Blank Verse

. Lullaby of New Mexico Duerme mijo---sleep my weary child As we drive south upon the interstate. My side-eye checks on you, my tired you. My calloused hand caresses your wheat hair. The radio sings dreams, strumming guitars, The soulful voices of the mariachis Who sing about the feathers of...

. The Photograph The snowflakes tumble down like frozen tears, Which fall from every eye this winter day; They heard the call and answered without fear, Their country to defend without delay. A couple stands away from all the rest: Her head is bent, her shoulders hunched in grief, His...

. The Automated Phone System I called up a business But no person answered, I got a phone system With multiple options Some rather confusing; I kept getting transferred, Spent most time just holding; Then after ten minutes I got disconnected. . . He Thought He Was Charming You sure...

. A Glass for My Father Marie-Maurille de Virot, Mademoiselle de Sombreuil (February 14, 1768—May 15, 1823) My father was the Marquis de Sombreuil: An old man when it happened, but back then The Revolution took no note of age, Of sex, infirmities, or past distinction. All they saw was...

. And Turn Thanks for the twenty seconds of Your crisp, medicinal perspective, Encapsulated in a laugh That shook like a bragging monkey’s ass. Call it a joke, a gentle nudge— It pushed me over some good edge, Literally enlightening: This cobweb world looks bright again. . . Jack Granath's...

. Where Your Treasure Is “Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal: But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal:...

. Now Once Again How many years ago, I’ve lost the count, we lay beneath these trees at summer’s end; the orchard left to tend itself for then the children came and seasons tumbled all together, mad delightful swirling years. The days, like fallen leaves, soon swept away to leave...

. Read by Susan Jarvis Bryant . In This House... In this house... We value science so much we accept that male and female chromosomes exist and gender is not merely a suggestion. In this house... We know that love is love. We also think that love should be both...

. Guardians of the Sunset III. The years go down like liquor.  Drink and pour and drink again, and laugh or sigh, and look behind you at the dark streets of the past, the rows of street lamp dandelions.  You take so long to cross a portion of the vast...

. A Clamshell in Concrete  I was a child in kindergarten class. My mother held my hand as we trod on The sidewalk leading to the boulevard. This was 1951. The path Was paved in smooth cement, and at the edge The numbers 1 - 9 - 4 - 0...

. The Hypodermic For a poet, the pen is merely part Of the apparatus of addiction. He emulates the frozen fly in amber Watching eons come, roll by, and pass. As motionless as veined quartz in a stone, He seeks a waxen perpetuity Bound and shackled in his dreamless cell,...

. Everlasting I must admit, when I arrived in Hell I was surprised.  Not, as you might surmise, Because I never reckoned it was real— And surely not because I thought I’d led A sinless life—but owing to the fact I did not know that I had died.  You see,...

. To a Girl Named Olivia What shall I say to you of untold love In this more than empty space that lies between Our two selves wound in tongue-tied reticence? I have touched your hand in images and dreams, As the old remember and the young foresee, Feeling only...

. The Crucifixion of the Serpent And Moses made a serpent of brass, and put it upon a pole, and it came to pass, that if a serpent had bitten any man, when he beheld the serpent of brass, he lived. —Numbers 21: 9 And as Moses lifted up the...

. Apocalypse The fractured sky splits, flaming at the edge— The earth heaves upwards in explosive wrath. No eye can bear the clay-caked risen dead Sleepwalking through the streets in blackened shrouds. The seas turn into boiling, viscous blood And everywhere, unending trumpet-blasts, Swarms of gnawing locusts whose foul wings...

. Albert Pierrrepoint (1905-1992) served as one of GreatBritain’s chief executioners from 1931 to 1956, duringwhich time he hanged over 500 persons. All the namesand events mentioned here are real. My father and my uncle had the job.I learned from both of them those little thingsThat one should know in...

. Heliotrope Phaeton, son of the god Helios, attempted to drive his father’s celestial chariot. His inexperience caused him to burn up part of the earth and the heavens, so he was killed by a thunderbolt from Zeus. The frightened gods all breathed in deep relief (Thunderer, thanks! You’ve saved...

. The Carnelian Ring: A Still-Life Footfalls echo in the memoryDown the passage which we did not takeTowards the door we never openedInto the rose-garden. —T.S. Eliot, Burnt Norton I think of a walled garden, graced with trees:Magnolia, fig, and cherry, while grapevines(Just pruned enough to be under control)Intertwine with...

. Isolde and the Men of Stone Who could believe, except on ancient trust? The stones grew pliant, yielding into shape When softer nature touched them; human forms Emerged, as marble figures half-begun. —Ovid, Metamorphoses, I, 400-406 Her mind a buzzing hive, Isolde walks On gaping earth. An excavator’s teeth...

. The Bibliophile’s Birth Certificate Marius Michel (1846-1925) was one of the most prominent and gifted bookbinders in France. He produced work in strikingly beautiful and unique designs, and today his bound volumes are precious collector’s items. Marius Michel, maître de reliure, Bound my soul in fine-grained red morocco; Culled...

. Charles Maurras (1868-1952) was a highly influential French poet, essayist, and political journalist. He edited the rightist paper Action Française, and was a member of the French Academy. He wrote that the most important event in his life was an epiphany at the Parthenon in 1896, where he came...

. The Death of Today’s Sequoia Flecte ramos, arbor alta, tensa laxa viscera: Et rigor lentescat ille, quem dedit nativitas, Ut superni membra regis miti tendas stipite. —Venantius Fortunatus (c. 530-609 A.D.), lines from his hymn Pange Lingua Gloriosi translated at the end of this poem. The ring-counting post mortem...

X No tengo más que darte —Inscription on a Spanish sailor's gold ring, in the shape of a hand holding out a heart, found off the western coast of Ireland. Their splintered hulls well-raked with cannon fire, Great sails shot ragged by hot English grape, The rigging singed or severed...

…anulbaṇáṃ vayata jóguvām ápaḥ. Weave ye the singers’ work without a knot. —Rigveda 10.53.6 Those pale cream swaths of handmade linen, brought From Sicily around 1905 Lay in our rag drawer over sixty years. We kept them for whatever simple needs Arose from time to time in household tasks: A...

  Palermo’s great basilica is still— All prayers are tongueless for a lonely hour. Here high and holy silence can be breathed Like incense from the smoking thuribles Swung by acolytes at solemn mass. Antonello’s Virgin turns her eyes Ever so gently to one side. Perhaps The sacristan has shuffled...

  The Graeco-Roman historian Lucius Dio Cassius, in his Roman History, describes “dark dinners” that were given by the emperor Domitian to specially chosen guests.   Domitian’s dinners served to terrify; Their purpose was to harrow and appall— Guests would imagine that this ghastly meal Was meant to be their...

Miles hastatus (spearman) of the Legio Decima Fretensis, stationed in Roman Judaea, A.D. 33 Vere, filius Dei erat iste. —Roman centurion at the crucifixion, noted in Matthew 27:54. They say he was the King of Jews. In fact We nailed a wooden title to his cross In Latin, Greek, and...

He that hath ears to hear, let him hear. The misreporting of great Caesar’s death Errs by one gross omission. We’re not told That when conspirators bared blades to strike, Caesar’s well-practiced military eye Glimpsed the quick flash of metal. He reacted As any soldier would, and cried aloud “Why,...

Joseph Pulitzer Junior High September 1959 – June 1961 I think we spoke but fifty words, all told. No more than that, and most were just polite— A brief exchange of greetings or a comment On some observed absurdity or joke... The school did not encourage us to talk. Perhaps...

Posting atop the hill beyond the field in rain so thick he barely saw the bodies, the General tilted back his hat and sat, shaking his head. His horse shifted a foot and whinnied, a grazing wound across its haunch still oozing blood, an equine service stripe its tail would...