poetry

Growl in hunger lines where music pierces softly
and where Icarian troubadours are their own sirens
Drowning themselves in romantic ends strangely
that stab and stare in the dark, in a dark age
that somehow know where its soul must land
The insanity of imagining it all! & all day the cells
Bristle, mortality shrugs and whistles, emptying
this life of real joy, till a push comes upon me
and I feel the body in revolt or surrender fall in torpor
reaching some soft sky of lost interludes born again
through me, today’s imprimatur.

And after tomorrow life leaping –
songs never to be played again yet echo,
and promise more of this, offspring of this endless life,
yearning life through notes I’ve cried, constructing these
Auroras of Orpheus in golden lands I scale & question,
But who would eat these bitter breads, or drink from
Poisoned wells? Not I, so instead I erect these steles
& wait in hunger lines where music pierces mosaic hells,
and consecrate this private heaven’s new ground
The novel tales and new consciousness to tell.

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She was prone to moonwrath;
She was coming to goldenness;
It was an outblown image of potential –
Forever was smiling and playing with her hair.
Catullus was laughing bitterly,
And butterflies opened like hearts,
The slaves all walked to the sea, now dark,
But she…she was prone to moonwrath,
Unleashed upon tides, economies, minds,
With a necklace of conquests
Adorning her like a Yuletide wreath

“This is where I bleed through for you,”
I say, (in the unlikely rain, incessant)
Where Phoenix’ wings molt without
Sol touching & the songs all playing
And where I have no more of time, and
“Who are you?” I ask on this night of
Desert rain, of she, prone to moonwrath
And dire changes; But she leers, vanishes,
As this desert rain pours its tears down
Upon the silent cars and lives,
Tears poured back into the void of this land,
“Black teacher, lend me a hand!”
Joy will push through me,
Buzzing and weeping, wavering swiftly,
I an otherworldly being…
                          …can they even see me?

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I

She sees a road & the dog death comes;
Love at school and some have tried.
A rare breed and the atom bomb.
A blue tree and the night is long.
Or not, the divided ice-cream bed –
Summers un-forgotten; a rocket to the stars.
Plebes in the grid. Before the empires bled.
Us, and the walls, and where we go.
She sees herself in the Great Divide.
Atom bomb and a sense of pride.

Rush, summer streams, cars that smile;
Stuffed closets full; history, hate.
World’s forests and highways of death.
Sounds numbing the purple towns’ regrets.
Zephyrs of wasted time. A crumpled vow.
Perpetuity’s vibration becoming Now.
Insanity. Mortal looks, breathtaking tapestry.
Unfettered commerce, animal wails.
Love “back there”, “in here”, future swarms.
He’d die for anyone, but would not say:
“A sickle for your wrinkled eyes.”

II

Blood of the holy virgin; nape of her untouched neck;
Slaves, holidays, revolts, marketplaces.
The gentle stream of her stare; meaning bleeding out, too.
“That empire never ended”; those days I walked with you.
A golden irony orbiting my heart as the talking screen
Walks me through history; As a tapestry of passions squawks
through my radar in the hideous night; and again, on these
Spectral trails, where a jackrabbit’s heart has more true
Industry than this entire nation – I speak to the departed
and perfect my soliloquy. A ranger of deathless flights
of seeming, and this nation which I’ve too long romanced,
I fix my soul’s eyes now upon a future spent abroad,
recalling warily a time when I, under a heavy spell,
Loved her beating heart.

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How can the sun shine so, and freeze us still?
In my body there’s an unearthly chill
& I think of a woman
and wonder why gargantuan love
must dwell alone…
Why the pink-bloomed tree is never touched once
by hands alike, & then I think
each cloud,
each tree,
each soul must go on alone,
drop leaves or rain or words as its destiny;
& there are children hungry, crying, abandoned somwhere,
& there is unique beauty stifled once again,
& there is ignorance & unfettered chaos reigning supreme
In the broken deserts of faith, and in the “powerful” minds.
And there are starry storms whose planets I would someday know,
When this darkness is conquered, & there is perfect love
I go to where she smiles & touches my cheek & I kiss her hand
& she makes her love and mine one.
But garish symphony aplomb yielding, carrying me aways
across desert streams & years & robust mountains
painting masterpieces of godlust colorsent telegraphs to the
supremely aware…
Where she of the mountains and glades ate trees & colored
the skies & bathed in hidden streams rippling with cosmiclight
and fountaining the waterways; for her, love was an earthly
consummation of fiery flesh, swarming in the alive cosmos
w/ passions Titanic, swollen by supernovae, saying
Staruvpoem! Speak! Here are your jewels, for Eternity to reap!
Of their alchemized sorrow say, she of the snowy cities
(lusting for love & pleasure & warm nights)
Drinking the wines of Old Bohemia, filling her veins
with their blood–enough for a cosmopolitan brood–
where not often enough the sun-dappled brooks run
Underneath a shining arm of the galaxy,
here, where she may smile…
Astral crossings of the dynastic wise,
when will my silvery soul meet your eyes?
In love & chaos evermore do we ride, or is there a reprieve
this time? Colloquial bane of disintegrated unions, who calls
love out, here is Nature’s lone call and fearsome night! Let us grant
Ourselves the soulful revolt that gains the needed epochal quarry!
Cosmic appendage of love-ghosts making us aware,
Teach us to disbelieve and re-learn in these Dark Ages again;
& we will share such stories as to make the planets sing!
The Music of the Spheres all we hear, at last to remake love.
I’ll press this flower in a book for her
I’ll pour some tea and set a place for her
And think well of her, even though she may
Not think the same. Pink blooms on the tree,
even in winter & all this lifeshine in the chill
i wear in the blue-canopied air,
chopped by a shrill engine.
I press this dying bloom in a favorite book for her, for the aeons,
For love entire filling up time; this bloom I enfold is talisman to
rooted beings & feathered ones, & lonely lusting, haunted ones
As well! I stroke the lovestrings, where in this time, this life, this hour,
I’m more enamored of existence than ever.

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I say to no one in general nor directly, I love myself; then a thought occurred, “Am I boasting?”
So, I asked another, “Hey, Am I boasting when I proclaimed “I love myself?”
He looked at me as to sized me up and ask me, “what you think?”
I answered, “that why I asking you. Am I boasting was my immediate thought after the statement?” He look around the cafe we was in and excuse himself, then joined a table with an attracive female sitting alone with no other words then “excuse me,” while pointing at her.
I was sure at that time for certainty that that question shouldn’t be asked again. I then given a quick thought about the statement and then felt a little happiness physically swelling within me.
I then loudly said in that public place, “I love myself!”
After that it didn’t matter what others nor I would conceived of the statement. The statement was one of those nice feeling emotion, which is a life of one’s own.

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That old concern as defintive verb.
Hasnt lost any luster in any era by an occur.
Power politics within pérsonalized compromises.
An empty courage in the realistic eyes.
A signalized threat as our natural sorceries
Most religious are spurn for this nature’s inconvience.
Yet some does realized their own vanity under this mortality’s summarized.
With all gains are valueless to everyone’s priceless life with you live, you die.

Written by George Eddie Burks Of St. Micheal’s Church Post 201, Chicago, Illinois.

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Untitled (so far.) by Geo E. Burks

Was that her I was thinking of.
Why should not I think of her?
She cared for that role,
The one in her life I was.
But she couldnt had me,
And I was contented as that.
Not as my pride nor my failure.
I loved her as my preference.

She did tried though.
To make me her more,
To make more of me.
I was already all that,
All that that had need.
From known pride and failures.
Remaking our preferences.

Yet, she wanted more of me,
The more she can entrusted as me,
Which isn’t not from me,
And all that because I was not had,
By a wanton desire mistaken as a need.
For I knew my pride and my failures,
By preferences that are known as I.

I did need to be that role for her,
Her friend, her lover and her strength.
The one who cared by caring.
The one who love by sheltering.
The one she can call reliant and loyal,
But she or I can’t had this,
Nor remake any of this.
These are my pride and my failures,
All done as my preferences.

This is why I was thinking of her.
Looking at that cage’s latchless door,
I made for us as our togetherness.
To make all that as what I had her for.
Knowing pride can easily marred this,
And either of us can easily fail this.
Fail that that was not meant to be had,
yet built by our preferences for our betterment.
A betterment for both of us as one’s loves.

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(To Those Of The American Music Association Who Are Always There Thoughout My Life With What I Really Need. Please, Allow This Poise From My Pure Essential Life’s As Being Convey Why I Had Always Appreciating What You Do.)

Thank You For Letting Us Know We Aren’t Alone Feeling.

Purity By Geo. E. Burks

You, songbirds’ sweet touch wells life anew.

In my mind, you can redefine love’s steadiness, too.

Find anymore love forms in my kudo?

To do me better with that form again as true.

Tears I hid well, You shame me there, too.

As my culture’s most high, and there I praise you.

Don’t let me, let this fail, for what I do!
For the failures will always have me alone to show as dues.

This I can placed when my balance is made anew.

Our heart’s strong commonarities impressed as art by you.

Thank You, for never allowing the thesis we be as a neglect for dues.

As a world under one sun, our skys resounds by the harvest of our common felt lieus.

Always true as of our natural capacity for refining what we crude.

For these refineries we grew to be the reforms our uniqueness as infinitive new!!

Consistently since we first noticed of you songbirds’ justifying and maturing my living life moods.

With your airborne felt flights of everlasting passages thru and above my estate’s refuges.

You are very much of my earth’s evolving sustances arising reinforcing my humanly soul true.

With signals liberating the whole spirit from points within that are uninformed subdued.

To reproof us as an always and again as we love and this is why I will evermore always love you.

Thank you for the sheltering and nurturing of our distinct hearts’ life-giving cultural rooted muses

Your love and honor does enriches my country’s symbolic blues!!

With with evermore XOX(S) THANK YOU!!!

From A Fan Who Happily Dwelling In Your Snafus Named George.

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If these verses be not great,
Let them be better
Than all I have written before
And all that anyone else is writing.

Give me the strength to change
All that cannot be mine
Into my greatest inspiration,
Let me find victory in my defeat,
Words to cover up reality’s bad patches
With all the language allows to glitter.

Keep me drunk enough
To always have sentences to spout,
But sober enough to hold a pen,
Keeping inspiration in place.

If I die before I am great,
Let my death awake
The critics from dogmatic slumbers, and
The readers behind their cozy books,
Let it arrive unannounced,
To improve my standing with both,
And open the gates to the pantheon.

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As you shake your head,
He jumps across a stretcher
In a bombed out home,
Violence, Violence,
Everything is violence
Cries the teacher.

Armies come and go and wander in between
Finding cities to sack
Women to rape
Children to enslave
Blood to spill again and again
When does it end you ask?

He laughs,
Violence, Violence,
Everything is Violence!

You were brought into this world with violence,
With violence you were formed,
With violence you were expelled,
With violence you were made to breathe
With violence you were behaved,
Prevented from committing more violence.

Look at the line of people,
They march and seem
To be peaceful,
But they march to hold the reins
To whip and pull
Leading men where they want.

They spill no blood now,
But will one day,
As dreams are worth nothing
Without violence.
Violence by itself is a nightmare,
Violence with a dream is progress.

Your whole world is built on a web of violence,
With violence against mother earth you are fed,
With violence against the poor you are housed,
With violence against the brown you have land,
With violence against children you are not questioned,
It just is, but is it just?

Hah! He continues to laugh,
Winding down a staircase,
A light in his hand burning off the night,
Violence, Violence
Everything is violence!

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