Shorties
These are some of my best short poems and epigrams.
Less Heroic Couplets: Attention Span Gap
by Michael R. Burch
Better not to live, than live too long:
The world prefers a brief poem, a short song.
Less Heroic Couplets: Clover
by Michael R. Burch
It’ll soon be over
(clover?)
Shakespeare expressed reservations about the “undiscovered country,” hence the parens, question mark and ghostly italics.
Fahr an' Ice
by Michael R. Burch
(Apologies to Robert Frost and Ogden Nash!)
From what I know of death, I'll side with those
who'd like to have a say in how it goes:
just make mine cool, cool rocks (twice drowned in likker),
and real fahr off, instead of quicker.
Winter in the air:
my neighbor,
how does he fare? ...
― Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Caveat Spender
by Michael R. Burch
It’s better not to speculate
"continually" on who is great.
Though relentless awe’s
a Célèbre Cause,
please reserve some time for the contemplation
of the perils of
EXAGGERATION.
Oh, fallen camellias,
if I were you,
I'd leap into the torrent!
― Takaha Shugyo, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Here and Hereafter
by Michael R. Burch
Life’s saving graces are love, pleasure, laughter
(wisdom, it seems, is for the Hereafter).
Grasses wilt:
the braking locomotive
grinds to a halt
― Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Multiplication, Tabled
or Procreation Inflation
by Michael R. Burch
for the Religious Right
“Be fruitful and multiply”—
great advice, for a fruitfly!
But for women and men,
simple Simons, say, “WHEN!”
The first soft snow:
leaves of the awed jonquil
bow low
― Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Nun Fun Undone
by Michael R. Burch
after Richard Thomas Moore
Abbesses'
recesses
are not for excesses!
Laughter’s Cry
by Michael R. Burch
Because life is a mystery, we laugh
and do not know the half.
Because death is a mystery, we cry
when one is gone, our numbering thrown awry.
Come, investigate loneliness!
a solitary leaf
clings to the Kiri tree
― Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Stormfront
by Michael R. Burch
Our distance is frightening:
a distance like the abyss between heaven and earth
interrupted by bizarre and terrible lightning.
One apple, alone
In the abandoned orchard
reddens for winter
― Patrick Blanche, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Flight
by Michael R. Burch
It is the nature of loveliness to vanish
as butterfly wings, batting against nothingness
seek transcendence ...
Helen Keller
saw more than the stellar-
visioned
and the televisioned.
—Michael R. Burch
Incompatibles
by Michael R. Burch
Reason’s treason!
cries the Heart.
Love’s insane,
replies the Brain.
Intimations
by Michael R. Burch
Show me your most intimate items of apparel;
begin with the hem of your quicksilver slip ...
Imperfect Perfection
by Michael R. Burch
You’re too perfect for words—
a problem for a poet.
Expert Advice
by Michael R. Burch
Your breasts are perfect for your lithe, slender body.
Please stop making false comparisons your hobby!
The Reason for the Rain
by Michael R. Burch
The day’s eyes were blue
until you appeared
and they wept at your beauty.
Liquid Assets
by Michael R. Burch
And so I have loved you, and so I have lost,
accrued disappointment, ledgered its cost,
debited wisdom, credited pain . . .
My assets remaining are liquid again.
honeybee
by michael r. burch
love was a little treble thing—
prone to sing
and sometimes to sting
honeydew, honeydont
by michael r. burch
I sampled honeysuckle
and it made my taste buds buckle!
Dry Hump
by Michael R. Burch
You came to me as rain breaks on the desert
when every flower springs to life at once,
but joys are wan illusions to the expert:
the Bedouin has learned how not to want.
Housman was right ...
by Michael R. Burch
It's true that life’s not much to lose,
so why not hang out on a cloud?
It’s just the bon voyage is hard
and the objections loud.
Long Division
by Michael R. Burch
All things become one
Through death’s long division
And perfect precision.
Untitled
Hellen Keller saw more than the stellar-
visioned and the televisioned.
—Michael R. Burch
Irony lies
beyond the surmise
and surprise
of the blind and unwise.
—Michael R. Burch
Childless
by Michael R. Burch
How can she bear her grief?
Mightier than Atlas, she shoulders the weight
of one fallen star.
Autumn Conundrum
by Michael R. Burch
It's not that every leaf must finally fall,
it's just that we can never catch them all.
Piercing the Shell
by Michael R. Burch
If we strip away all the accouterments of war,
perhaps we'll discover what the heart is for.
don’t forget ...
by Michael R. Burch
for Beth
don’t forget to remember
that Space is curved
(like your Heart)
and that even Light is bent
by your Gravity.
I dedicated this poem to the love of my life, but you are welcome to dedicate it to the love of yours, if you like it. The opening lines were inspired by a famous love poem by e. e. cummings.
Kissin’ ’n’ buzzin’
by Michael R. Burch
Kissin’ ’n’ buzzin’
the bees rise
in a dizzy circle of two.
Oh, when I’m with you,
I feel like kissin’ ’n’ buzzin’ too!
This is another poem I wrote for my wife, but you're welcome to share it with that special someone, if you like it.
Styx
by Michael R. Burch
Black waters,
deep and dark and still . . .
all men have passed this way,
or will.
Ars Brevis, Proofreading Longa
by Michael R. Burch
Poets may labor from sun to sun,
but their editor's work is never done.
Arse Brevis, Emendacio Longa
by Michael R. Burch
The Donald may tweet from sun to sun,
but his spellchecker’s work is never done.
Ring-a-Ling Bling
by Michael R. Burch
The ring
thing
is mostly bling.
Determining an individual athlete's greatness by championship rings (i.e., team success) makes no sense to me and seems disrespectful to all-time greats like Ernie Banks, Charles Barkley, Elgin Baylor, Dick Butkus, Ty Cobb, Michelle Kwan, Karl Malone, Dan Marino, Marta (who may be the greatest female soccer player of all time), Barry Sanders, John Stockton, Fran Tarkenton and Ted Williams. Perhaps the best example is the player most cited for rings these days: Michael Jordan. In reality, Jordan didn't win a ring his first six years and was 0-6 against Larry Bird and the Celtics in the playoffs. Does that make Larry Bird the NBA GOAT, or did he simply have better teammates? The answer seems obvious. Jordan only began to win rings after he was joined by outstanding players like Scottie Pippen, Horace Grant, et al. Thus individuals can be all-time greats without having team success.
TRANSLATIONS OF POETIC EPIGRAMS
An unbending tree
breaks easily.
—Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Once fanaticism has gangrened brains
the incurable malady invariably remains.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Love is a canvas created by nature
and completed by imagination.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A question that sometimes drives me hazy:
am I or are the others crazy?
—Albert Einstein, poetic translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Booksellers laud authors for novel editions
as pimps praise their whores for exotic positions.
—Thomas Campion, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
To know what we do know,
and to know what we don't,
is true knowledge.
—Confucius, sometimes incorrectly attributed to Nicolas Copernicus, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Without looking into our hearts,
how can we find Paradise?
—Kabir Das, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Where our senses fail,
reason must prevail.
—Galileo Galilei, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Athens, celestial city, crowned with violets, beloved of poets, bulwark of Greece!
—Pindar, fragment 64, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Do not, O my soul, aspire to immortality, but exhaust life.
—Pindar, Pythian Ode III, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
While nothing can save us from death,
still love can redeem each breath.
—Pablo Neruda, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
There are more Pablo Neruda translations later on this page ...
Everyone chases the way happiness feels,
unaware how it nips at their heels.
—Bertolt Brecht, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The world of learning takes a crazy turn
when teachers are taught to think and discern!
—Bertolt Brecht, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Hungry man, reach for the book:
it's a hook,
a harpoon.
—Bertolt Brecht, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
EPITAPHS, ELEGIES AND EULOGIES
Elegy for a little girl, lost
by Michael R. Burch
for my mother, Christine Ena Burch
. . . qui laetificat juventutem meam . . .
She was the joy of my youth,
and now she is gone.
. . . requiescat in pace . . .
May she rest in peace.
. . . amen . . .
Amen.
I was touched by this Latin prayer, which I discovered in a novel I read as a teenager, around age 16 or 17, and chose to incorporate into a poem. From what I now understand, “ad deum qui laetificat juventutem meam” means “to the God who gives joy to my youth,” but I am sticking with my original interpretation: a lament for a little girl at her funeral. The phrase can be traced back to Saint Jerome's translation of Psalm 42 in the Vulgate Latin Bible (circa 385 AD). I dedicated the poem to my mother, Christine Ena Burch, after her death, because she was always a little girl at heart, and pure of heart like a little girl.
Epitaph for a Palestinian Child
by Michael R. Burch
I lived as best I could, and then I died.
Be careful where you step: the grave is wide.
Americans are rightly outraged when Ukrainians are victims of ethnic cleansing, but millions of "good Christians" turn their backs when the victims are Palestinians...
Ko Un was speechless at Auschwitz.
Someday, when it’s too late,
will we be speechless at Gaza?
—Michael R. Burch
After the Poetry Recital
by Michael R. Burch
Later there’ll be talk of saving whales
over racks of lamb and flambéed snails.
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.
Untitled
Are mayflies missed by mountains? Do stars
applaud the glowworm’s stellar mimicry?
—excerpt from “Mayflies” by Michael R. Burch
THE CHIASMUS AND SPOONERISM
Love is either wholly folly
or fully holy.
—Michael R. Burch
Love's full of cute paradoxes
and highly acute poxes.
—Michael R. Burch
To avoid being a hack writer, hack away at your writing.—Michael R. Burch
To fall an inch short of infinity is to fall infinitely short.—Michael R. Burch
When you were born, you cried and the world rejoiced.
Live your life so that when you die, the world cries and you rejoice.
—White Elk, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
It’s time to impeach
the peach imp.
—Michael R. Burch
Teddy Roosevelt spoke softly and carried a big stick;
Donald Trump speaks loudly and carries a big shtick.
—Michael R. Burch
Trump's supporters go on and on about the "deep state," but they're in a deep state of denial. — Michael R. Burch
Trump's goal is not to be a good president, but to be president for good, like his hero Putin. — Michael R. Burch
Is Trump the American Messiah, or MESSiah? Jesus Christ had the courage of his convictions, while the only convictions Trump has are of the criminal variety. — Michael R. Burch
The Trumps, who got their start ripping off the government and tenants by building federal housing, will now become trumped tenants of the government they ripped off. — Michael R. Burch
Milli Vanilli seemed like two singers who could have been models, but they turned out to be two models pretending to be singers. —Michael R. Burch
We all have our limits: I will go to great lengths to avoid the word "chiasmi."— Michael R. Burch
Old Pantaloons, an Extended Chiasmus
by Michael R. Burch
Old pantaloons are soft and white,
prudent days, imprudent nights
when fingers slip through drawers to feel
that which they long most to steal.
Old panty loons are soft and white,
prudent days, imprudent nights
when fingers slip through drawers to steal
that which they long most to feel.
EPIGRAMS PROPER & IMPROPER
Fleet Tweet: Apologies to Shakespeare
by Michael R. Burch
a tweet
by any other name
would be as fleet!
—@mikerburch
Fleet Tweet II: Further Apologies to Shakespeare
by Michael R. Burch
Remember, doggonit,
heroic verse crowns the Shakespearean sonnet!
So if you intend to write a couplet,
please do it on the doublet!
—@mikerburch
Stage Fright
by Michael R. Burch
To be or not to be?
In the end Hamlet
opted for naught.
Attention Span Gap
by Michael R. Burch
What if a poet, Shakespeare,
were still living to tweet to us here?
He couldn't write sonnets,
just couplets, doggonit,
and we wouldn't have Hamlet or Lear!
Yes, a sonnet may end in a couplet,
which we moderns can write in a doublet,
in a flash, like a tweet.
Does that make it complete?
Should a poem be reduced to a stublet?
Bring back that Grand Era when men
had attention spans long as their pens,
or rather the quills
of the monsieurs and fils
who gave us the Dress, not its hem!
Please click here for more poems by Michael R. Burch about Shakespeare.
LESS HEROIC COUPLETS
Less Heroic Couplets: Murder Most Fowl!
by Michael R. Burch
“Murder most foul!”
cried the mouse to the owl.
“Friend, I’m no sinner;
you’re merely my dinner.
As you fall on my sword,
Take it up with the Lord!”
the wise owl replied
as the tasty snack died.
Please note that the wise old owl exonerated William Blake's tyger and placed the blame where it is properly due, with the Creator of owls and tygers.
Less Heroic Couplets: Meal Deal
by Michael R. Burch
Love is a splendid ideal
(at least till it costs us a meal).
Less Heroic Couplets: Civility
by Michael R. Burch
Civility
is the ability
to disagree
agreeably.
Less Heroic Couplets: Sweet Tarts
by Michael R. Burch
Love, beautiful but fatal to many bewildered hearts,
commands us to be faithful, then tempts us with sweets and tarts.
(If I were younger, I might mention
you’re such a temptation.)
NOTE: In an attempt to demonstrate that not all couplets are heroic, I have created a series of poems called “Less Heroic Couplets.” I believe even poets should abide by truth-in-advertising laws! — Michael R. Burch
Less Heroic Couplets: Marketing 101
by Michael R. Burch
Building her brand, she disrobes,
naked, except for her earlobes.
Less Heroic Couplets: Miss Bliss
by Michael R. Burch
Domestic “bliss”?
Best to swing and miss!
Less Heroic Couplets: Self-ish
by Michael R. Burch
Let’s not pretend we “understand” other elves
As long as we remain mysteries to ourselves.
Less Heroic Couplets: Mate Check
by Michael R. Burch
Love is an ache hearts willingly secure
then break the bank to cure.
Less Heroic Couplets: Word to the Unwise
by Michael R. Burch
I wanted to be good as gold,
but being good, as I’ve been told,
requires something, discipline,
I simply have no interest in!
Less Heroic Couplets: Questionable Credentials
by Michael R. Burch
Poet? Critic? Dilettante?
Do you know what’s good, or do you merely flaunt?
Published by Asses of Parnassus (the first poem in the April 2017 issue)
Less Heroic Couplets: Shreditors
by Michael R. Burch
Editors? Shreditors!
Those out-of-their-head-itors!
They offer—how dare they?—
to test, measure, weigh
my pluperfect ART!
When does PUBLICATION start?
Less Heroic Couplets: Rejection Slip
by Michael R. Burch
pour Melissa Balmain
Whenever my writing gets rejected,
I always wonder how the rejecter got elected.
Are we exchanging at the same Bourse?
(Excepting present company, of course!)
I consider the term “rejection slip” to be a double entendre. When editors reject my poems, did I slip up, or did they? Is their slip showing, or is mine?
Less Heroic Couplets: People From Porlock
by Michael R. Burch
These people from Porlock are at it again—
I strive to create; they insist, “Be my friend!”
That last gabby vendor was a troublesome bloke—
thus my latest masterpiece just went up in smoke!
Less Heroic Couplets: Less than Impressed
by Michael R. Burch
for T. M., regarding certain dispensers of hot lukewarm stale air
Their volume’s impressive, it’s true ...
but somehow it all seems “much ado.”
Less Heroic Couplets: Dear Pleader
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"
Is our Dear Pleader, as he claims, heroic?
I prefer my presidents a bit more stoic.
Less Heroic Couplets: Then and Now
by Michael R. Burch
BEFORE: Thanks to Brexit, our lives will be plush! ...
AFTER: Crap, we’re going broke! What the hell is the rush?
Less Heroic Couplets: Relative Masses
by Michael R. Burch
Mr. Einstein was wrong about relative masses:
my kinfolk lose E while increasing their asses!
Less Heroic Couplets: Poetry I
by Michael R. Burch
Poetry is the heart’s caged rhythm,
the soul’s frantic tappings at the panes of mortality.
Less Heroic Couplets: Poetry II
by Michael R. Burch
Poetry is the trapped soul’s frantic tappings
at the panes of mortality.
Less Heroic Couplets: Seesaw
by Michael R. Burch
A poem is the mind teetering between fact and fiction,
momentarily elevated.
Less Heroic Couplets: Passions
by Michael R. Burch
Passions are the heart’s qualms, the soul’s squalls,
the brain’s storms.
Less Heroic Couplets: Gilded Silence
by Michael R. Burch
Golden silence reigned supreme
in her nightmare and my dream.
Less Heroic Couplets: Baseball Explained
by Michael R. Burch
Baseball’s immeasurable spittin’
mixed with occasional hittin’.
Bed Head I
by Michael R. Burch
for and after Richard Thomas Moore
“Early to bed, early to rise”
makes a man wish some men weren’t so wise
(or least had the decency to tell pleasing lies).
Bed Head II
by Michael R. Burch
for and after Richard Thomas Moore
“Early to bed, early to rise”
makes a man wish
wise old Ben told sweet lies.
EPIGRAMS ABOUT EPIGRAMS
Nod to the Master
by Michael R. Burch
If every witty thing that’s said were true,
Oscar Wilde, the world would worship You!
Brief Fling I
by Michael R. Burch
"Epigram"
means cram,
then scram.
Brief Fling II
by Michael R. Burch
To write an epigram, cram.
If you lack wit, scram!
Brief Fling III
by Michael R. Burch
No one gives a damn about my epigram?
And yet they’ll spend billions on Boy George and Wham!
Do they have any idea just how hard I cram?
The Whole of Wit
by Michael R. Burch
for and after Richard Thomas Moore
If brevity is the soul of wit
then brevity and levity
are the whole of it.
The Po' Biz Explained
by Michael R. Burch
Poets may labor from sun to sun,
but their editors' work is never done.
The editor’s work is never done.
The critic adjusts his cummerbund.
While the critic adjusts his cummerbund,
the audience exits to mingle and slum.
As the audience exits to mingle and slum,
the anthologist rules, a pale jury of one.
This poem was written in response to the question: “What’s your favorite rhyme to rhyme?”
Time to Rhyme
by Michael R. Burch
Rhyme is a function of sound over time,
so I like to rhyme “time” with “rhyme.”
Haikus do nothing for me but I do enjoy a witty/clever epigram.