On afternoons, when baby boy has had a splendid nap,
And sits, like any monarch on his throne, in nurse's lap,
In some such wise my handkerchief I hold before my face,
And cautiously and quietly I move about the place;
Then, with a cry, I suddenly expose my face to view,
And you should hear him laugh and crow when I say "Booh"!
Sometimes the rascal tries to make believe that he is scared,
And really, when I first began, he stared, and stared, and stared;
And then his under lip came out and farther out it came,
......
When the bare feet of the baby beat across the grass
The little white feet nod like white flowers in the wind,
They poise and run like ripples lapping across the water;
And the sight of their white play among the grass
Is like a little robin’s song, winsome,
Or as two white butterflies settle in the cup of one flower
For a moment, then away with a flutter of wings.
I long for the baby to wander hither to me
Like a wind-shadow wandering over the water,
......
And God stepped out on space,
And he looked around and said:
I'm lonely--
I'll make me a world.
And far as the eye of God could see
Darkness covered everything,
Blacker than a hundred midnights
Down in a cypress swamp.
......
Gassing the woodchucks didn't turn out right.
The knockout bomb from the Feed and Grain Exchange
was featured as merciful, quick at the bone
and the case we had against them was airtight,
both exits shoehorned shut with puddingstone,
but they had a sub-sub-basement out of range.
Next morning they turned up again, no worse
for the cyanide than we for our cigarettes
and state-store Scotch, all of us up to scratch.
......
Christmas is really
for the children.
Especially for children
who like animals, stables,
stars and babies wrapped
in swaddling clothes.
Then there are wise men,
kings in fine robes,
humble shepherds and a
hint of rich perfume.
......
These are Christmas poems by Michael R. Burch. Some are darker Christmas poems and heretical Christmas poems.
The First Christmas
by Michael R. Burch
’Twas in a land so long ago . . .
the lambs lay blanketed in snow
and little children everywhere
sat and watched warm embers glow
and dreamed (of what, we do not know).
......
Note: This one is sad for me... Anyways. Let me know if you like it. Thanks.
Why are you going?
His little voice said
I didn't know how to answer
The question I so dread
I don't know why I'm going
I don't want to leave
Told my little boy it was time
......
I was born on Afo†, just any other naked day,
At the time the moon had increased the effulgence of
Her supreme light.
And from thence, I have owned only one property.
It is so old and delicate; subtle.
Smells like birth, so soft and fresh,
Though I am yet to set my eyes on it.
It’s long lost . . .
It blinks at sunrise from beneath the earth
And relegates the winds to the backyard of storms.
......
Postnatal depression is real
And this is how I feel
Sad, lonely, depressed, withdrawn,
No enjoyment and emotionally worn
I have no bond with my baby, none at all,
My emotions bounce about like a ping-pong ball.
My maternal instincts are very fleeting
A now-you-see-it, now-you-don’t type of thing.
But surprisingly the pregnancy gave me joy
More so when the sonographer said “It’s a boy!”
......
Mother's there, her eyes are bright,
Papa's beaming by her side,
And in her arms, a bright delight
Baby brother, little bro.
A picture hanging on the wall
Band-Aids plastered after a fall,
Mother's there to cure it all,
And baby brother, little bro
......