Earth,
that fine, pneumatic
piece of gem from space,
bulbous, bluish with
the hand of beauty
adorned with furry clouds,
yet in closer sense lies
senseless to internal
doom.
I've lived on this planet for five years now,
In deafening silence, that's peaceful somehow.
The moment we crashed, seemed almost a dream;
Stars twinkled above the clouds pink and cream.
We landed in tranquil waters, quite luckily,
And left our craft at the bottom of blue sea;
We finally reached land, but it glittered so!
......
They had kept me imprisoned there for three full days,
In that sparse, solitary room, of scarce sunshine rays.
Having good food to eat, had never been a problem;
They brought hot meals, but the problem was boredom!
At least, they had the good grace to let me peruse,
A few of my books, they took for their own selfish use.
No television, no music, and no exercise outdoors;
......
My mind floats through space
Surrounded by its eternal darkness
My impulses like gamma rays
Penetrate the atmosphere of my subconscious
Relatively, I gravitate towards the good days
and sometimes memories that make me nauseous
But the only Constance
Is that time keeps my mind
Afloat past every single instance
At the speed of light
......
"AFTER CUMMINGS" POEMS
These are poems that I have written "after" e. e. cummings. Many of these poem were written during my early "Cummings Period," which started around age 14-15 when I discovered his poems in an English textbook. I have a cummings-ish type of poem that I call a "ur" poem. I will explain that modus operandi when we get to the first "ur" poem.
In these poems things that seem impossibly large are capitalized, like the Sun and Time. The big Thoughts are capitalized but the mind that holds them without being able to control them, isn't. Pronouns become diminutives: I=i, You=u, We=wee, etc.
Smoke
by michael r. burch, age 14
......
There are no labyrinths in this zone above.
This even, the bifurcated, long, empty road
Reflects the orange,
Hung high, eluding us from the grey void.
The even star —
Behold the grey patterns of heaven,
Meek and naked.
The orange, in clover, fades in the
Celluloid of the hanging sea,
......
Earth,
that fine, pneumatic
piece of gem from space,
bulbous, bluish with
the hand of beauty
adorned with furry clouds,
yet in closer sense lies
senseless to internal
doom.
Upon the skies; past heaven - untold.
Beyond (of war) the planet of death.
A cosmic crystal began to mold.
Not Cyllene, Nor Titan, Europa's breath.
The surface, of the frozen, shall cool even you.
But beneath her crust roars a blazing paradise -
Fules fires within, past the cold winter hue.
Many species could rest, they're bound to melodize
Of great lives, they must live, and I'm sure they wonder too.
......
"AFTER CUMMINGS" POEMS
These are poems that I have written "after" e. e. cummings. Many of these poem were written during my early "Cummings Period," which started around age 14-15 when I discovered his poems in an English textbook. I have a cummings-ish type of poem that I call a "ur" poem. I will explain that modus operandi when we get to the first "ur" poem.
In these poems things that seem impossibly large are capitalized, like the Sun and Time. The big Thoughts are capitalized but the mind that holds them without being able to control them, isn't. Pronouns become diminutives: I=i, You=u, We=wee, etc.
Smoke
by michael r. burch, age 14
......
My mind floats through space
Surrounded by its eternal darkness
My impulses like gamma rays
Penetrate the atmosphere of my subconscious
Relatively, I gravitate towards the good days
and sometimes memories that make me nauseous
But the only Constance
Is that time keeps my mind
Afloat past every single instance
At the speed of light
......