Beauty

. A Winter Snow a rhupunt The white snow falls in swirling walls that so enthralls as in my youth. The wind is slight; flakes from great height a blissful sight--- whole life to sleuth. Each crystal flake a snowman make down by the lake--- old thoughts that soothe. Years...

. Ode to Joy My final symphony---my best by far!--- Which crowns a challenged life of brilliant works. Vienna’s finest came! Some from afar: Nobility, musicians, Prussians, Turks. A triumph! Yet it made my proud heart bleed: The orchestra refused to let me lead. They argued I could not conduct...

. Great Lakes Weather Gaffe Beyond the equinox by thirty days, With trees and shrubs bedecked in glorious bloom, Onto the scene the weirdest weather strays And plunges all back into winter’s gloom. Snow smothers lawns and settles on the roofs. Fierce wind sculpts strange, belief–defying drifts. It’s one of...

. Those Who Go Down to the Sea in Ships a poetic paraphrase of Psalm 107:23-30 The men who go down to the sea in their ships, Who sail on the water and pursue their trade, The sound of the sea echoes back from their lips; Their eyes see the...

. Missed Call O Muse, would you call back another time? My little boy, armed with a sharpened stick, winged with a blanket, sure that he can fly, is leaping off the countertop to try things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme. Poems are slow to grow, but kids are...

. Plum Blossom Blessings The pine, bamboo, and plum are winter’s friends, Yet plum trees bloom to overcome the chill And herald spring. Resilient health extends Throughout my struggling mind and body ill; Spiced fragrance with that ruby beauty blends. Flame-draped in cozy apricot orange twill, A wealth of blossoms...

. The 10 Best Love Poems of 2021 What makes a great love poem? Love is such an emotionally charged topic that the answers to that question are going to vary tremendously depending on who you ask. But all the same, coming up with a good love poem can be...

. Tel Shikmona Mosaics here surprise: you wouldn’t know, tramping on thistles, dry late-summer stubble and tripping over rubble, stumbling, slow, that this rough trail leads to the long-ago till suddenly—a broken arch, a floor patterned in blue red black, flowers and birds outlined in tesserae; below them, words in...

. My Mother’s Eyes We took a ride into the countryside to search for bluebells but we first saw phlox. Delighted by the sight my mother cried, “Look at the flowers flutter on the rocks! Look at the bluebells!”  I looked at my clock. Long ride, no blue, no bells,...

. Sir Percival A quiet desperation lives within my soul: to find the Holy Cup, the Grail; to touch something beyond this mortal pen, and taste my God, His blood, from Cross’s nail. I am not worthy, this I know too well, though we are all the Son, all Christ,...

. Solitude by Wilhelm Müller (1794-1827) | from German by Joseph Greene As when a cloud is darkened And drifts through sunlit sky, While through the many treetops An icy breeze does fly: As such I make my journey I trek with weary feet, All round me life is cheerful,...

. Bach in Heidelberg for Marjorie Bach’s chorus didn’t leave us much to say After the Easter Monday concert in The Holy Spirit Church. Taking our way Over the Old Bridge seemed like we’d just been Visiting Heaven.  The flooded Neckar’s din Blurred the cantata fading in my head, As...

. You Are Too Far from Me Send me your love for I’ve nothing to write,And my words are vacant or ugly---I slept through the morning, I raved out the night,And you are too far from me. I feel the entropy taking the world,Send me your love while loving can...

. The Two Corteges by Joséphin Soulary (1815-1891) | translated from French by Hadyn Adams Within a church two groups of people met: An infant’s funeral cortege, the first: A woman followed, her heart fit to burst Within her breast repressing her regret. The second for a baptism all set;...

. Toasting Burns    His words ring out from windswept glens. __They lilt from lapping lochs. I see love through his red-rose lens; __I hear the midnight clocks In castle nooks chime Auld Lang Syne __As kilted suitors croon To bonnie lasses rapt with rhyme __Beneath a Highland moon. His words will please till seas gang dry __And rocks melt wi’ the sun. They soar beyond Ben-Nevis high...

. Dystopia Reality is never what it seems To be.  It hides itself in shrouds of mist, In bulging envelopes of gilded dreams, In requisite pronations of the wrist That guides the palsied hand that holds the pen. What good is it to cry that life’s unfair If one does...

. Mourning the Dead by Li Qingzhao, Southern Song (1084-1155) | from Chinese by Talbot Hook Above in the heavens the star-river flows; Down on the earth the curtains hang low. As the air grows chill, and my pillow tear-damp, I arise, untying my robes just to know The hours...

. The High Cost of Low Prices Poetry is what I treasure. Books of poems give me pleasure, but my grief’s been hard to measure, since I did some shopping. “50 Famous Poems”---nifty! Now on sale for just $ 2.50. I should revel, since I’m thrifty, but my mood is...

. The Joys of Spring a pantoum It’s here—sweet long-awaited spring. New blooms smell lovely; skies are blue. The trilling birds are on the wing. Earth has awakened; life is new. New blooms smell lovely; skies are blue. Kids dash outside to have a fling. Earth has awakened; life is...

. Disambiguation As in the dawn the nature of the beams Of light invading chambers---how they glint, Conceal with shade, or paint with rosy tint--- Reveals the day, not as it is but seems, So, in the natal cradle of our dreams, From the beloved’s eye we aim to mint...

. To Tchaikovsky by A.N. Apukhtin (1840-1893) | Translated from Russian by Olga Dumer With my musician friend’s departure A minor key pervades my lines. Yet, like a fugue’s evolving texture, Old friendship amplifies with time. We played together, with bravura, Our youthful daring prelude. Since adolescence, fame’s allure Thrilled...

. The English Cantos: StairWell Canto 4 Leaving a broken relationship of the past behind in Canto 3, the poet enters a new world of education and what that means. Before entering a specific establishment, the poet has to catch up with Dante and Virgil who have forged ahead. But...

. Rescuing Contemporary Poetry from Vers Libre The conservative & informal vs. the free Before addressing my thesis, let me explain my choice of the word conservative in identifying a category of poetry, basically that which employs meter, often rhyme, and addresses traditional themes. Most would use the word formal....

. The Heroes of Beijing on the Jan. 21 movie premiere of Unsilenced, just days before the Beijing Winter Olympics As great as it may be to send those hockey Pucks on icy wisps of air into A net as sweet as tightly guarded honey, It is, at root, a...

. 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...

. To Sleep, to Sleep by Friedrich Hebbel | translated from German by Sean Thompson To sleep, to sleep and only sleep And never wake and have no dreams! The bitter woes that made me weep but half-remembered fading gleams. So I, when echoes of life's fullness Reverberate down where...

. Self-Exile "Parue—nec inuideo—sine me, liber, ibis in urbem.” —Ovid While driving underneath I had to pray: the tunnel, God, had better not cave in— as if New York could make the earth obey. My Lord, I won’t let New York City win. I well recall the moment's clarity as...

. Black and Red Within a latent, pathless peak, A mountain’s womb begins to leak The flicker of a fervent hue, When primal mantles stir a brew. This billow turns into a cloud That sprinkles as a stony shroud, While foam and fume pervade a thrust And stoke the trails...

. Lockdown The day sprawls wider than a yawn, a mouth that sucks a ticking clock, a door that lets the wind blow in, but no one comes to lift their fist and knock. The rain outside is free to run and fall and fling itself through puddles on the...

. Sonnetized “Why poetry?” My chair leans in his chair And slides me a sabbatical-swelled smirk. The past nine months I’d shouldered all his share So he could spend his patriarchal perk In penning pap not destined to see light. “A couplet is a manageable cup “To nurse while nursing...

. Living The Dream   “I look to a day when people will not be judged by the color of their skin,   but by the content of their character.” ---Martin Luther King, Jr. The USA gives thanks---hurray For Martin Luther King--- A good and gracious grand display For one who rose above the...

. Let It Bleed My family believes a puzzle piece is missing, that it’s me and if they snap it in, the family will have peace. The picture will be whole. They’ll close a gap. But as I stand outside, I see no space to fit me in. The edges...

. A Truthful Triolet I want the truth. I want to trust The words that trip from lips that lied. I want all doubt to fade to dust. I want the truth. I want to trust. Truth hurts. Truth heals. Truth's heart is just. My faith in you, it hasn’t...

. Obsession an Alfred Dorn sonnet As candles gently glow in amber light The picture centered high upon the wall appears to take a life form of its own. Yet, thoughts of her are stronger on this night. He views her fleeting image in the hall, as he sits drunk,...

. Caring Now, while Winter’s noisy emptiness moans In the flue, Dearest, look out at all these Somberly unimpatient silent trees Holding aloft their abject skeletons: Can new flesh somehow sprout from human bones Like April’s tender leaves? Can memories Of touches lost refind their first surprise As roots grope...

. Civis Romanus Sum (I am a Roman citizen) As Paul stood bound and for the whip outstretched, He said to the centurion beside, “‘Tis lawful here for you to flog a wretch, A Roman citizen and not yet tried?” The mere centurion on hearing went And to the tribune...

. The Artist Intuitive journey, subconscious creations refuse to diffuse while the muse makes the choice to infuse mystic magic with personal voice giving birth to original manifestations. Works will cement while fermenting with feeling revealing a meaning unique to each eye. “No one knows why,” says the strange passer-by,...

. Limerick China’s footballers haven’t a clue why they can’t go and get a tattoo, but I think it might be it’s since President Xi is afraid they’ll choose Winnie the Pooh. . . This Urge for the Truth We strive for trusted knowledge in the guise of Truth, but...

. The A-bomb Dome in Hiroshima The epicentre of the blast was here, This dome, its empty ribcage gaunt and bare, It stands mute testimony to the day A Superfortress, the Enola Gay, Took to the cirrus-marbled cobalt skies Above Hiroshima, unwished-for prize, Its mission: razing of necessity By nuclear...

. The View from Space My helmet gone, I float among the stars As weightless as my lungs deprived of air Asphyxiating slowly, I am far From all I love and anyone who cares. The stars are dead already: cold and hot, Like burning funeral torches in the sky Their...