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Just shrieking air. Burch for Caitlin Shea Murphy To her a year is like infinity, each day—an adventure never-ending. She has no concept of time, but already has begun the climb— from childhood to womanhood recklessly ascending. I would caution her, "No! There will be time enough another day She is just certain that, by grabbing the curtain, in a moment she will finally be standing! Little does she know that her first few steps will hurtle her on her way through childhood to adolescence, and then, finally, pubescence.

Burch what would u give to simply not exist— for a painless exit? Spring by Charles d'Orleans c. Burch Young lovers, greeting the spring fling themselves downhill, making cobblestones ring with their wild leaps and arcs, like ecstatic sparks struck from coal. What is their brazen goal?

They grab at whatever passes, so we can only hazard guesses. But they rear like prancing steeds raked by brilliant spurs of need, Young lovers. Oft in My Thought by Charles d'Orleans c. For me to keep my manner and my thought Acceptable, as suits my age's hour? While proving that I never once forgot Her worth? It tests my power! I serve her now with masses and with prayer; For it would be a shame for me to stray Far from my faith, when my time's drawing near— God keep her soul, I can no better say.

Now earthly profits fail, since all is lost And the cost of everything became so dear; Therefore, O Lord, who rules the higher host, Take my good deeds, as many as there are, And crown her, Lord, above in your bright sphere, As heaven's truest maid! And may I say: Most good, most fair, most likely to bring cheer— God keep her soul, I can no better say.

When I praise her, or hear her praises raised, I recall how recently she brought me pleasure; Then my heart floods like an overflowing bay And makes me wish to dress for my own bier— God keep her soul, I can no better say. Confession of a Stolen Kiss by Charles d'Orleans c. Burch My ghostly father, I confess, First to God and then to you, That at a window you know how I stole a kiss of great sweetness, Which was done out of avidness— But it is done, not undone, now.

My ghostly father, I confess, First to God and then to you. Translator note: By "ghostly father" I take Charles d'Orleans to be confessing to a priest. If so, it's ironic that the kiss was "stolen" at a window and the confession is being made at the window of a confession booth. But it also seems possible that Charles could be confessing to his human father, murdered in his youth and now a ghost. There is wicked humor in the poem, as Charles is apparently vowing to keep asking for forgiveness because he intends to keep stealing kisses at every opportunity!

So would I beg you, if I only may, To see such sights as I before have seen, Because my fetish pleases me. The season has cast its coat aside by Charles d'Orleans c. Burch The season has cast its coat aside of wind and cold and rain, to dress in embroidered light again: bright sunlight, fit for a bride!

There isn't a bird or beast astride that fails to sing this sweet refrain: "The season has cast its coat aside! The year lays down his mantle cold by Charles d'Orleans c. Burch The year lays down his mantle cold of wind, chill rain and bitter air, and now goes clad in clothes of gold of smiling suns and seasons fair, while birds and beasts of wood and fold now with each cry and song declare: "The year lays down his mantle cold!

The year lays down his mantle cold. Winter has cast his cloak away by Charles d'Orleans c. Burch Winter has cast his cloak away of wind and cold and chilling rain to dress in embroidered light again: the light of day—bright, festive, gay! Each bird and beast, without delay, in its own tongue, sings this refrain: "Winter has cast his cloak away! All the Earth has a new and fresh display: Winter has cast his cloak away! Note: This rondeau was set to music by Debussy in his "Trois chansons de France.

Burch Humbly now we honour heaven-kingdom's Guardian, the Measurer's might and his mind-plans, the goals of the Glory-Father. First he, the Everlasting Lord, established earth's fearful foundations. Then he, the First Scop, hoisted heaven as a roof for the sons of men: Holy Creator, mankind's great Maker! She danced for me with a gay but mocking air, My world of stone and metal sparking bright; I discovered in her the rapture of everything fair— Nay, an excess of joy where the spirit and flesh unite!

Naked she lay and offered herself to me, Parting her legs and smiling receptively, As gentle and yet profound as the rising sea— Till her surging tide encountered my cliff, abruptly. A tigress tamed, her eyes met mine, intent Intent on lust, content to purr and please!

Her breath, both languid and lascivious, lent An odd charm to her metamorphoses. As if stout haunches of Antiope Had been grafted to a boy The room grew dark, the lamp had flickered out. Mute firelight, alone, lit each glowing stud; Each time the fire sighed, as if in doubt, It steeped her pale, rouged flesh in pools of blood. Burch Two combatants charged! Their fearsome swords brightened the air with fiery sparks and blood.

Their clashing blades clinked odd serenades, reminding us: youth's inspired by overloud love. But now their blades lie broken, like our hearts! Still, our savage teeth and talon-like fingernails can do more damage than the deadliest sword when lovers lash about with such natural flails.

In a deep ravine haunted by lynxes and panthers, our heroes roll around in a cozy embrace, leaving their blood to redden the colorless branches. This abyss is pure hell; our friends occupy the place. Ah, and we said imperishable things, each night illumined by the burning coals. Night thickens around us like a wall; in the deepening darkness our irises meet. I drink your breath, ah!

O vows! O perfumes! O infinite kisses! Burch It rains in my heart As it rains on the town; Heavy languor and dark Drenches my heart. Oh, the sweet-sounding rain Cleansing pavements and roofs! For my listless heart's pain The pure song of the rain! Still it rains without reason In my overcast heart.

Can it be there's no treason? That this grief's without reason? As my heart floods with pain, Lacking hatred, or love, I've no way to explain Such bewildering pain! Burch The roses were so very red; The ivy, impossibly black. The sky was too gentle, too blue; The sea, far too windswept and green.

In the Whispering Night by Michael R. Burch for George King In the whispering night, when the stars bend low till the hills ignite to a shining flame, when a shower of meteors streaks the sky while the lilies sigh in their beds, for shame, we must steal our souls, as they once were stolen, and gather our vigor, and all our intent. We must heave our bodies to some famished ocean and laugh as they vanish, and never repent.

We must dance in the darkness as stars dance before us, soar, Soar! Burch The imbecile constructs cages for everyone he knows, while the sage who has to duck his head whenever the moon glows keeps dispensing keys all night long to the beautiful, rowdy, prison gang.

Burch I became infected with happiness tonight as I wandered idly, singing in the starlight. Now I'm wonderfully contagious Burch Lovers don't reveal all their Secrets; under the covers they may count each other's Moles that reside and hide in the shy regions by forbidden holes , then keep the final tally strictly from Aunt Sally!

Burch My era's obscuring mirror shattered because it magnified the small and made the great seem insignificant. Dictators and monsters filled its contours. Now when I breathe its jagged shards pierce my heart and instead of sweat I exude glass.

Earth, where so many tender persuasions and roses lie interred, might expire for the lack of a glance, or an odor. Burch Per the latest scientific classification, Kurds now belong to a species of bird! This is why, traveling across the torn, fraying pages of history, they are nomads recognized by their caravans.

Yes, Kurds are birds! They wander from region to region never realizing their dreams of settling, of forming a colony, of nesting. No, they never settle down long enough to visit Rumi and inquire about his health, or to bow down deeply in the gust- stirred dust, like Nali. Birdsong by Rumi loose translation by Michael R. Burch Birdsong relieves my deepest griefs: now I'm just as ecstatic as they, but with nothing to say! Please universe, rehearse your poetry through me!

After the Deluge by Michael R. She shocked me to life, but soon left me to wither. I was listless without her, nor could I be with her. I now wilt in pale beams of her occult remembrance. Defenses by Michael R. Burch Beyond the silhouettes of trees stark, naked and defenseless there stand long rows of sentinels: these pert white picket fences.

Now whom they guard and how they guard, the good Lord only knows; but savages would have to laugh observing the tidy rows. Pool's Prince Charming by Michael R. Burch this is my tribute poem, written on the behalf of his fellow pool sharks, for the legendary Saint Louie Louie Roberts Louie, Louie, Prince of Pool, making all the ladies drool I'd be a fool!

Louie, Louie, Prince of Pool. Louie, Louie, pretty as Elvis, owner of ahem a similar pelvis Compared to you, the books will shelve us. Louie, Louie, pretty as Elvis. Louie, Louie, fearless gambler, ladies' man and constant rambler, but such a sweet, loquacious ambler!

Louie, Louie, fearless gambler. Louie, Louie, angelic, chthonic, pool's charming hero, but tragic, Byronic, winning the Open drinking gin and tonic? Louie, Louie, angelic, chthonic. Album by Michael R. Burch I caress them—trapped in brittle cellophane— and I see how young they were, and how unwise; and I remember their first flight—an old prop plane, their blissful arc through alien blue skies Here, time delayed, their features never changed, remaining two And Grief, which lurked unseen beyond the lens or in shadows where It crept on feral claws as It scratched Its way into their hearts, depends on sorrows such as theirs, and works Its jaws Burch Because you came to me with sweet compassion and kissed my furrowed brow and smoothed my hair, I do not love you after any fashion, but wildly, in despair.

Because I am undone, you have remade me as suns bring life, as brilliant rains endow the earth below with leaves, where you now shade me and bower me, somehow. Beckoning by Michael R. Burch Yesterday the wind whispered my name while the blazing locks of her rampant mane lay heavy on mine. And yesterday I saw the way the wind caressed tall pines in forests laced by glinting streams and thick with tangled vines. And though she reached for me in her sleep, the touch I felt was Time's.

I believe I wrote the first version of this poem around age 18, wasn't happy with it, put it aside, then revised it six years later. Besieged by Michael R. Burch Life—the disintegration of the flesh before the fitful elevation of the soul upon improbable wings? Life—is this all we know, the travail one bright season brings? Now the fruit hangs, impendent, pregnant with death, as the hurricane builds and flings its white columns and banners of snow and the rout begins.

Burch for mothers battling addiction serve the Addiction; worship the Beast; feed the foul Pythons your flesh, their fair feast Loose Knit by Michael R. Burch She blesses the needle, fetches fine red stitches, criss-crossing, embroidering dreams in the delicate fabric. And if her hand jerks and twitches in puppet-like fits, she tells herself reality is not as threadbare as it seems She weaves an unraveling tapestry of fatigue and remorse and pain; While this poem is closer to Middle English, it preserves the older tradition.

I have represented the caesura with a slash. Burch The Lie-Awake Dirge is "the night watch kept over a corpse. When from this earthly life you pass every night and all, to confront your past you must come at last, and Christ receive thy soul.

If you ever donated socks and shoes, every night and all, sit right down and put pull yours on, and Christ receive thy soul. But if you never helped your brother, every night and all, walk barefoot through the flames of hell, and Christ receive thy soul. If ever you shared your food and drink, every night and all, the fire will never make you shrink, and Christ receive thy soul. But if you never helped your brother, every night and all, walk starving through the black abyss, and Christ receive thy soul.

This one night, this one night, every night and all; fire and sleet and candlelight, and Christ receive thy soul. Burch Winter awakens all my care as leafless trees grow bare. For now my sighs are fraught whenever it enters my thought: regarding this world's joy, how everything comes to naught.

Burch It is pleasant, indeed, while the summer lasts with the mild pheasants' song This night seems so long! And I, because of my momentous wrong now grieve, mourn and fast. Burch Adam lay bound, bound in a bond; Four thousand winters, he thought, were not too long. And all was for an apple, an apple that he took, As clerics now find written in their book. But had the apple not been taken, or had it never been, We'd never have had our Lady, heaven's queen and matron. Burch Where are the men who came before us, who led hounds and hawks to the hunt, who commanded fields and woods?

Where are the elegant ladies in their boudoirs who braided gold through their hair and had such fair complexions? Once eating and drinking made their hearts glad; they enjoyed their games; men bowed before them; they bore themselves loftily But then, in an eye's twinkling, their hearts were forlorn.

Where are their laughter and their songs, the trains of their dresses, the arrogance of their entrances and exits, their hawks and their hounds? All their joy is departed; their "well" has come to "oh, well" and to many dark days Burch Western wind, when will you blow, bringing the drizzling rain? Christ, that my love were in my arms, and I in my bed again! NOTE: The original poem has "the smalle rayne down can rayne" which suggests a drizzle or mist, either of which would suggest a dismal day.

Burch Now the sun passes under the wood: I rue, Mary, thy face: fair, good. Now the sun passes under the tree: I rue, Mary, thy son and thee. In the poem above, note how "wood" and "tree" invoke the cross while "sun" and "son" seem to invoke each other. Sun-day is also Son-day, to Christians. The anonymous poet who wrote the poem above may have been been punning the words "sun" and "son. Burch The fowls in the forest, the fishes in the flood and I must go mad: such sorrow I've had for beasts of bone and blood!

Sounds like an early animal rights activist! The use of "and" is intriguing Burch I am of Ireland, and of the holy realm of Ireland. Gentlefolk, I pray thee: for the sake of saintly charity, come dance with me in Ireland! If I am Syrian, what of it?

Stranger, we all dwell in one world, not its portals. The same original Chaos gave birth to all mortals. Burch Love, how can I call on you: does Desire dwell with the dead? Cupid, that bold boy, never bowed his head to wail. Burch Cupid, I swear, your quiver holds only empty air: for all your winged arrows, set free, are now lodged in me. For she too has wings and can fly away! Burch Cupid, the cuddly baby safe in his mother's lap, chucking the dice one day, gambled my heart away.

Burch I lie defeated. Set your foot on my neck. I am also well aware of your fiery darts. Burch Mother-Earth, to all men dear, Aesigenes was never a burden to you, so please rest lightly on him here. Burch Meleager dedicates this lamp to you, dear Cypris, as a plaything, since it has been initiated into the mysteries of your nocturnal ceremonies. Burch I know you lied, because these ringlets still dripping scented essences betray your wantonness.

These also betray you— your eyes sagging with the lack of sleep, stray tendrils of your unchaste hair escaping its garlands, your limbs uncoordinated by the wine. Away, trollop, they summon you— the reveling lyre and the clattering castanets rattled by lewd fingers! Or does she embrace some other companion? Then let me hang conciliatory garlands on her door, wilted by my tears, and let me inscribe thereupon these words: "For you, Cypris, the one to whom you revealed the mysteries of your revels, Meleager, offers these spoiled tokens of his love.

Burch Silence! They must have carried her off! Who could be so barbaric, to act with such violence, to wage war against Love himself? Quick, prepare the torches! But wait! A footfall, Heliodora's! Burch Tears, the last gifts of my love, I send drenching down to you, Heliodora. Here on your puddling tomb I pour them out— soul-wrenching tears in memory of affliction and affection.

Piteously, so piteously Meleager mourns you, you still so precious, so dear to him in death, paying vain tributes to Acheron. Where is my beautiful one, my heart's desire? Death has taken her from me, has robbed me of her, and the lustrous blossom lies trampled in dust. But Earth-Mother, nurturer of us all Burch You ask me why I've sent you no new verses?

There might be reverses. Burch You ask me to recite my poems to you? I know how you'll "recite" them, if I do. You ask me why I choose to live elsewhere? You're not there. Burch You ask me why I love the fresh country air? You're not befouling it there. Burch You never wrote a poem, yet criticize mine? Stop abusing me or write something fine of your own! Burch He starts everything but finishes nothing; thus I suspect there's no end to his stuffing. Burch NOTE: Martial concluded his epigram with a variation of the f-word; please substitute it if you prefer it.

You alone own prime land, dandy! Burch You dine in great magnificence while offering guests a pittance. Sextus, did you invite friends to dinner tonight to impress us with your enormous appetite? She fell a mere six days short of outliving her sixth frigid winter. Lead her to romp in some sunny Elysian glade, her devoted patrons. Watch her play childish games as she excitedly babbles and lisps my name.

Let no hard turf smother her softening bones; and do rest lightly upon her, earth, she was surely no burden to you! Burch Alien Nation by Michael R. And I understand how gentle Emily must have felt, when all comfort had flown, gazing into those inhuman eyes, feeling zero at the bone. Oh, how can I grok his arctic thought? For if he is human, I am not. Burn, Ovid by Michael R. Acts made suddenly plausible by the faint blush of her unrouged cheeks, by her pale lips accented only by a slight quiver, a trepidation.

What did those lustrous folds foretell of our uncommon desire? Why did she cross and uncross her legs lovely and long in their taupe sheaths? This poem is set at Faith Christian Academy, which I attended for a year during the ninth grade, in While the poem definitely had its genesis there, I believe I revised it more than once and didn't finish it till , nearly 28 years later, according to my notes on the poem. Burch That day the late spring heat steamed through the windows of a Crayola-yellow schoolbus crawling its way up the backwards slopes of Nowheresville, North Carolina Giggly first graders sat two abreast behind senior high students sprouting their first sparse beards, their implausible bosoms, their stranger affections The most unlikely coupling— Lambert, 18, the only college prospect on the varsity basketball team, the proverbial talldarkhandsome swashbuckling cocksman, grinning Beside him, Wanda, 13, bespectacled, in her primproper attire and pigtails, staring up at him, fawneyed, disbelieving And as the bus filled with the improbable musk of her, as she twitched impaled on his finger like a dead frog jarred to life by electrodes, I knew Huntress Michael R.

Burch Lynx-eyed cat-like and cruel you creep across a crevice dropping deep into a dark and doomed domain Your claws are sheathed. You smile, insane Rain falls upon your path and pain pours down. Your paws are pierced. You pause and heed the oft-lamented laws which bid you not begin again till night returns.

You wail like wind, the sighing of a soul for sin, and give up hunting for a heart. Till sunset falls again, depart, though hate and hunger urge you—"On! Unfortunately for me Eros never rests but like a Thracian tempest ablaze with lightning emanates from Aphrodite; the results are frightening— black, bleak, astonishing, violently jolting me from my soles to my soul. Child by Michael R. Burch When she was a child in a dark forest of fear, imagination cast its strange light into secret places, scattering traces of illumination so bright, years later, she could still find them there, their light undefiled.

When she was young, the shafted light of her dreams shone on her uplifted face as she prayed Now she is old and the light that was flame is a slow-dying ember This was an unusual poem, and it took me some time to figure out who the old woman was. Lullaby by Michael R. Burch for Jeremy Cherubic laugh; sly, impish grin; Angelic face; wild chimp within. It does not matter; sleep awhile As soft mirth tickles forth a smile.

Gray moths will hum a lullaby Of feathery wings, then you and I Will wake together, by and by. The earth will wait; a sun-filled sky Will bronze lean muscle, by and by. Soon you will sing, and I will sigh, But sleep here, now, for you and I Know nothing but this lullaby.

Kin by Michael R. Kindred by Michael R. Burch Rise, pale disastrous moon! What is love, but a heightened effect of time, light and distance? Did you burn once, before you became so remote, so detached, so coldly, inhumanly lustrous, before you were able to assume the very pallor of love itself?

What is the dawn now, to you or to me? We are as one, out of favor with the sun. We would exhume the white corpse of love for a last dance, and yet we will not. We will let her be, let her abide, for she is nothing now, to you or to me. Reflections by Michael R. Burch I am her mirror. I say she is kind, lovely, breathtaking.

I show her her beauty, her brilliance and compassion. She storms and she rages; she dissolves into tears while envious Angels are, by God, her only Peers. Burch for Trump I went to Berlin to learn wisdom from Adolph. I look like a Jew! Burch Remembrance like a river rises; the rain of recollection falls; frail memories, like vines, entangled, cling to Time's collapsing walls. The past is like a distant mist, the future like a far-off haze, the present half-distinct an hour before it blurs with unseen days.

Resurrecting Passion by Michael R. Burch Last night, while dawn was far away and rain streaked gray, tumescent skies, as thunder boomed and lightning railed, I conjured words, where passion failed Such passions we might resurrect, if only time and distance waned and brought us back together; now I pray that this might be, somehow. But time has left us twisted, torn, and we are more apart than miles. How have you come to be so far— as distant as an unseen star? So that, while dawn is far away, my thoughts might not return to you, I feed your portrait to the flames, but as they feast, I burn for you.

Currents by Michael R. Burch How can I write and not be true to the rhythm that wells within? How can the ocean not be blue, not buck with the clapboard slap of tide, the clockwork shock of wave on rock, the motion creation stirs within? Burch Come to me tonight in the twilight, O, and the full moon rising, spectral and ancient, will mutter a prayer. Gather your hair and pin it up, knowing that I will release it a moment anon.

We are not one, nor is there a scripture to sanctify nights you might spend in my arms, but the swarms of bright stars revolving above us revel tonight, the most ardent of lovers. Burch When I am lain to rest and my soul is no longer intact, but dissolving, like a sunset diminishing to the west Burch The shape of mourning is an oiled creel shining with unuse, the bolt of cold steel on a locker shielding memory, the monthly penance of flowers, the annual wake, the face in the photograph no longer dissolving under scrutiny, becoming a keepsake, the useless mower lying forgotten in weeds, rings and crosses and all the paraphernalia the soul no longer needs.

Tillage by Michael R. Burch What stirs within me is no great welling straining to flood forth, but an emptiness waiting to be filled. I am not an orchard ready to be harvested, but a field rough and barren waiting to be tilled.

Burch For all that I remembered, I forgot her name, her face, the reason that we loved I feel the burnished weight of auburn hair that fell across her face, the apricot clean scent of her shampoo, the way she glowed so palely in the moonlight, angel-wan. The memory of her gathers like a flood and bears me to that night, that only night, when she and I were one, and if I could I'd reach to her this time and, smiling, brush the hair out of her eyes, and hold intact each feature, each impression.

Love is such a threadbare sort of magic, it is gone before we recognize it. I would crush my lips to hers to hold their memory, if not more tightly, less elusively. The books that line these close, familiar shelves loom down like dreary chaperones. Wild dogs, too old for mates, cringe furtive in the park, as, toothless now, I frame this parchment kiss.

I do not know the words for easy bliss and so my shriveled fingers clutch this stark, long-unenamored pen and will it: Move. I loved you more than words, so let words prove. As he seeks to warm himself by a fire conjured from ice-encrusted logs, he imagines her doing the same. Marriage would be such a dull affair. Poets should never marry. The world should thank me for not marrying you! There's no need for anyone living to struggle! Evening falls, night quickly descends! The wind is calming now; the earth is bathed in dew; the stars' infernos will soon freeze in the heavens.

And soon we'll sleep together, under the earth, we who never gave each other a moment's rest above it. The wind caresses the grasses; the earth gleams, damp with dew; the stars' infernos will soon freeze in the heavens. And soon we'll lie together under the earth, we who were never united above it. Burch 5 Above the city Saint Peter once remanded to hell now rolls the delirious thunder of the bells. As the thundering high tide eventually reverses, so, too, the woman who once bore your curses.

And yet the bells above me continually peal. And while they keep ringing out of the pure blue sky, Moscow's eminence is something I can't deny In Russia all are homeless so all to you must come. A knife stuck in each boot-top, each back with its shameful brand, we heard you from far away. You called us: here we stand. Because you branded us criminals for every known kind of ill, we seek the all-compassionate Saint, the haloed one who heals.

And there behind that narrow door where the uncouth rabble pour, we seek the red-gold radiant heart of Iver, who loved the poor. Now, as "Halleluiah" floods bright fields that blaze to the west, O sacred Russian soil, I kneel here to kiss your breast!

Burch 2 In my enormous city it is night as from my house I step beyond the light; some people think I'm daughter, mistress, wife July's wind sweeps a way for me to stray toward soft music faintly blowing, somewhere. The wind may blow until bright dawn, new day, but will my heart in its rib-cage really care? Black poplars brushing windows filled with light This shadow called me? There's nobody here to find. The lights are like golden beads on invisible threads O, free me from shackles of being myself by day!

Friends, please understand: I'm only a dreamlike belief. Burch 4 You outshine everything, even the sun at its zenith. The stars are yours! If only I could sweep like the wind through some unbarred door, gratefully, to where you are This gypsy passion of parting! Burch This gypsy passion of parting!

We meet, and are ready for flight! I rest my dazed head in my hands, and think, staring into the night Burch I will be late for the appointed meeting. When I arrive, my hair will be gray, because I abused spring. And your expectations were much too high! I shall feel the effects of the bitter mercury for years. Ophelia tasted, but didn't spit out, the rue. I will trudge across mountains and deserts, trampling souls and hands without flinching, living on, as the earth continues with blood in every thicket and creek.

But always Ophelia's pallid face will peer out from between the grasses bordering each stream. She took a swig of passion, only to fill her mouth with silt. Like a shaft of light on metal, I set my sights on you, highly. Much too high in the sky, where I have appointed my dust its burial. Burch The railway bed's steel-blue parallel tracks are ruled out, neatly as musical staves. Over them, people are transported like possessed Pushkin creatures whose song has been silenced.

See them: arriving, departing? And yet they still linger, the note of their pain remaining Despair has arranged my fate as someone arranges a wedding; then, like a voiceless Sappho I must weep like a pain-wracked seamstress with the mute lament of a marsh heron!

Then the departing train will hoot above the sleepers as its wheels slice them to ribbons. In my eye the colors blur to a glowing but meaningless red. All young women, at times, are tempted by such a bed! Not a stick. Each heart has its gulf and its bridge. Each heart has its blessings and griefs. Who is the father? A liege? Maybe a liege, or a thief. Villanelle: Hangovers by Michael R. Yes, our parents had lives of their own until we were born; then, undone, they were buying their parents gravestones and finding gray hairs of their own because we were born lacking some of their curious habits, but soon would certainly get them.

Burch He did not think of love of Her at all frog-plangent nights, as moons engoldened roads through crumbling stonewalled provinces, where toads nee princes ruled in chinks and grew so small at last to be invisible. Haunted by Michael R. Burch Now I am here and thoughts of my past mistakes are my brethren. I am withering and the sweetness of your memory is like a tear.

Go, if you will, for the ache in my heart is its hollowness and the flaw in my soul is its shallowness; there is nothing to fill. Take what you can; I have nothing left. And when you are gone, I will be bereft, the husk of a man.

Or stay here awhile. My heart cannot bear the night, or these dreams. Your face is a ghost, though paler, it seems when you smile. Published by Romantics Quarterly Have I been too long at the fair? Burch Have I been too long at the fair? The summer has faded, the leaves have turned brown; the Ferris wheel teeters Have I been too long at the fair? This is one of my earliest poems, written around age 15 when we were living with my grandfather in his house on Chilton Street, within walking distance of the Nashville fairgrounds.

I remember walking to the fairgrounds, stopping at a Dairy Queen along the way, and swimming at a public pool. But I believe the Ferris wheel only operated during the state fair. I remember watching people hanging suspended in mid-air, waiting for carnies to deposit them safely on terra firma again. Her Preference by Michael R. Burch Not for her the pale incandescence of dreams, the warm glow of imagination, the hushed whispers of possibility, or frail, blossoming hope.

No, she prefers the anguish and screams of bitter condemnation, the hissing of hostility, damnation's rope. Burch for Pete Rose hey pete, it's baseball season and the sun ascends the sky, encouraging a schoolboy's dreams of winter whizzing by; go out, go out and catch it, put it in a jar, set it on a shelf and then you'll be a Superstar.

When I was a boy, Pete Rose was my favorite baseball player; this poem is not a slam at him, but rather an ironic jab at the term "superstar. Burch Nevermore! She sleeps forevermore. And, yes, they sleep together, but never in that way! For the sea has stripped and shorn the one I once adored, and washed her flesh away. He does not stroke her honey hair, for she is bald, bald to the bone! And how it fills my heart with glee to hear them sometimes cursing me out of the depths of the demon sea This is one of my Poe-like creations, written around age I think the poem has an interesting ending, since the male skeleton is missing an important "member.

So, those of you who anticipate the shadows, how long will the darkness remember you? Burch I can't condone cruelty; I will never applaud the oppressor; Yet I can't renounce the past for the sake of deluded newcomers. But while I harbor my elders, I refuse to praise their injustices. If I am nonviolent, does that make me a docile sheep? The blade may slice, but my neck resists! When I see someone else's wound, I suffer a great hardship; To end it, I'll be whipped, I'll be beaten.

I'm the foe of the oppressor, the friend of the oppressed. What the hell do you mean, with your backwardness? Burch Was there ever anything like the Bosphorus war? Oh, what dishonorable assemblages! Who are these Europeans, come as rapists? Who, these braying hyenas, released from their reeking cages? Why do the Old World, the New World, and all the nations of men now storm her beaches? Is it Armageddon? Truly, the whole world rages! Seven nations marching in unison!

Australia goose-stepping with Canada! Different faces, languages, skin tones! Everything so different, but the mindless bludgeons! Some warriors Hindu, some African, some nameless, unknown! This disgraceful invasion, baser than the Black Death! Ah, the 20th century, so noble in its own estimation, But all its favored ones nothing but a parade of worthless wretches!

Lightning severs horizons! Earthquakes regurgitate the bodies of the dead! Underground tunnels writhe like hell Full of the bodies of burn victims. The sky rains down death, the earth swallows the living. A terrible blizzard heaves men violently into the air. Heads, eyes, torsos, legs, arms, chins, fingers, hands, feet Body parts rain down everywhere.

Coward hands encased in armor callously scatter Floods of thunderbolts, torrents of fire. Cannonballs fly as frequently as bullets Yet the heroic army laughs at the hail. Who needs steel fortresses? Who fears the enemy? How can the shield of faith not prevail? What power can make religious men bow down to their oppressors When their stronghold is established by God?

The mountains and the rocks are the bodies of martyrs! For the sake of a crescent, oh God, many suns set, undone! Dear soldier, who fell for the sake of this land, How great you are, your blood saves the Muslims! Only the lions of Bedr rival your glory! Who then can dig the grave wide enough to hold you.

If we try to consign you to history, you will not fit! No book can contain the eras you shook! Only eternities can encompass you! Oh martyr, son of the martyr, do not ask me about the grave: The prophet awaits you now, his arms flung wide open, to save! Rendra or simply Rendra, was an Indonesian dramatist and poet. The idea of the Javanese poet is to be a guardian of the spirit of the nation. Burch Best wishes for an impending deflowering. Yes, I understand: you will never be mine.

I am resigned to my undeserved fate. And yet I wish love might No cause to elate. Still, I am resigned to my undeserved fate. The gods have spoken. I can relate. How can this be, when all it makes no sense?

You must choose another, not half of who I AM. Be happy with him when you consummate. Then comes light, life, the animals and man. As in all beginnings everything is naked, empty, open. They're both young, yet both have already come a long way, passing through the illusions of brilliant dawns, of skies illuminated by hope, of rivers intimating contentment.

They have experienced the sun's warmth, drenched in each other's sweat. Here, standing by barren reefs, they watch evening fall bringing strange dreams to a bed arrayed with resplendent coral necklaces. They lift their heads to view trillions of stars arrayed in the sky. The universe is their inheritance: stars upon stars upon stars, more than could ever be extinguished. Burch Alone again as evening falls, I join gaunt shadows and we crawl up and down my room's dark walls. We drown in shadows starker still, shadows of the somber hills, shadows of sad selves we spill, tumbling, to the ground below.

There, caked in grimy, clinging snow, we flutter feebly, moaning low for days dreamed once an age ago when we weren't shadows, but were men. Recursion by Michael R. Burch In a dream I saw boys lying under banners gaily flying and I heard their mothers sighing from some dark distant shore.

For I saw their sons essaying into fields—gleeful, braying— their bright armaments displaying; such manly oaths they swore! In a dream I saw boys dying under banners gaily lying and I heard their mothers crying from some dark distant shore. Burch well-hewn was this wall-stone, till Wyrdes wrecked it and the Colossus sagged inward Your flapping wings may jar but cannot spill The cup fulfilled of love, from which I drink; My heart has fires your frosts can never chill, My soul more love to fly than you can sink.

Lines for My Ascension by Michael R. Burch I. If I should die, there will come a Doom, and the sky will darken to the deepest Gloom. But if my body should not be found, never think of me in the cold ground. And if my body should not be found, never think of me in the cold ground. I will go where I go. The Quickening by Michael R. Burch for Beth I never meant to love you when I held you in my arms promising you sagely wise, noncommittal charms. And I never meant to need you when I touched your tender lips with kisses that intrigued my own— such kisses I had never known, nor a heartbeat in my fingertips!

Sunflower by Michael R. Burch after William Blake O little yellow flower like a star Robert Burns Jul Robert Burns. Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow; Farewell to the straths and green valleys below; Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods; Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. John Stevens Nov Above The Storms.

The storms are pounding Destruction is rampant No end seems in sight. The day is endless The night never ending Will it ever, ever be right? Lightning crashes Winds are swirling Torrents of water fall down. The earth is shaking The shelter is breaking Thunderous sound resound. Above the storm the Calm prevails Overlooking the turmoil below. Awaiting the return of order again That Peace and Calm bestow. Then it is over No more pounding Silence, beautiful silence Comes whispering in the ears.

The Earth becomes firm The Sun is still shining It dries up all the tears. Through the debris New hopes arise Covering the scars below. Growing stronger, stronger As strength rebounds Renewed by the seeds we sow. Repairing the damage Replacing the lost Moving forward with or without. Finding Hope in the future as Faith reaches upward Redeeming Love without a doubt. When all seemed lost I counted the cost Turned over all my fears.

I am surviving. I am stronger still. Aaron Brown Jul Flight of the Phoenix. The Phoenix rose into the sky And blazed so bright The sun turned its eye. The moon spun in delight For finally the sun knew the taste of the night. In fiery fury did that Phoenix fly free. The taste of heaven its to sample, The winds calling it to be. Its joy was ample, Its song beautiful in flight.

It was a moderate box-office hit, opening on May 1, , in first place. You get to see your favorite characters once again in a new — or not so new — storyline. Discouraged millionaire Dudley Moore title character , shopping with servant Hobson John Gielgud at Bergdorf's after agreeing to marry in order to stay rich, is fascinated by fellow shopper Linda Liza Minnelli , Irving Metzman on security, in writer-director Steve Gordon's Arthur, Really good film.

Endless Love. Money Into Light, This list shows all films released in , including films that went direct-to-video, or only got an international theatrical release. This category has the following 7 5. Storyline: The Prodigal Daughter A young woman in a deep depression leaves her husband and returns to her parents. Loomis 2. Arthur is a U. Clash of the Titans is a film based on the Greek myths of Perseus and his battles against Medusa and the Kraken to save the Princess Andromeda.

Best Actor. Note: This chart ranks movies by the amount they earned during One comment. Mov Genre 2. A fedora-wearing hero runs from a boulder. Watch Movies Fantasies Online Free. Othello TV Outland P. Storyline: Private Lessons Phillip Filmore is a naive, year-old, preoccupied with sex, who Love Streams The film describes a few days in the life of the writer Robert Harmon and hisFilm-Like. Check out December movies and get ratings, reviews, trailers and clips for new and popular movies.

It was a hell of a time for movies in While it's one of the defining classics of low-budget horror, the blood, gore, and demonic imagery, among other things, make this movie unsuitable for kids. The biggest stars in sex films gather to watch the latest in erotic television, but their desires can't be confined to the screen. Blow Out is a marriage of the two, a thriller that spins themes and events from political crimes and scandals into a tense conspiracy thriller steeped in political cynicism, moral corruption and bureaucratic complicity.

The German Sisters Margarethe von Trotta, This was only the fifth film in Oscar history to have Oscars wins for Best Actor and Actress in the same film it also occurred in , , , and Beau Pere November 11, A bold, very adult, serious take on the Arthurian legend, the film was a modest financial success, grossing million domestically.

A local reporter, Iron Idem, announces that the Martians have landed. Read critic reviews. The film begins with the only survivor from the first movie, Alice, being slain and murdered by a 5. Paila Pavese: Brenda Samuels.

Thousands of new, high-quality pictures added "If there's something strange in your neighborhood. The Professional October 21, Chu Chu and the Philly Flash. The highest grossing film of was Raiders of the Lost Ark. After the daring escape, Joss Heavy Metal, the movie, had its premiere 40 years ago today—July 29, —and opened nationwide a week later.

The year kicked off with exploding heads in Scanners and ended with audiences introduced to List of the best horror movies, ranked by how many upvotes they've received by other fans of the genre. An American Werewolf in London Error: please try again.

All types of scary movies are represented below, including thrillers, slashers, gore, psychological horror films and more. It includes movies released in previous years that earned money during Diva film, Diva. Clash of the Titans. From Everything Wiki. All films are also watched again for the purposes of these reviews and are not being done from memory.

Calling Card: The killer always leaves the severed head of their victim submerged in water. Share Twitter Facebook. The first film's story follows five college students who decide to spend a weekend at a very dilapidated cabin in rural Tennessee.

Genres : Adventure. Charlie Chan and the Curse of the Dragon Queen. Film Week in The People's Republic. In , the Trogi family moves into a new home. Contents 1 Highest-grossing films U. Sweet-spirited '80s comedy with lots of drinking. SYNOPSIS: A crew of interplanetary archaeologists is threatened when an alien creature impregnates one of their members, causing her to turn homicidal and murder them one by one.

Though with each of these contributing to extreme moments, Cannibal Ferox still stands on its own into forays of nasty cinema. Sur Film pour vous vous trouverez gratuitement et exclusivement tous les nouveaux films en streaming gratuit en ligne et sansCategory films.

The film has since disappeared, the only known copies belonging to List of the best horror movies, ranked by how many upvotes they've received by other fans of the genre. The Washington Post, December 13, Films that were released in If I absolutely, positively had to answer the question, What's your favorite horror film?

Directed by. This was the only time that Henry Fonda was teamed with his real-life daughter Jane, and the only time he starred with veteran actress Katharine Hepburn: Check out January movies and get ratings, reviews, trailers and clips for new and popular movies. Featured-length - Stone was It's and year-old Ricardo weaves an elaborate web of lies to impress his new classmates.

Halloween II R 92 min Horror 6. A list of American films released in Benz Movieclips. Release: Excalibur is a American epic medieval fantasy film directed, produced, and co-written by John Boorman that retells the legend of King Arthur and the knights of the Round Table, based on the 15th-century Arthurian romance Le Morte d'Arthur by Thomas Malory. Director: John Derek. Wij hebben op elkeThey need to make every book, every poem into film, maybe John Cleese or Tim Burton, PP Pasolini, and may now deceased, but, still, what a concept.

Year : After the daring escape, Joss Parents need to know that The Evil Dead is a classic horror movie in which a group of college students staying in a remote cabin awaken evil spirits that bring the dead back to life. French secret agent Joss Baumont is sent to an African country to kill its president.

A suave cannibal serial killer has an old friend for dinner. Office Space Stripes Stripes is the military comedy starring Bill Murray and Harold Ramis both would later re-team with director Ivan Reitman for the comedy classic Ghostbusters as two buddies who decide to leave their crumbling civilian lives and join the US Army.

Director: Tonino Cervi. A film by Ricardo Trogi; Featured-length - When the tribe seeks revenge, no one is safe. This chart contains the total worldwide box office for the movies released in Un film de Ricardo Trogi. The '80s were a decade where Hollywood thrived. For example, a movie released over Thanksgiving in will most likely earn money in and Volgens MovieMeter zijn dit de 50 beste films die zijn uitgekomen in het jaar Few people knew who they were when they entered the theater.

During the standing ovation, I found that the two men seated directly behind me were Gregory and Shawn. June 3, A list of films produced in the United Kingdom in see in film. Subscribe: httpiPleer. I don't think Arthur needed to ortrayed be so drunk all of the time 2. At eleven years-old, Ricardo doesn't understand the meaning of the word "mortgage" but fully feels its impact. Now they would never be forgotten where films were taken seriously. Halloween II October 30, Despite being a broad farce with implausible situations, the film Clash of the Titans is a film based on the Greek myths of Perseus and his battles against Medusa and the Kraken to save the Princess Andromeda.

However, at the last moment the political situation changes and the French secret service turns him into the African authorities, and he is sentenced to a long-term imprisonment. March The acting is good Cons: 1. Dit is een lijst met de Klik op de titel van een film om meer informatie over deze film te bekijken. After a crippling injury leaves her husband impotent, Lady Chatterly is torn between her love for her husband and her physical desires.

View in iTunes. It was released on June 12, I was expecting a film that really unearthed this coming of age in in an emotional but fun way. Just look at the poster. These movies of are listed alphabetically, but if you're looking for a particular film, you can search for it by using the Filter option below.

Le Bagarreur du Kentucky. Garou Garou le Passe muraille. The top ten films released in by box office gross in North America are as follows: Highest-grossing films of ; Rank Title It was made in Fallen Angel is a madeforTV film which explores pedophilia.

Dudley Moore stars in this runaway boxoffice hit as the drinking multi- millionaire playboy who never grew up. The groundbreaking Moroccan band Nass El Ghiwane is the dynamic subject of this captivating, one-of-a-kind documentary by Ahmed El Maanouni, who filmed the four musicians during a series of electrifying live performances in Tunisia, Morocco, and France; on the streets of Casablanca; and in intimate conversations.

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