Early Poems XIII

These are early poems of mine, written starting as a boy around age eleven, then as a teenager in high school and my first two years of college, plus a few that were written a bit later in my early twenties. 

Am I
by Michael R. Burch

Am I inconsequential;
do I matter not at all?
Am I just a snowflake,
to sparkle, then to fall?

Am I only chaff?
Of what use am I?
Am I just a feeble flame,
to flicker, then to die?

Early Poems X

These are early poems of mine written beginning as a boy around age eleven, through my teens in high school and as a college freshman and sophomore, plus a few that were written in my early twenties. 

Myth
by Michael R. Burch

after the sprung rhythm of Dylan Thomas

Here the recalcitrant wind
sighs with grievance and remorse
over fields of wayward gorse
and thistle-throttled lanes.

Early Poems IV

These are early poems of mine, written as a boy starting around age eleven into my teens as a high school student and my first two years of collete. A few may have been written a bit later; I'm not always sure of composition dates due to inconsistent record keeping in my youth. 

Elegy for a little girl, lost
by Michael R. Burch

for my mother, Christine Ena Burch, who was always a little giggly girl at heart

Early Poems III

These are early poems I wrote as a boy starting around age eleven, then as a teenager in high school and my first two years of college. Some poems may be a bit later because I didn't consistenly date my poems in the early days and even when I did, if I revised a poem the original date of composition was usually lost. Thus the best I can do now is guess at a range of dates for some of my early poems. 

Hymn to Apollo
by Michael R. Burch

something of sunshine attracted my i
as it lazed on the afternoon sky,
golden,
splashed on the easel of god . . .

Early Poems I

These are my early poems, which I began writing around age eleven to thirteen, although I didn't make a conscious decision to become a poet until around age fourteen. 

Shadows
by Michael R. Burch

Alone again as evening falls,
I join gaunt shadows and we crawl
up and down my room's dark walls.

Up and down and up and down,
against starlight—strange, mirthless clowns—
we merge, emerge, submerge . . . then drown.

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