Songs are invented from the throats of
bamboos, when their robust stems
smile through the caress of the sun.
And melodies seep through the
the lean threads of the plexus, gently.
Balmed by the cosseted whims of
lewd bees, the crux of the tune, soothed
and remedied, slowly besieges us.
Songs are wayward....
Haunting,
......
Frenzied, melodic tunes are playing, in the lime green forests,
In whistles, croaks and chirping, where jade growth is lawless,
And nature is humming and dancing, all over the azure world-
Then colors dance on even skies, where sunset lately swirled.
Stars and moon gaze all nighttime, at the never ending ballet,
With its sudden leaps and easy jumps, while the crickets play,
And when morning returns, they are doing the lively quickstep,
To magenta, dawn singing, and as always, there is no misstep.
I praise the wise and respect the wisdom of every old and young, for when they speak they pave the way to every poem or song.
There is a charm in all their words and phrases short or long. In what they say you should believe until you prove them wrong.
When wisdom speaks I always listen to thoughts of brilliant minds, just like a gem or precious stone or gold in haunted mines.
I feel the words and see them spark in corners everywhere, sometimes I even smell their scent floating in the air.
A set of words in form of art could take your breath away, for classy words will make you feel in heaven you want to stay.
......
These are villanelles by Michael R. Burch and and villanelle-like poems, including a new new poetic form I invented, the “trinelle” or “triplenelle.”
Villanelle: She Always Grew Roses
by Michael R. Burch
for my grandmother, Lillian Lee
Tell us, heart, what the season discloses.
......
Orioles, blue jays, blackbirds, and red robins all sing
robustly to tangelo sun, as meadows and woods ring.
All through spring and summer gloss, as roses glisten,
Nature's noonday, jade heartbeats, cause all to listen!
Glittering gold on green lakes-an afternoon of amber,
Exotic trills rise, in quiet hours of persimmon glamour.
Saffron songs swell in the orange peel, blossom fields,
entrancing them into a dark orange dance of the hills.
Rivoli's hummingbird hums, in a purple and teal coat
......
I was a capable, urban professional, quite eagerly living the high life;
Like pink robin, of the saffron noon zenith, afore shadows bloom rife.
My daily work was very challenging, and it allowed me to be creative;
Like the generous stains of colors, which to changing skies, are native.
Since things were going well, with few issues, I believed I was happy,
Like sunbeam roses. Yet, often heard were the words, 'Make it snappy!'
Freshwater pearls free-fell from clouds, in a June of flavorful cherries;
......
Songs are invented from the throats of
bamboos, when their robust stems
smile through the caress of the sun.
And melodies seep through the
the lean threads of the plexus, gently.
Balmed by the cosseted whims of
lewd bees, the crux of the tune, soothed
and remedied, slowly besieges us.
Songs are wayward....
Haunting,
......
These are villanelles by Michael R. Burch and and villanelle-like poems, including a new new poetic form I invented, the “trinelle” or “triplenelle.”
Villanelle: She Always Grew Roses
by Michael R. Burch
for my grandmother, Lillian Lee
Tell us, heart, what the season discloses.
......
I praise the wise and respect the wisdom of every old and young, for when they speak they pave the way to every poem or song.
There is a charm in all their words and phrases short or long. In what they say you should believe until you prove them wrong.
When wisdom speaks I always listen to thoughts of brilliant minds, just like a gem or precious stone or gold in haunted mines.
I feel the words and see them spark in corners everywhere, sometimes I even smell their scent floating in the air.
A set of words in form of art could take your breath away, for classy words will make you feel in heaven you want to stay.
......
These are poems of mine that are available as song lyrics. I have had 49 poems set to music by 30 composers, from swamp blues to opera.
***
We Come Together, Holding Hands (I)
by Michael R. Burch
We come together, holding hands,
the children of so many lands;
it’s what the day demands.
......