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Austin Reed Mar 2020
It’s an early March morning
There’s an overcast sky
Winds whipping through the pines

A man stands hillside
Alone & afraid
Accompanied by clattering chains
Theres a distant wagon in the valley
Each gallop growing closer
He begins to weep

He prays for a miracle
Maybe the wagon will crash
Just anything he begs

A crowd can be heard near
desperately he thrashes around
Kicking the cage  
Over & over
Surveying for help
All can be seen are the roaring pines

He grips the cage tightly
As it creaks open
Two men drag him out
Pulling him through the streets,
Brought down to his knees
He pleas, screams, mercy please

Everythings exhausted
He feels numb & defeated
As the Warden marches forward

Reaching for his big axe
The Warden overlooks the man
Raising his blade
The air becomes still
A small thud echoes through the town,
The wardens lip quivering to sight beneath his feet
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Elegy for a little girl, lost
by Michael R. Burch

. . . qui laetificat juventutem meam . . .
She was the joy of my youth,
and now she is gone.
. . . requiescat in pace . . .
May she rest in peace.
. . . amen . . .
Amen.

NOTE: I was touched by this Latin prayer, which I discovered in a novel I read as a teenager. I later decided to incorporate it into a poem. From what I now understand, “ad deum qui laetificat juventutem meam” means “to the God who gives joy to my youth,” but I am sticking with my original interpretation: a lament for a little girl at her funeral. The phrase can be traced back to Saint Jerome's translation of Psalm 42 in the Latin Vulgate Bible (circa 385 AD). Keywords/Tags: Latin, translation, Saint, Jerome, Vulgate, Bible, prayer, elegy, eulogy, hymn, joy, youth, death, peace, rest, consolation
Austin Reed Feb 2020
On his porch the fickle man rest
Wrinkled and worn
Like a blue collar wallet

He watches the day pass
Vicariously through the youth of the block
Often pondering his dog days

He reads his morning paper
To the sound of neighboring dogs howls
Growing annoyed, he howls back
Owwwww!

Wise to the humid day
He finishes his chores early, pulling out a rag
Wiping the sweat from his forehead
He sits back down to a long awaited Budweiser

Watching the neighbors come home
He smiles, back to the kiss of his late wife
What freedom she gave after a long day

After supper he settles down for dusk
Reaching for his radio
Tuning into the ball game
Pirates up two, bottom of the fifth

On his porch the man rest
Wrinkled and worn
Watching the sunset
Cherishing his every breath
Austin Reed Mar 2020
A fragment of a man once was
A distant man at the crossroads
Desperate and no where to go
Ready to face the debt he owes.
Michael R Burch Feb 2020
I lived as best I could, and then I died.
Be careful where you step: the grave is wide.

Originally published by Romantics Quarterly
"Epitaph for a Palestinian Child" has become one of my most popular poems on the Internet; the last time I checked with Google it appeared on over 400 web pages.
Danny Jan 2020
More than a dark comedy it's pure tragedy
Enigma enshrouded in a mist of painful puzzle
Mural paintings now inconspicuous in the murk
Off-white faces staring into space, a thousand miles away
Rewinding to relive each moment like a tape in a cassette player
Inaudible shrieks of laughter and indistinct voices
Existent only in the crevasses of our hearts, now flooded
Silent as light a drop flows outward and down the cheek
Wrote this for a close friend.
She passed away yesterday.
Unripe yet fell from the tree.
Trees not in blossom now withered.
Elixirs don't exist now an elegy has to.
I'll just keep holding on to the memories
v Dec 2019
You were charming, dazzling and enticing.
Exquisitely pretty but expiring.

Leaving me breathlessly pained by crying
O’er your dainty body, cold and spoiling.

Red rosy lips now painted colorless,
Was once tricky and luring to finesse.

Splayed down your deathbed, have you ascended?
Or your faith lacked ‘tis why you descended?

Say, are you up there or ‘neath the under?
Up the clouds or just a lofty lower?

You never asked me on what to agree,
You just did as you know I’d disagree.

How come you’re a mess but still so lovely?
How can you leave me so rushed and boldly?

How will I be mad if I love madly?
And how to move on if I love solely?

‘Tis so selfish to leave me by my own,
Not letting the desire I have, be known.

For now, let me selfishly imagine,
That you’re not just in your lovely coffin,

But is beside me, just invincibly.
Dotingly in love with my rough body.

Yet, it saddens me, my love. That leaving
me by my self without you and knowing

Now that pushing up daises for the bee
Is what you’re meant to be and not with me.
this is for my bestfriend ... I miss you
Michael Joseph Dec 2019
They were all looking at the bubbles then it popped.

“Argh! My eyes! Ma!”

“I told you, you’re not supposed to stare at the bubbles when it floats right on your eyes”
“But it’s beautiful and I see the mini-rainbows while it wobbles in the sky.”
The mother and the child went staring at the bubbles floating as they fly above the orange skies.
He blew another, carefully - eyes shining with excitement.
“Look, Mom! This one is bigger! I blew it slower than the other, this one will not pop.”

The cold wind blew with the ruffling of the grass as if clapping.
The bubble wobbled and wobbled on the orange sky
Passed by the resting sun, magnifying its beauty, it glittered.
The boy’s eyes shimmered in excitement.

Pop!

“Not again!” the boy sighed in exasperation.”
He asked, “Where do bubbles go when they pop?”
She looked at him intently.
She smiled, “they become the clouds, like tiny bubbles watching over us.”
“Why would they watch over us?”

“For in time, they will know that the sun will burn our skin, then they will come as rain.”

“Well, let me make more bubbles, so we can play with You in the rain.”


Don’t Forget the Bubbles
Praying for the intercession of St. Philomena and St. Elizabeth Seton, patron saint of infants and parents who have lost their child.
For the young soul of  Von Abraham Tapit, may you rest in peace.
For Mercy Aguilar Tapit Lito Tapit Divine Grace Aguilar Tapit Eunice Tapit Mary Evangeline Tapit Eman Tapit Riza C. Tapit
Jenish Nov 2019
It was a weekend and I was in a mood
To reach my home as early as I can
I urged the wheels to start a friendly race
With the competing cars rushing around.

The sky getting dark, is it unusual?
I switched on the lights to make the way clear
Sun already hiding, behind the trees
Unable to bear the horrendous scene.

The leaves were silent and the mighty wind
The waves of ocean also stupefied
The nature remained as stunned and low
Heavy and gloomy, sadness in the air.

The beams of light while tearing the darkness
Suddenly found out two eyes so bright
From a small head that holding so high
From a small body already half-dead.

Her eyes were staring straight to my eyes
Calm and serene in their last minute
Piercing my heart with their emotions
Pity and sorrow and dismay and grief.

I turn the wheel to avoid the hitting
Risking my life and car to another track
But behind me, the vehicle of death
The one which she was longing so long.

Oh! Dear soul, I couldn’t forget
The bright little eyes that searched for pity
Like a brave soldier of a defeated army
Holding your head as high as you can.

I imagined the short life that you spent
In this splendid world of cruelty,
As a cute kitten dancing around
And following the little butterflies.

Full of fur, your body was so white
And a long tail, waging in anger
You chased down the tricky doves in vain
And the little sparrows that fly around.

Vibrant and vigil, your life was so full
Until your clock stopped ticking
I couldn’t sleep, the eyes are haunting
Close your eyes dear one, I’m lamenting.
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