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  • By Burl Horniacheck

A Song & Poetry


Poetry


Poems are my dearest friends.

Naught else on earth so well can mend

The lonely mind, dark failure’s smart,

Religion’s doubt, love’s troubled heart.

Pain made joy is song’s element.

Fine words ferment

The grapes of sorrow into the wine of art.


A Song


Never wed to Bob or Bert,

A maid too soon will wed the dirt.

Hey nah hey, whether king or slave,

Birth’s our betrothal to the grave.


Marry long your Bette or Beth;

You’ll marry longer still to death.

Hey nah hey, whether king or slave,

Birth’s our betrothal to the grave.


Keep a girl in every town;

You’ll be faithful enough beneath the ground.

Hey nah hey, whether king or slave,

Birth’s our betrothal to the grave.


Chaste as ice or passion’s slave

All boys and girls must find the grave.

Hey nah hey, whether king or slave,

Birth’s our betrothal to the grave.


Grass


I am the grass that protests the blade,

But the field it must be mown.

Tall or tan or man or maid,

For the sickle were we sown.


Credit: Open Art


Burl Horniachek is a Canadian poet and translator. He grew up in Saskatchewan and Alberta and studied Ancient Near Eastern Studies at the University of Toronto. He also studied creative writing at the University of Alberta with Derek Walcott and currently lives near Winnipeg, Manitoba. His work has appeared in Poetry East, Poetry International, Literary Imagination, TransLit, The Dark Mountain Project, and others.

2 comments

2件のコメント


ajsedia
1月27日

"Song" and "Grass" really pull no punches; they bring us face-to-face with our mortality, which more poetry needs to do. Today we sweep death under the rug as something unpleasant -- like sex used to be regarded. But we need reminders like these to give us perspective. "Song" is aptly named; it is thoroughly musical. Did you write it originally as lyrics?


I also enjoyed "Poetry" as a sort of poetic Credo, which your other two works here bear out.

いいね!

Bob Zisk
Bob Zisk
2023年12月22日

I enjoyed these poems for both their grace and their wit. I especjally liked the final quatrain, "Grass." I thought it a well wrought capstone to the group. As I read and reread it I seemed to hear the pitter patter of feet joined in a not too gruesome yet delightfully resigned "danse macabre." I hope my brief appreciation will not be so far from the mark as to merit a quill in the eardrum.

いいね!
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