These are poems about sinking, poems about drowning, poems about loss, and poems about new discoveries we sometimes make while feeling lost...



Sinking
by Michael R. Burch

for Virginia Woolf

Weigh me down with stones…
fill all the pockets of my gown…
I’m going down,
mad as the world
that can’t recover,
to where even mermaids drown.



What Goes Around, Comes
by Michael R. Burch

This is a poem about loss
so why do you toss your dark hair—
unaccountably glowing?

How can you be sure of my heart
when it’s beyond my own knowing?

Or is it love’s pheromones you trust,
my eyes magnetized by your bust
and the mysterious alchemies of lust?

Now I am truly lost!



Sonnet 26
by Giacomo da Lentini
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I've seen it rain on sunny days;
I’ve seen the darkness split by light;
I’ve seen white lightning fade to haze;
Seen frozen snow turn water-bright.

Some sweets have bitter aftertastes
While bitter things can taste quite sweet:
So enemies become best mates
While former friends no longer meet.

Yet the strangest thing I've seen is Love,
Who healed my wounds by wounding me.
Love quenched the fire he lit before;
The life he gave was death, therefore.

How to warm my heart? It eluded me.
Yet extinguished, Love sears all the more.

Giacomo da Lentini, also known as Jacopo da Lentini or by the appellative Il Notaro (“The Notary”), was an Italian poet of the 13th century who has been credited with creating the sonnet.



The Discovery
by Michael R. Burch

for Beth

What use were my arms, before they held you?
What did my lips know of love, before they encountered yours?
I learned I was made for your heart, so true,
to overwhelm with its tender force.



Grave Oversight I
by Michael R. Burch

The dead are always with us,
and yet they are naught!

Grave Oversight II
by Michael R. Burch

for Jim Dunlap, who winked and suggested “not”

The dead are either naught
or naughty, being so sought!



Door Mouse
by Michael R. Burch

I’m sure it’s not good for my heart—
the way it will jump-start
when the mouse scoots the floor
(I try to **** it with the door,
never fast enough, or
fling a haphazard shoe...
always too slow too)
in the strangest zig-zaggedy fashion
absurdly inconvenient for mashin’,
till our hearts, each maniacally revvin’,
make us both early candidates for heaven.



Birthday Poem to Myself
by Michael R. Burch

LORD, be no longer this Distant Presence,
Star-Afar, Righteous-Anonymous,
but come! Come live among us;
come dwell again,
happy child among men—
men rejoicing to have known you
in the familiar manger’s cool
sweet light scent of unburdened hay.
Teach us again to be light that way,
with a chorus of angelic songs lessoned above.
Be to us again that sweet birth of Love
in the only way men can truly understand.
Do not frown darkening down upon an unrighteous land
planning fierce Retributions we require, and deserve,
but remember the child you were; believe
in the child I was, alike to you in innocence
a little while, all sweetness, and helpless without pretense.
Let us be little children again, magical in your sight.
Grant me this boon! Is it not my birthright—
just to know you, as you truly were, and are?
Come, be my friend. Help me understand and regain Hope’s long-departed star!



You Never Listened
by Michael R. Burch

You never listened,
though each night the rain
wove its patterns again
and trembled and glistened...

You were not watching,
though each night the stars
shone, brightening the tears
in her eyes palely fetching...

You paid love no notice,
though she lay in my arms
as the stars rose in swarms
like a legion of poets,

as the lightning recited
its opus before us,
and the hills boomed the chorus,
all strangely delighted...



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.



Pointed Art
by Michael R. Burch

The point of art is that
there is no point.
(A grinning, quick-dissolving cat
from Cheshire
must have told you that.)

The point of art is this—
the hiss
of Cupid’s bright bolt, should it miss,
is bliss
compared to Truth’s neurotic kiss.



Haiku

Am I really this old,
so many ghosts
beckoning?
—Michael R. Burch

Sleepyheads!
I recite my haiku
to the inattentive lilies.
—Michael R. Burch

Stillness:
the sound of petals
drifting down softly together...
—Miura Chora, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The sky tries to assume
your eyes’ azure
but can’t quite pull it off.
—Michael R. Burch

The sky tries to assume
your eyes’ arresting blue
but can’t quite pull it off.
—Michael R. Burch

Early robins
get the worms,
cats waiting to pounce.
—Michael R. Burch

Two bullheaded frogs
croaking belligerently:
election season.
—Michael R. Burch

An enterprising cricket
serenades the sunrise:
soloist.
—Michael R. Burch

A single cricket
serenades the sunrise:
solo violinist.
—Michael R. Burch

My life:
how little remains
of a night so brief?
—Masaoka Shiki, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

(Masaoka Shiki struggled with tuberculosis and died at age 35.)

Yesterday’s snows
that fell like cherry blossoms
are mudpuddles again.
—Koshigaya Gozan, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I write, erase, revise, erase again,
and then...
suddenly a poppy blooms!
—Katsushika Hokusai, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Vanishing spring:
songbirds lament,
fish weep with watery eyes.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Wearily,
I enter the inn
to be welcomed by wisteria!
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Pale moonlight:
the wisteria’s fragrance
seems equally distant.
—Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

By such pale moonlight
even the wisteria's fragrance
seems distant.
—Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Pale moonlight:
the wisteria’s fragrance
drifts in from afar.
—Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Pale moonlight:
the wisteria’s fragrance
drifts in from nowhere.
—Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Plum flower temple:
voices ascend
from the valleys.
—Natsume Soseki, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

limping to the grave under the sentence of death,
should i praise ur LORD? think i’ll save my breath!
–michael r. burch

The Ultimate Haiku Against God
by Michael R. Burch

Because you made a world
where nothing matters,
our hearts lie in tatters.



Homer translations

Surrender to sleep at last! What a misery, keeping watch all night, wide awake. Soon you’ll succumb to sleep and escape all your troubles. Sleep. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Passage home? Impossible! Surely you have something else in mind, Goddess, urging me to cross the ocean’s endless expanse in a raft. So vast, so full of danger! Hell, sometimes not even the sea-worthiest ships can prevail, aided as they are by Zeus’s mighty breath! I’ll never set foot on a raft, Goddess, until you swear by all that’s holy you’re not plotting some new intrigue! — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Let’s hope the gods are willing. They rule the vaulting skies. They’re stronger than men to plan, execute and realize their ambitions. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Few sons surpass their fathers; most fall short, all too few overachieve. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Death is the Great Leveler, not even the immortal gods can defend the man they love most when the dread day dawns for him to take his place in the dust. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Any moment might be our last. Earth’s magnificence? Magnified because we’re doomed. You will never be lovelier than at this moment. We will never pass this way again. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Beauty! Ah, Terrible Beauty! A deathless Goddess, she startles our eyes! — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Many dread seas and many dark mountain ranges lie between us. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The lives of mortal men? Like the leaves’ generations. Now the old leaves fall, blown and scattered by the wind. Soon the living timber bursts forth green buds as spring returns. Even so with men: as one generation is born, another expires. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Since I’m attempting to temper my anger, it does not behoove me to rage unrelentingly on. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Overpowering memories subsided to grief. Priam wept freely for Hector, who had died crouching at Achilles’ feet, while Achilles wept himself, first for his father, then for Patroclus, as their mutual sobbing filled the house. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

“Genius is discovered in adversity, not prosperity.” — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Ruin, the eldest daughter of Zeus, blinds us all with her fatal madness. With those delicate feet of hers, never touching the earth, she glides over our heads, trapping us all. First she entangles you, then me, in her lethal net. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Death and Fate await us all. Soon comes a dawn or noon or sunset when someone takes my life in battle, with a well-flung spear or by whipping a deadly arrow from his bow. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Death is the Great Leveler, not even the immortal gods can defend the man they love most when the dread day dawns for him to take his place in the dust.—Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Keywords/Tags: Homer translations, Haiku translations, life, death, sinking, drowning, bitter, sweet, rain, darkness, love, fire, fate, ruin, genius, memory, memories

As bitter brew meets parted lips, do tears accompany my sips?
In shadows cast by memories, do cries echo through the eclipse?

With every whispered plea for closure, does anguish tighten its grip?
Why did you choose her over us, leaving love's vessel to slowly rip?

In this café of shattered dreams, do my heart's cries reach your ears?
Or are they lost in the cacophony of our unspoken fears?

As bitter brew meets parted lips, do you taste the salt of my tears?
Or have you moved on, leaving me to drown in love's endless spheres?

cigarette smoke in
my lungs bitter and burning
why do i want more

when I walk around I see
it oozing out of everyone

a need. they are dying

incredible and luscious and
in you I found it.

With you I can put the ooze back into
everyone.

so their eyes will brighten back up

teeth saying yes.

saving them is how
I could love you again.

I fell in the past
while the agony embrace me tightly,
I wail silently, only for the echoes to come back to me,
As nothing fills in here,
Because everything is back to the present days

My heart is an anchor,
Attached to the past
Trapping my mind,
To replay the detestable dreams

I slipped away from the dark,
Only to bring me back in the past,
As I follow the path, it just slips back,
Because everything is back to the present days

Why am I left alone?
When did I realize that I am here alone
When we are supposed to climb out together

I kept on wandering,
Wondering,
If I should swallow the misery,
So I could send my heart to you

Why am I the only one trapped in the past
when the earth keeps on spinning,
Did the time stop or did I?

Clocking in,
Trudging on,
Grinding the nose down to the bone,
Clock out,
Et cetera,
Ad Nauseam,
Goes the routine of the last of the Blue-Collar poets.

Can't think of words,
Too dog-tired to think of rhyming schemes,
Too sore for clever entendres,
Too broke to focus on fixing verses, stanzas, and metrics.

Thinking of the too-long day,
And the too-long day to come,
Fighting for a long shot of a good-night's sleep,
For a glimmer of a decent day off,
Clawing for a decent day's pay.

Sweeping up the metal shavings,
Spattered with hot, hot grease,
Bones broken by falling boxes,
Maimed by unsafe machines.

Keep the Blue-Collar poet in mind,
As you operate your computers,
Sitting in your White-Collar dream,
For their fledging numbers dwindle,
That will never get the chance at your dream

You said that my words were bitter
You said my tone sounded harsh
As if I was on a mission to hurt you
As if I'm the villain in this story.

It hurts that you can't see right through me
It really hurts that you look, but you can't see me
I truly thought we were better than this...
I thought we knew each other better than this.

My words may have been bitter and my tone harsh
But it's only because contradiction spells my heart
I want to hate you, eradicate you from my life
I want you to come back to me and love me until I die.

I don't know what to do anymore, I can't ignore you
I can't not see you, to not feel you, to not breathe you.
Obliviate what ruined us? If only you were willing to try.
What do I do? God, why do I pine for someone like you?

If only you could see all these words meant for you
Would you then be able to see me, not think I'm harsh?
Would it make you pity me or give you the courage to try?
to try for this bitter girl who was once just on a mission to love you until the day she dies.

-fir.m

Swallowing the bitter truth takes a lot,
Sugar coating it like a sweet lie takes an effort

My love has been left sitting too long/it has fermented into loneliness/nobody wants to be the last one standing/to be the last kid picked in gym class/it creates disappointment.

Emptiness wraps me in its cold embrace/There used to be more of us/but one by one they were picked off/Falling into the snare of an intimate relationship/I am merely a placeholder until they get the ones they will spend forever with/and that was ok...at least I thought it was.../

I had my cat/but now she is gone/The one constant thing in my life/I come home expecting to see her there/on my bed/laying in the sun/on the chaise with her favorite blanket/I said goodbye on a Thursday/and packed up all her things four days later/The reminder was too painful/And yet I have pictures of her everywhere/because I need her presence/Loneliness was never so bad because I was never alone/until now.

So yes I am growing bitter towards the idea of boyfriends./Boyfriends become priority/You become less of one/Maybe when I get one it will be different/But I have vowed never to forget who was there for me/but right now in this moment/I am sick of being abandoned/of being alone/Of grieving what I have lost and what I don't have.