Song Poems

I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling fingertips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
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I shall not sing a May song.
A May song should be gay.
I'll wait until November
And sing a song of gray.
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I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.
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I heard the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.
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And a poet said, 'Speak to us of Beauty.'

Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be your way and your guide?
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I MADE my song a coat
Covered with embroideries
Out of old mythologies
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Lightly, O lightly we bear her along,
She sways like a flower in the wind of our song;
She skims like a bird on the foam of a stream,
She floats like a laugh from the lips of a dream.
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Making the best of what we had
Was our first deal. Pity it was not
Enough. Just a
Pre-destined route.
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I

My fairest child, I have no song to give you;
No lark could pipe to skies so dull and grey:
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ATTEND my lays, ye ever honour'd nine,
Assist my labours, and my strains refine;
In smoothest numbers pour the notes along,
For bright Aurora now demands my song.
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This is the one song everyone
would like to learn: the song
that is irresistible:
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I hid my heart in a nest of roses,
Out of the sun's way, hidden apart;
In a softer bed than the soft white snow's is,
Under the roses I hid my heart.
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Birdsong brings relief
to my longing
I'm just as ecstatic as they are,
but with nothing to say!
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I take my dreams and make of them a bronze vase
and a round fountain with a beautiful statue in its center.
And a song with a broken heart and I ask you:
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Well my friends are gone and my hair is grey
I ache in the places where I used to play
And I'm crazy for love but I'm not coming on
I'm just paying my rent every day
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He would declare and could himself believe
That the birds there in all the garden round
From having heard the daylong voice of Eve
Had added to their own an oversound,
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A song of Enchantment I sang me there,
In a green-green wood, by waters fair,
Just as the words came up to me
I sang it under the wild wood tree.
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Before man to blow to right
The wind once blew itself untaught,
And did its loudest day and night
In any rough place where it caught.
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The mother will not turn, who thinks she hears
Her nursling's speech first grow articulate;
But breathless with averted eyes elate
She sits, with open lips and open ears,
...

Then an old man, a keeper of an inn, said, "Speak to us of Eating and Drinking."

And he said:
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Britain thought that they were tough-
told us what to speak,
pay your taxes and shut up-
just how it shall be.
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Eid Song
April 21, 2023

Eid eid eid song
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These are my modern English translations of ancient Egyptian poems, love lyrics and Harper's songs.

An Ancient Egyptian Love Lyric (circa 1085-570 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
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In the shower room this morning I found a song my heart
Humming care free the melody of a song from my childhood
This far I've come the melody wasn't lost but instead became refined
In my song every fear and worry of life was soaked in and disappeared
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Love is a melodious song, that the lovers hear;
It is too beautiful to be expressed in words;
No one can sing the song of love in vocal voice;
The words convey not the full feelings of true love;
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slipping through the rhythm into the rhymes, diving into the spaces between space and time, to combine the depth and meaning and with the heart align, into the sound that the beating heart makes there of, within every line, to scry the meaning of which the depth of word is contrived, to intricately compose understanding through the verses alive, that the wordless depth of meaning become unfolding into grace, a definition of reallity that encapsulates my faith, that it may be emblazoned by the integrity, that fills my heart and through my noble aspirations and my humble art, be given form to throught, that i ought not be forgot, in the words in which i do dearly speak, that if it is constrived what is realized behind the poem, the energy of presence, written within the tome, of the ever burning passion present, of the blazing higher presence, through which these words are duely spoken, in an epiphany of the minds eye, through which i try to concieve, the relations between my soul and thee and find within my heart the reality that is ever present within the undercurrents of the now and that in the whispering of my soul to the words in the poem, because the music of my soul, is deep and old, the uttered breath of my whisper sets ablaze the words and their meanings with fire upon the page, that in thee that flame may burn, and inside thee some note may yearn, and in your heart earn a page, from thee to be writ with the fires in thine soul. that if the power in thine heart alines with the power in mine, we two the poets, in our hearts combine, and align, with the music inside our souls. that our music combines together within our notes, and our muses sing a tethered song, together, with each our hearts beating to the music of their song, and our music dances with the flames of our love, and our muses sing from high above, the heavens into that which is wraught, that our combine song may not be forgot, yet saught after and caught, by the listening children with wings of white and hearts of gold. that their own music might burst forth and sing, and a cadence we all may bring, to the heavens with heads bowed and hallows bright, a song, a melody, unto heavens might, that we all might in chorus sing, and to the hearts of all new life bring, that forever that song may be song, and the will of the heavens be done. and all would be still before the echoes of our hearts unfettered grace
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Hearken the song of reed
Forget your agonies
Stay still, be happy
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My heart sings a song
It has no rhythm nor tune
Ohh..yeah...no rhythm no tune
My heart sings the song it has words
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A Singer of Rama! (Rama Poetry)


O Singer of Rama! is actually a part of Rama poetry which I have been writing off and on or intermittently from time to time and the topic interests me too as herein lies it the pathos, pity and pain of life expressed differently. What is this life, what is world if made of pain? What one expects and what one gets? What is it in whose lot and destiny? The rest is for you to feel and critique if say I everything, what will you critique it?
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Rama Series (Written in continuation of, in commemoration) / O, Singer of Rama, Strange Singer! People Will Go Away, But Your Song Will Remain It Here/ Song of Rama/ Strange Singer of Rama

Foreword
I do not write the poems keeping in view the epical formats, but the poems get tagged to naturally to take the canvas and length of epical poems and so the case is with my Rama poems which I have been intermittently to discharge my emotions and feelings just as a compensation for from time to time to recuperate and to recover from tragedy and trauma felt in the aftermath of the loss of lives. How to console the broken self? Where to gather moral strength? How to repair the damage? The haunted houses dilapidated and lying as mouldering heaps of debris and rubble with the input phantom listeners listening and whispering, where to go leaving them? Death is a great leveller and time is the best healer, how to ignore them? My end, I know it well, there is none to be by my side. I do not want to waste my precious time just after engaging with words and if there is something to read and say to, say you definitely passing them on and if not, keep them aside branding it rubbish. And with this, thanks, let me take leave of you!
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