you were the one who
smiled at me from across the room
just to keep our secret.

you were the one who drove
and drove and drove endlessly just
to show me your favorite song.

you were the one who held my hand
under the blanket we shared
in a room full of people.

you were the one who got excited
when you thought that just maybe
i was excited too.

you were the one who held me as we woke
and would do things that
showed me you felt like yourself.

you were the one who showed a small bit
of who you really are
and left me scrambling for more—

and now you are the one who never calls,
the one who never looks,
and the one who never happened at all.

who are you to me?

After days at stretch
of his stoic distress,
of an endless time,
of their golden lapse,
that the dawn of an echo
of past souvenir
made way for a picture
of clarity and of fear.
Never, not once, it seemed
he was a part indeed
of the world that
had left him in dire need
of a path to walk
or a need to fulfill
the vision of visionaries
the oath of infidels.
A broken ship ever
aground in an empty bottle
protected by none
and threatened by the slightest tremble,
did he realize the folly
in his mind’s decree,
the doldrum is the curse
while the wind lets you free.

The cello strains;
It sobs with me.
Laments a love
That cannot be.

The minor keys
that cannot sing
Play mournful notes
On broken string

Until the end of this discord
A melody worth waiting on.
Such harmony is thus restored
For I shall see my love anon.

with featherlike movements
he undresses me
not with his trembling fingers but
more with the whispered words lingering on my skin

"I'm afraid of loving you."

the way his gaze travels across my body
reminds me of what Helène told me
people loving each other with eyes closed
and lips ready to explore elegantly

i said that i am always a little sad
maybe he was too.

© fey (30/08/20)

we fight until there is no in between
until homes are reduced
to wastelands
until we feel incomplete without
a gun in our hand
and still the children go hungry
still the mothers are weary
still the fathers die early

Esther Krenzin

looking d
                 o
                   w
                      n on this earth,
the moon sheds iridescent liquid pearl gems,  
Lamenting FOR EARTH,
                             a earth that's pregnant
                                            with
                               sorrowful burdens,
how must I not feel despair,
feeling the moon's magnificent repercussions of sudden eruption,
feeling of sheer dread,
tearfully pleading for it to end,


In shock, for a moment,
muted are my words,
my tongue asleep,
Fingers crave, mind agonized...
martyred for words.

My pen bleeds ink,
innovating a remdesivir,
to cure the world,
if only there were a cure for
ONE
   &
ALL!

To cure the world of the pandemic burdens of HATE, INJUSTICE and VIOLENCE,
but until then,
we must not dabble in silence!
~SacredInkedBlood

Lament for the Makaris ("Lament for the Makers/Poets")
by William Dunbar [c. 1460-1530]
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

i who enjoyed good health and gladness
am overwhelmed now by life’s terrible sickness
and enfeebled with infirmity ...
how the fear of Death dismays me!

our presence here is mere vainglory;
the false world is but transitory;
the flesh is frail; the Fiend runs free ...
how the fear of Death dismays me!

the state of man is changeable:
now sound, now sick, now blithe, now dull,
now manic, now devoid of glee ...
how the fear of Death dismays me!

no state on earth stands here securely;
as the wild wind shakes the willow tree,
so wavers this world’s vanity ...
how the fear of Death dismays me!

Death leads the knights into the field
(unarmored under helm and shield)
sole Victor of each red mêlée ...
how the fear of Death dismays me!

that strange, despotic Beast
tears from its mother’s breast
the babe, full of benignity ...
how the fear of Death dismays me!

He takes the champion of the hour,
the captain of the highest tower,
the beautiful damsel in full flower ...
how the fear of Death dismays me!

He spares no lord for his elegance,
nor clerk for his intelligence;
His dreadful stroke no man can flee ...
how the fear of Death dismays me!

artist, magician, scientist,
orator, debater, theologist,
must all conclude, so too, as we:
“how the fear of Death dismays me!”

in medicine the most astute
sawbones and surgeons all fall mute;
they cannot save themselves, or flee ...
how the fear of Death dismays me!

i see the Makers among the unsaved;
the greatest of Poets all go to the grave;
He does not spare them their faculty ...
how the fear of Death dismays me!

i have seen the Monster pitilessly devour
our noble Chaucer, poetry’s flower,
and Lydgate and Gower (great Trinity!) ...
how the fear of Death dismays me!

since He has taken my brothers all,
i know He will not let me live past the fall;
His next victim will be—poor unfortunate me!—
how the fear of Death dismays me!

there is no remedy for Death;
we all must prepare to relinquish breath
so that after we die, we may be set free
from “the fear of Death dismays me!”

This is my modern English translation of "Lament for the Makaris," an elegy by the great early Scottish poet William Dunbar [c. 1460-1530]. Dunbar was a court poet in the household of King James IV of Scotland. The Makaris were "makers," or poets. The original poem is a form of danse macabre, or "dance of death," in which people of all social classes are summoned by Death. The poem has a refrain: every fourth line is the Latin phrase "timor mortis conturbat me" ("the fear of death dismays me" or "disturbs/confounds me"). The poem was probably composed around 1508 A.D., when Dunbar was advancing in age and perhaps facing the prospect of death himself (it is not clear exactly when he died). In his famous poem Dunbar mentions other poets who passed away, including Geoffrey Chaucer, John Lydgate, and John Gower. Dunbar is generally considered to have been the greatest Scottish poet before Robert Burns, and he is noted for his comedies, satires, and sometimes ribald language. Keywords/Tags: Dunbar, translation, Scottish, dialect, Scotland, lament, makaris,  makers, poets, mrbtr, danse, macabre, refrain, Latin, timor, mortis, conturbat, dirge, lamentation, eulogy, epitaph, death, dismay, sorrow, fear, terror, writing, death, evil, sympathy, sorrow



Sunset
by Michael R. Burch

This poem is dedicated to my grandfather, George Edwin Hurt

Between the prophecies of morning
and twilight’s revelations of wonder,
the sky is ripped asunder.

The moon lurks in the clouds,
waiting, as if to plunder
the dusk of its lilac iridescence,

and in the bright-tentacled sunset
we imagine a presence
full of the fury of lost innocence.

What we find within strange whorls of drifting flame,
brief patterns mauling winds deform and maim,
we recognize at once, but cannot name.