The Century’s Wake
by Michael R. Burch

(lines written at the close of the 20th century and introduction of the 21st century)

Take me home. The party is over,
the century passed—no time for a lover.
And my heart grew heavy
as the fireworks hissed through the dark
over Central Park,
past high-towering spires to some backwoods levee,

hurtling banner-hung docks to the torchlit seas.
And my heart grew heavy;
I felt its disease—
its apathy,
wanting the bright, rhapsodic display
to last more than a single day.

If decay was its rite,
now it has learned to long
for something with more intensity,
more gaudy passion, more song—
like the huddled gay masses,
the wildly-cheering throng.

You ask me—
“How can this be?”
A little more flair,
or perhaps only a little more clarity.
I leave her tonight to the century’s wake;
she disappoints me.

Originally published by The Centrifugal Eye. Keywords/Tags: new, century, wake, new year, party, Central Park, fireworks, song, display

She saw me with the twinkle in her eye
A smirk a wry grin mistaken for a cry
The smooth sound of voice with voice
Satiny smooth skin a perk of the ear, her choice
Her sensory saucy chagrin the uplift of silky tragedies
The embulient sound of, come hither, wise words that look to expound from deep forgotten cavities
Alas.
How one tries to read a phone!

if love could lie
between a thigh
between a dream
a rampant scream


i've heard your call
for moons and months


the darkness outweighs the light
the mouse, it cries the brightest night
the dreary have the beeline flight
and thus succumb: morning light

Fighting on the front lines
With red pens
For creativity,
For independent thought,
For common sense
Not Common Core

This is a battle in a bureaucratic war we’re losing
Keep pushing and shoving against an impenetrable wall
But we’re only foot soldiers, not actually giving orders

Kids look down on us and they ask,
“Will this be on the test?”
And say,
“Get out of my face.”

Here’s what I wonder: Why is “mistake” a forbidden word?

Taught by parent(s) to resist.
These are Kids who fail to create
But recite, recall, and retaliate

School is no longer a safe haven
Testing, testing, 1-2-3 hundred murdered students, teachers
Safety off and then off
And
Still off

Hanging by a thread and losing the grip a little more every day

Following the curriculum map to X marks the standardized test.

We dig and
                  Dig and
                                 Dig
For the buried treasure trove of teaching magic. The legitimacy and respect our careers deserve. The money, the time, the love, the support.

But it’s buried under so much testing and red tape, and so    

We fail.

Earthquake, more than five.
It takes luck to get away.
Need the happiest occasion of a moment.
Need a muffled joy cry.

Need an alarm clock, included on six.
Need in pajamas in advance get.
Need inglish make khoumvork.
You need to experience wild delight

From the metal sound of the door,
From electrical shocks inside,
From the purple faces of the fire,
From the strange noise in the morning,

From the grinding of black plates,
From getting wet torn shoes,
From cursing indistinct in the hallway
And geranium, like a rose.

We’re stuck in a web
Inter-connected
Hyper-connected
But sometimes some get lost
They become a diaspora
Of goners.
Once here
And now
Disappear

no i'm not crazy i'm different
I am enchanted enchanted wanderer
I am a traveler from one
the stars on the other I'm not crazy
no I know for sure

and don't say and don't sing here
sing kneeling down in the bushes
for me to leave for me to come in
I opened my door to outsiders
long live science twenty first century

no i don't use horses like cars
no i don't fly in the ocean i don't fly
no I live like in the sixteenth century as
in my own home I left
which house I had to warmly leave

29.12.18