Epigrams Iv
EPIGRAMS IV
Improve yourself by others' writings, attaining freely what they purchased at the expense of experience.
—Socrates, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I didn’t mean to love you,
but I did.
Best leave the rest unsaid,
hid-
den
and unbidden.
—Michael R. Burch
What is life?
The flash of a firefly.
The breath of the winter buffalo.
The shadow scooting across the grass that vanishes with sunset.
—Blackfoot saying, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You imagine life is good,
but have you actually understood?
—Michael R. Burch
Living with a body ain’t much fun.
Harder, still, to live without one.
Whatever happened to our day in the sun?
—Michael R. Burch
How little remains of our joys and our pains.
How little remains of our losses and gains.
How little remains of whatever remains.
—Michael R. Burch
Sometimes I feel better, it’s true,
but mostly I’m still not over you.
—Michael R. Burch
Don’t let the past defeat you.
Learn from it, but don’t dwell.
Have no regrets at “farewell.”
—Michael R. Burch
Haughty moon,
when did I ever trouble you,
insomnia’s co-conspirator!
—Michael R. Burch
Every day’s a new chance to lose weight,
but most likely,
I’ll
... procrastinate ...
—Michael R. Burch
Big Ben Boner
by Michael R. Burch
Early to bed, hurriedly to rise
makes a man stealthy,
and that’s why he’s wealthy:
what the hell is he doing behind your closed eyes?
Friend, how you’ll squirm
when you belatedly learn
that you’re the worm!
Pecking Disorder
by Michael R. Burch
Love has a pecking order,
or maybe a dis-order,
a hell we recognize
if we merely open our eyes:
the attractive win at birth,
while those of ample girth
are deemed of little worth
from Nottingham to Perth.
Tease
by Michael R. Burch
It’s what you always say, okay?
It’s what you always say:
C’mon let’s play,
roll in the hay,
It’s what you always say. Ole!
But little do you do, it’s true.
But little do you do.
A little diddle, run to piddle...
we never really screw!
That’s you!
Observance (II)
by Michael R. Burch
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
majestic to the eye.
Whoever felt as I,
whoever
felt them doomed to die
despite their flamboyant colors?
They seem like knights of dismal countenance...
as if, windmills themselves,
they might tilt with the bloody sky.
And yet their favors gaily fly!
KEYWORDS/TAGS: epigram, epigrams, love, life, living, fun, sun, joy, pain, past, sad, sadness, Blackfoot, Native American, winter buffalo
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