"uncapturable" poems
*Remarkable love
The word in which I choose to describe love
Tangible love
The way you feel it graze your skin
And stare into the depths of eyes
That share such a vigorating feeling
Undaunting love
Love has brought me through the dirt
Yet raised me from the ground and kissed my wounds
The beauty is regal and untamed
A vicious foe yet filled with an undying loyalty
It is uncapturable, as fluctuating as the erratic beat of my heart
Formidable love
Love knows me yet I am a stranger
Staring wide eyed at the looming colossal figure
The beast that calms me
The only one that tames my fiery heart
Until my flame is a soft flicker against the moonlight
Desirable love
Until fingers graze skin
And lips tremble in the proximity
Chests press a hard thud against familiar flesh
And pulses raise
Remarkable love*
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 7:54 PM UTC
Legs astretched like venomous broomsticks
Fangs drooped lazily like a calm nosferatu,
Those eyes gold as sun on styx, treasures
that spun flame between his every blink--
Sandpaper tongue dragged over black hair
Nibbling his own wrist momentarily, then
Locking sleepy eyes on you, ascending fleece--
Retractable moonbeams flex teasing attack
then kneads, falling like a lullaby back into
uncapturable dreams; purring in the spirit of poe.
Jan 30, 2022
Jan 30, 2022 at 3:55 PM UTC
Looking to the west I see a perfect rainbow
Tucked under and lifting a symphony of cloud
The sun beams in lay-lines from its horizon.
Yet, the scientist who explains this phenomenon
Cannot describe my feelings for such a spectacle
Cannot describe the song in me that dances
The miracle of light and spectrum.
—-
You are mighty, you are ethereal
Your many fingers rake aberrant their spatulas of light
Your beauty makes all else ghastly or at least ordinary.
The trifles of each day’s turnings are insignificant in comparison.
A conscience of orb, mist, shadow, light
The Gods derive pleasure from your presence
Else their thunderous growls bemoan your magnificence.
—-
There is no darkness just the absence of light
There is no cold just the absence of heat
There is no disbelief just the absence of your benediction.
Uncapturable, delicate, infamous portent.
In the implausible silence you are where I worship
Without beginning or ending
Yours is an ultimate mantra.
Aug 12, 2011
Aug 12, 2011 at 4:13 AM UTC
Something
―for the children of the Holocaust and the Nakba
by Michael R. Burch
Something inescapable is lost—
lost like a pale vapor curling up into shafts of moonlight,
vanishing in a gust of wind toward an expanse of stars
immeasurable and void.
Something uncapturable is gone—
gone with the spent leaves and illuminations of autumn,
scattered into a haze with the faint rustle of parched grass
and remembrance.
Something unforgettable is past—
blown from a glimmer into nothingness, or less,
which finality swept into a corner, where it lies
in dust and cobwebs and silence.
It was my honor and privilege to work with survivors of the Holocaust and Hiroshima on translations of their poems and accounts into English. What they have told us is unutterably sad, and saddest of all is hearing about the lives of children being full of horror and terror, only to be cut short. Unfortunately today Palestinian children in Gaza and the West Bank are experiencing something similar, a modern Trail of Tears ...
Feb 23, 2020
Feb 23, 2020 at 2:09 AM UTC
Lovers become quiet
When their bodies are raging,
The most perfect silence
When entwined and becoming one.
They search eachothers soul
Because each is lost without the other,
They fight and abandon
That they might reunite passionately.
Their spirits are free
And lurk the earth finding others
But not themselves,
Led by the estrangements of the heart.
They are like crazy peoples,
Lovers are,
Because they fight battles alone
Against the world
And submitting to the moments
Of lustrous passions
And in pain because life
Does not recognize such enigmas.
Lovers can only love,
Led by strings of violinists
Who take them where they have
Never been,
Going and going back again
Into the ****** of music
That plays quick beats and sad tunes.
Lovers are perpetually hopeful
Always wanting and taking the
Next step in a ladder to nowhere.
Lovers make mistakes
And do not learn from them,
Or sadly love the pain so much
They go back for more.
Alone in their own darkness,
Lovers find eachothers
Like tiny embers of burning
Souls filling the vastness of the void,
They cling to one another like
A child to a mother
And then rebel like a youthful
Suffocation.
Lovers are not stable,
They believe in God
And dance with the devil.
Lovers are alone,
Because they need seclusion
So that when they are free from
Themselves they can find something
Else to love,
They are in inexhaustible oil
To the lamp in a dark ravine,
They count drops of rain
And save their tears like memories.
They are empty and full,
Philosophical fools that love
Even those who reject them
And chase the uncapturable bird,
Flexible hearts of desirous fires.
Lover are the truth of humanity,
Crazy beautiful things
And they go loving
And hurting the beautiful life.
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 10:12 PM UTC
She was like a ray of light
dancing among the shadows:
Elusive, bright, and hot to the touch;
Intangible, fluid, and uncapturable.
Meant to be a source of hope,
A flickering of inspiration;
A contrast to the darkness and
A shock to the system;
A beam of truth,
Sent to penetrate the leaded glass
Of the Windows,
Those heavy, distorted pains of life;
She gives light to the house,
Yet reveals those layers of dirt
Which Time and Space and Earth
Saw fit to meter out,
Here, upon the sill.
Please.
Please.
Love her still.
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 10:09 AM UTC
Your gorgeous chaos will endanger my beautiful ordinary life.
You will crave to recover the shattered pieces of me.
You are incomprehensible, uncapturable
A tornado roaring
Let's run away together in the dark and i promise to never see myself without you again.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC
Why must your youness be so
Impeccably imperfect,
That I cannot write you justice;
Cannot conjure even a shell of you.
Ever the joker you dance
At the edges of my vision;
Remain uncapturable yet unforgettable,
As I feverishly, fervently fail to
Sketch the shape of you.
My love,
I would slit my wrists with a ballpoint pen,
If only the ink ran a truer colour of you.
Rivers stain paper and corners curl crisp;
My pen runs dry over and over.
Jul 13, 2019
Jul 13, 2019 at 8:49 AM UTC