends pas de te plaire,
Laisse-toi serrer dans mes bras !
Que cette froideur t'abandonne ;
A péché secret Dieu pardonne,
Et je mettrai sur ta madone
Le voile que tu quitteras.
702
Awake from the nightmare,
But bending again to the new one dawning.
Sometimes I think of you darling,
Wondering, wishing, waiting...
What would you do if I told you exactly what I'm thinking?
It's not what you're thinking.
Shove love back a page,
Mages can't lay their finger here.
Would you?
Could you?
Drive five,
Maybe ten hundred miles
To save me from myself?
I want to ask you,
Will I be the cause of my own death?
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 10:25 PM UTC