Biography of Michael Burch
Michael R. Burch has been published more than 1,500 times in major newspapers, magazines and literary journals which include TIME, Writer's Digest, USA Today, The Washington Post, The Lyric, Light Quarterly and many others. He also edits www.thehypertexts.com (a literary website that is currently on track to garner around 1.2 million page views per year) .
Michael Burch's Works:
Violets for Beth, Auschwitz Rose (forthcoming)
Michael Burch Poems
There is a Rose at Auschwitz, in the briar, a rose like Sharon's, lovely as her name. The world forgot her, and is not the same. I love her and would not forget desire,
Ali's Song (For Muhammad Ali)
They say that gold don't tarnish. It ain't so. They say it has a wild, unearthly glow. A man can be more beautiful, more wild. I flung their medal to the river, child.
Something, For The Children Of Sandy Hoo...
Something inescapable is lost— lost like a pale vapor curling up into shafts of moonlight, vanishing in a gust of wind toward an expanse of stars immeasurable and void.
A black ringlet curls to lie at the nape of her neck, glistening with sweat
Epitaph For A Palestinian Child
Child Of 9-11
Child of 9-11, beloved, I bring this lily, lay it down here at your feet, and eiderdown, and all soft things, for your gentle spirit.
Sandy Hook Hallways Haiku
Death stood at the end of the hall in the long shadows
For A Sandy Hook Child, With Butterflies
Where does the butterfly go when lightning rails, when thunder howls, when hailstones scream, when winter scowls and nights compound dark frosts with snow?
Sandy Hook Shooting Gallery
Sandy Hook Call To Love
Our hearts are broken today for our children's small bodies lie broken; let us gather them up, as we may, that the truth of our Love may be spoken;
There never was a fonder smile than mother's smile, no softer touch than mother's touch. So sleep awhile and know she loves you more than "much."
Through our long years of dreaming to be one we grew toward an enigmatic light that gently warmed our tendrils. Was it sun? We had no eyes to tell; we loved despite
Sandy Hook: Frail Envelope Of Flesh
Frail envelope of flesh, lying cold on the surgeon's table with anguished eyes like your mother's eyes
Sandy Hook: Piercing The Shell
Through our long years of dreaming to be one
we grew toward an enigmatic light
that gently warmed our tendrils. Was it sun?
We had no eyes to tell; we loved despite
the lack of all sensation—all but one:
we felt the night's deep chill, the air so bright
at dawn we quivered limply, overcome.
To touch was all we knew, and how to bask.