Drink, drink enough water
To flush or to cleanse the liver
Drink, drink, and drink
Something pink
Sometimes to unwind
The convoluted mind.
Drink from the full water pitcher
To make the voice clearer or fresher
Powerful words must be hypostatized
They ought not to be internalized
The truth shall continue to set us free
Respect, dignity, pride, death or liberty.
Rounds
by Michael R. Burch
Solitude surrounds me
though nearby laughter sounds;
around me mingle men who think
to drink their demons down,
in rounds.
Now agony still hounds me
though elsewhere mirth abounds;
hidebound I stand and try to think,
not sink still further down,
spellbound.
Their ecstasy astounds me,
though drunkenness compounds
resounding laughter into joy;
alloy such glee with beer and see
bliss found.
***
This is a poem inspired by an Irish cousin of mine who was a bit of a "wild child" in her youth.
Erin
by Michael R. Burch
All that’s left of Ireland is her hair—
bright carrot—and her milkmaid-pallid skin,
her brilliant air of cavalier despair,
her train of children—some conceived in sin,
the others to avoid it. For nowhere
is evidence of thought. Devout, pale, thin,
gay, nonchalant, all radiance. So fair!
