Archive | poetry

Being Found

Being Found by Doug Bursch Let me be alone first… unencumbered by the demands of the crowd, or the systems, or the groups, or the other than expectations. Let me be alone, left alone… detached from the strings and pulleys, pried loose from the rebar, the mooring, the foundations and expectations of others. Let me […]

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This Translates Well

This Translates Well by Doug Bursch Sarcasm does not translate well. You can say that again. Sarcasm does not translate well… What do you mean by sarcasm? A mean the stuff I say that you don’t understand. Well why say something that causes confusion? Because it’s an achievable goal. Satire is difficult to understand. You […]

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The Problem with Free Days

The Problem with Free Days by Doug Bursch Take the day to dream and be free! However, bring back something when you’re done… So everyone can rejoice in your freedom. Loose yourself from the deadlines and expectations of the daily grind. But if you don’t mind, come back with a word or two About the […]

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Sleeping with Sadness

I woke up sad this morning. Went to bed last night with it resting on my chest like a selfish cat. I left it there thinking it would wander away. Instead it stayed and found its way between my sternum and heart. Now it’s just resting in my chest, purr-less and indifferent. Weighing on my […]

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The Evil God Allows

The Evil God Allows by Doug Bursch Abel’s offering was acceptable to God, it pleased God. Cain’s offering was not acceptable, it did not please God. Abel gave God his best, Cain gave something less. God told Cain to do that which is acceptable, “Do good, for evil is crouching in the corner, ready to […]

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Crumbling by Doug Bursch I am comforted by the crumbling. That this new development, with new marriages and new Starbucks, It will crumble…gradually to me, quickly to God, it will cease to be new. I am comforted by the fading. That this new thing will eventually become old, old and tired, old and spent. It […]

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Always for Mother

Always for Mother by Doug Bursch She would direct the blade through each apple slice, Towards her calloused thumb. I admired her peace with the blade. My earliest memory of Mom is contrast; Me sitting on the counter, ready to sift the flour, gazing at apple, blade, and calloused thumb. When I was young, I […]

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