Do not weep for me, when I am gone. I lived, and ate my fill, and gorged on life. You will not find beneath this glossy stone the man who sowed and reaped and gathered days like flowers, undismayed they would not keep. Go lightly then, and leave me to my sleep.
The first line of my elegy was inspired by Christina Rossetti's famous elegy.
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.
Here he lies in state tonight: great is his Monument! Yet Ares cares not, neither does War relent. ―Michael R. Burch, after Anacreon
Blame not the gale, or the inhospitable sea-gulf, or friends’ tardiness, mariner! Just man’s foolhardiness. ―Michael R. Burch, after Leonidas of Tarentum
Does my soul abide in heaven, or hell? Only the sea gulls in their high, lonely circuits may tell. ―Michael R. Burch, after Glaucus
Passerby, tell the Spartans we lie lifeless at Thermopylae: dead at their word, obedient to their command. Have they heard? Do they understand? ―Michael R. Burch, after Simonides
Here I lie with sea-enclosed Cyzicus shrouding my bones. Faretheewell, O my adoptive land that reared and suckled me; Once again I take rest at your breast. ―Michael R. Burch, after Erycius The Seikilos Epitaph by Seikilos of Euterpes loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Shine, while you live; blaze beyond grief, for life is brief and time is a thief.
NOTE: The famous Seikilos Epitaph is the oldest known surviving complete musical composition which includes musical notation. It is believed to date to the first or second century AD. The epitaph appears to be signed “Seikilos of Euterpes” or dedicated “Seikilos to Euterpe.” Euterpe was the Muse of music.
These epitaphs and other epigrams have been ascribed to Plato ...
Mariner, do not ask whose tomb this may be, But go with good fortune: I wish you a kinder sea. ―Michael R. Burch, after Plato
We left the thunderous Aegean to sleep peacefully here on the plains of Ecbatan. Farewell, renowned Eretria, our homeland! Farewell, Athens, Euboea's neighbor! Farewell, dear Sea! ―Michael R. Burch, after Plato
We who navigated the Aegean’s thunderous storm-surge now sleep peacefully here on the mid-plains of Ecbatan: Farewell, renowned Eretria, our homeland! Farewell, Athens, nigh to Euboea! Farewell, dear Sea! ―Michael R. Burch, after Plato
This poet was pleasing to foreigners and even more delightful to his countrymen: Pindar, beloved of the melodious Muses. ―Michael R. Burch, after Plato
Some say the Muses are nine. Foolish critics, count again! Sappho of Lesbos makes ten. ―Michael R. Burch, after Plato
Even as you once shone, the Star of Morning, above our heads, even so you now shine, the Star of Evening, among the dead. ―Michael R. Burch, after Plato
Why do you gaze up at the stars? Oh, my Star, that I were Heaven, to gaze at you with many eyes! ―Michael R. Burch, after Plato
Every heart sings an incomplete song, until another heart sings along. Those who would love long to join in the chorus. At a lover’s touch, everyone becomes a poet. ―Michael R. Burch, after Plato
The Apple ascribed to Plato loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Here’s an apple; if you’re able to love me, catch it and chuck me your cherry in exchange. But if you hesitate, as I hope you won’t, take the apple, examine it carefully, and consider how briefly its beauty will last.
Black waters, deep and dark and still . . . all men have passed this way, or will.
I wrote this poem around age 18, as part of a longer poem originally titled "Death." The first four lines seemed better than the rest of the poem, so I opted for the better part of valor: discretion.
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 has swept into a corner, where it lies in dust and cobwebs and silence.
This was the first poem that I wrote that didn't rhyme. I wrote it around age 19. The poem came to me "from blue nothing" (to borrow a phrase from my friend the Maltese poet Joe Ruggier). Years later, I dedicated the poem to the children of the Holocaust and the Nakba.
Infinity by Michael R. Burch
Have you tasted the bitterness of tears of despair? Have you watched the sun sink through such pale, balmless air that your heart sought its shell like a crab on a beach, then scuttled inside to be safe, out of reach?
Might I lift you tonight from earth’s wreckage and damage on these waves gently rising to pay the moon homage? Or better, perhaps, let me say that I, too, have dreamed of infinity . . . windswept and blue.
I wrote this poem around age 18. It expresses sympathy and understanding for someone contemplating suicide.
Observance by Michael R. Burch
Here the hills are old and rolling carefully in their old age; on the horizon youthful mountains bathe themselves in windblown fountains . . .
By dying leaves and falling raindrops, I have traced time's starts and stops, and I have known the years to pass almost unnoticed, whispering through treetops . . .
For here the valleys fill with sunlight to the brim, then empty again, and it seems that only I notice how the years flood out, and in . . .
I remember writing this poem in the break room of the McDonald's where I worked as a high school student. I believe that was around age 17.
The Leveler by Michael R. Burch
The nature of Nature is bitter survival from Winter’s bleak fury till Spring’s brief revival.
The weak implore Fate; bold men ravish, dishevel her . . . till both are cut down by mere ticks of the Leveler.
I believe I wrote this poem around age 20. It has since been published in The Lyric, Tucumcari Literary Review, Romantics Quarterly and The Aurorean.
Negligibles by Michael R. Burch
(an excerpt from Love in the Time of the Coronavirus)
Show me your most intimate items of apparel; begin with the hem of your quicksilver slip ...
Playmates by Michael R. Burch
WHEN you were my playmate and I was yours, we spent endless hours with simple toys, and the sorrows and cares of our indentured days were uncomprehended . . . far, far away . . .
for the temptations and trials we had yet to face were lost in the shadows of an unventured maze.
Then simple pleasures were easy to find and if they cost us a little, we didn't mind; for even a penny in a pocket back then was one penny too many, a penny to spend.
Then feelings were feelings and love was just love, not a strange, complex mystery to be understood; while "sin" and "damnation" meant little to us, since forbidden cookies were our only lusts!
Then we never worried about what we had, and we were both sure―what was good, what was bad. And we sometimes quarreled, but we didn't hate; we seldom gave thought to the uncertainties of fate.
Hell, we seldom thought about the next day, when tomorrow seemed hidden―adventures away. Though sometimes we dreamed of adventures past, and wondered, at times, why things couldn't last.
Still, we never worried about getting by, and we didn't know that we were to die . . . when we spent endless hours with simple toys, and I was your playmate, and we were boys.
This is probably the poem that "made" me, because my high school English teacher called it "beautiful" and I took that to mean I was surely the Second Coming of Percy Bysshe Shelley! "Playmates" is the second poem I remember writing; I believe I was around 13 or 14 at the time. It was originally published by The Lyric.
Sunset by Michael R. Burch
This poem is dedicated to my grandfather, George Edwin Hurt
Between the prophecies of morning and twilight’s revelations of wonder, the sky is ripped asunder.
The moon lurks in the clouds, waiting, as if to plunder the dusk of its lilac iridescence,
and in the bright-tentacled sunset we imagine a presence full of the fury of lost innocence.
What we find within strange whorls of drifting flame, brief patterns mauling winds deform and maim, we recognize at once, but cannot name.
Departed by Michael R. Burch
Already, I miss you,
though your parting kiss is still warm on my lips.
Now the floor is not strewn with your stockings and slips and the dishes are all stacked away.
You left me today ... and each word left unspoken now whispers regrets.
Disconcerted by Michael R. Burch
Meg, my sweet, fresh as a daisy, when I’m with you my heart beats like crazy & my future gets hazy ...
Here and Hereafter by Michael R. Burch
Life’s saving graces are love, pleasure, laughter ... wisdom, it seems, is for the Hereafter.
***
This dream of nothingness we so fear is salvation clear. ―Michael R. Burch
If there is nothing better "out there" than this planet, death and nothingness seem like salvation. ―Michael R. Burch
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