A New Version: 1980
What is that little black thing I see there
in the white?
Walt Whitman
One
Out of poverty
To begin again:
......
Before I loved you, love, nothing was my own:
I wavered through the streets, among
Objects:
Nothing mattered or had a name:
The world was made of air, which waited.
I knew rooms full of ashes,
Tunnels where the moon lived,
Rough warehouses that growled 'get lost',
Questions that insisted in the sand.
......
"Aug." 10, 1911.
Full moon to-night; and six and twenty years
Since my full moon first broke from angel spheres!
A year of infinite love unwearying ---
No circling seasons, but perennial spring!
A year of triumph trampling through defeat,
The first made holy and the last made sweet
By this same love; a year of wealth and woe,
Joy, poverty, health, sickness --- all one glow
......
Our generation
Our fathers' heirs,
We now inherit what they once called theirs.
The Crime, the Poverty,
The Guilt, the Hate;
But is it too late to recreate?
A time existing long ago
When our fathers made the things we now know as home.
Our generation
Our fathers' heirs,
......
While I make rhymes my brother John
Makes shiny shoes which dames try on,
And finding to their fit and stance
They buy and wear with elegance;
But mine is quite another tale,--
For song there is no sale.
My brother Tom a tailor shop
Is owner of, and ladies stop
To try the models he has planned,
......
A man up in years
Hunched over as he
Walked along the street
On this chilly December day
Zipping up his hoodie as
He approached the rotary
On the median stood
Another old man in shabby
Clothes covered with an
Equally shabby Santa Claus suit
......
These are poems about the homeless, homelessness, victims of war, and similar themes.
Homeless Us
by Michael R. Burch
The coldest night I ever knew
the wind out of the arctic blew
long frigid blasts; and I was you.
......
Happy moments bloom
ever in full beauty,
like a delicate flower
wafting sweet fragrance
of pleasing felicity,
of cherished longings.
Some time later
they grow red and pale,
all fade and wither
as the leaves, dried
......
I was a minister of the gospel, very happily living my life for the Lord,
Preaching the Word every Sunday, in the spirit of affinity and accord.
I always knew that I would preach, for I had been called in my youth,
To perpetually serve the will of God, while forever speaking His truth.
Like the lush gardens of springtime, are all abloom with fresh purpose,
Spreading joy with their presence, in a gold, green ritual that is ageless.
I lived an exceedingly busy life, doing work that was dear to my heart,
......
IT'S ABOUT TIME
Let us talk to the birds visiting us in summer,
Let us talk to the afternoon shadow,
Let us raise our pets to our level,
Let us raise our decibels...
It's about time.
Let us talk to the palarysing heat in the air,
Let us pick our items from the rubbish heap,
......