A twilight, hard as it tries to disparage,
shall always remain dazzling in my mind.
The Sun, down, down, into the dark of night
carried off by the gloaming, gently it goes;
glaring, blazing, and impressive to the eye.
Never forget the astral stellar winks skyward,
from the ever-present celestial constellations.
The dark is cloudy; the dark is opaque, much
like the closing curtain during the end of a play.
The zany mists of morning, but a lazy sonnet,
as rising smoke from a snuffed-out candle.
A sunrise light is gnomish; smaller, shorter, but
full of the light of day. Incandescently yours.
Tarry along now, the night a glorious memory,
a magical one-act play that awakens your day.
The teapot whistles, a toaster pops, time for
a muffin with blackberry jam and green tea.
Written: July 30, 2024 For Ink Empress Contest
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My blood is infused with poetry
I hope to share with you my inner views
We should all praise our poetry
Without resentment or jealousy
We've been doing this ever since
Check out how many friends we miss
That's what brought us together.
We must respect and trust each other
We all experience bumps and suffering
and boost one another's spirit
Everyone here is extremely lovely
Our hearts reach out to wide horizons
to exchange thoughts or emails
We have become and will remain a family
The best friendships never stop.
It will only last a lifetime.
Still, I found myself missing you here
A gnomish jigsaw piece vanishes without reason
I was absent from both prose and stanzas
Then it hit—maybe you were away
Trophy-winning freedom for others
I'm glad to view you squiggling around
in cyberspace again
An audience is taking in our lyrical poetry.
Sonnet: Second Sight (II)
by Michael R. Burch
(Newborns see best at a distance of 8 to 14 inches.)
Wiser than we know, the newborn screams,
red-faced from breath, and wonders what life means
this close to death, amid the arctic glare
of warmthless lights above.
Beware! Beware!—
encrypted signals, codes? Or ciphers, noughts?
Interpretless, almost, as his own thoughts—
the brilliant lights, the brilliant lights exist.
Intruding faces ogle, gape, insist—
this madness, this soft-hissing breath, makes sense.
Why can he not float on, in dark suspense,
and dream of life? Why did they rip him out?
He frowns at them—small gnomish frowns, all doubt—
and with an ancient mien, O sorrowful!,
re-closes eyes that saw in darkness null
ecstatic sights, exceeding beautiful.
Published by The Neovictorian/Cochlea. Keywords/Tags: sonnet, newborn, baby, birth, kid, child, childhood, mother, labor, slap, breath, screams, life, light, sight, vision
At What Cost Shall We Ransom This God
At what cost shall we ransom this God!
Held hostage in the towers of sanctity
by the scurrilous usurpers of His throne.
We pay homage to the hierarchic harlots
bow and scrape to the gnomish gatekeepers
pray to the hollow echo of an empty dome
worship at the bloody feet of tyrants
begging for their intercessory indulgences
weeping at the feet of sainted idols.
What is this God, this silent myth,
this silent, helpless, savior
mocked by those that call him Master.
When will He show his hand,
His mercy, His power, His love
to those who cower in the shadows,
struggle to exist outside the temple walls
hold hungry children in the scent of feasts
offered to the fattened inquisitors.
At what cost shall we ransom this God
free Him from the confines of His keepers
share a crust of bread, a moments peace?
4/17/2016
submitted to – Any Poem Written In April 2016
sponsor – Laura Loo