Beauty

. “The strife is o’er, the battle won”—18th c. Hymn As hapless hope and hopelessness collide The mid-day sun looms black above the cross; A dies irae bearing bitter loss Where life and death each breathed their last, and died. With undried, grief-wept tears creation cried As God’s pure gold...

. Praise Him for the lightning in the gale,For balmy winds, for crystals in the snow.Wonder at the gaudy peacock’s tail,Observe how huge the elephant can grow! The turtledove, the maculate giraffe,The leopard’s feral stealth, the eagle’s wing,The neighing of the horse, the dolphin’s laugh;The joy in God which once...

. Sonnet 181 Jesus had suffered more than we can tell, But when released, His soul at once aspired To save the just, whom their long wait had tired. See Him descend to Limbo’s dreary hell In search of those who early served Him well And, ages since, His coming...

. I’ve had a nightmare! Let that just man go! You’re right that he’s done nothing wrong. They’re wrong To want him dead. No, nothing you could write Above his head could possibly undo Your guilt. He’s innocent, however long You try to wash your hands of him. That rite...

. Behold the Queen of Heaven weeping, seeping __Tears that rend her heart and ours. As one __Who mourns she grasps and clasps the seeming-sleeping, __Pierced, and bloodless body of her son. A body void of God’s expired breath; __A pietà of human flesh and bone __Where heaving, grieving love...

. She burns to bear his burden (take the weight) But he is far beyond her guiding reach. Beyond her soothing arms, he meets his fate. Her heavy heart has nothing left to teach… For these are not his first steps; they’re his last. His skin (once kissed and dressed...

. The Lovely World Behold the frozen, flaxen fields at morn– The tall grass shining on the hills of clay Which sunlit wisps of winter frost adorn In dazzling white, as for a bridal day. An air of holy wantonness imbues The outspread earth which, quiet as a nun, Displays...

. For the Birds The cardinal in his bold, red cloak; His wife so subtle, so bespoke. In complimentary blues and grays, The raucous jays---they have their ways. And in the trees, the chickadees! Their song is always sure to please! There at the feeder, every morn, Sunflower seed mixed...

. With what perfection are the seasons spun; When we grow tired of the opulent sun, A wind from the north comes fanning our cheek The trees turn riotous; the sky looks bleak. As if to anticipate we may tire Of autumn’s rushing Pentecostal fire, The trees for a shocker...

. Nature's Magic Some say that there is magic in the night,but it holds no more marvels than the day.The sun emits her own fantastic lightwhile moon and stars are safely tucked away. Though night seems more enchanting, that may bebecause nocturnal hours bring mystique.The starry sky reveals some mysterybut...

. Ode to Hidden Splendor I heard your rolling croon beyond my vision Blooming in the balm of winter’s breeze--- A thrilling spill of crystalline precision Amid the Spanish moss draped on the trees. My heart took flight with each falsetto note, Then fluttered at the height of your refrains--- The dazzle and pizzazz of soaring song Rising from your silken-feathered throat. Your air, beyond compare on coastal plains, Resounded with a twang so sweet and strong. Yet when I looked...

. The candlelight was dim and spare And Claire was there, lost in prayer And slightly swaying to and fro (She dances for Him, this I know) And I do swear that she did glow--- Whence comes this light? He does bestow. . . Joe Tessitore is a retired New...

. The Parting of the Sea Salvation in the parting of the Sea, Its churning waves pierced by a knife of cloud And split in two allowing us to flee Egyptian swords! As one astonished crowd We ran with haste into the wondrous scene! A liquid canyon carved from waterfall...

. 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...

. “And when I see the blood, I will pass over you.” ---Exodus 12:13 As you have commanded, the blood to The lintel and the doorposts of my heart Has been applied. Because I’ve done this, through Your power, sin and death are kept apart From life. I am protected,...

. The path he takes this early day Is dressed in dew and straws of hay. The morning mist obscures his view; The barn, though near, seems far away. The sleepy sun begins to rise, And light prepares to climb the skies. He sees the path much clearer now, As...

. Don’t you love the Oxford Dictionary?  When I first read it, I thought it was a really really long poem about everything. —David Bowie A dictionary is an indispensable Companion on the journey through the many words Forgot or never learned.  It’s reprehensible How soon they fly away, like...

. Grain If the future were a famine And tomorrow were a blight, Would we close our eyes today in Light of Future’s tragic sight? If the future were a famine And eternity, disease, Would we leave our fields and flocks to Wither, living lives of ease? If the future...

inspired by the late John Whitworth’s “The Examiners”  Through the burst of youth and giggles in the balm of budding spring, __You are there. Through the seal of something sacred where two souls conjoin to sing, __You are there. Through the cries of pain and sighs of mirth the awe of birth will bring To hands that pave a future for their newborn everything. Through grins and frowns and tears that brim and sting, sting, sting--- __You are there. ...

. A touch of wit is worth its writ in gold. We miss you, John, for being ever bold. You spoke your mind or, rather, wrote it down with learning lightly worn, and played the clown. Your loyal readers understand this truth: Such seriousness requiring a sleuth to figure out...

. “That must have been some cup of coffee!” ---Charles Ellik The coffee spins and I am not the same. The time in which I move is muddy, turns around my breath, and steams. As sunlight came here perfectly, some perfect still returns and carries new reflections of my eyes...

. Memories frozen in pinnacles glow, tattooed in lingering beauty and sorrow now fade by the light of forgotten tomorrows with nowhere to go, yet so much to show, like daffodils in the snow. Delicate structures that sway to and fro, in heather green meadows that earth merely borrows for...

. The night before, old furniture And scrap wood set afire Smoke out the winter’s wickedness— An equinoctial pyre Of habits, sins, misfortunes dark, Succeeded by quick work To level boards and flaunt a feast Of charity superb. A work of art, the table stands (Its carpentry concealed); The baker’s...

. The Second Roman Empire Those were the days, when Julius Caesar Saw a country and would seize her, And the busty Roman matrons Ran the house and bossed the patrons. Christians, at the least suggestion, Gave the lions indigestion; Later, Emperors used perversion Like tennis, as a light diversion,...

. This Brave American, Ashli Babbitt “It is the dead, not the living, who make the longest demands.” —Sophocles, “Antigone” by Usa W Celebride The Democrats stole the election—Ashli Babbitt knew; so she went to the Capitol to share her point of view. There she was murdered by a member...

. Lenin It’s late. He walks the lonely corridor in this part of the Kremlin with his cat hammocked in his arm. He stops before the door of every commissariat that’s still aglow and enters into each, although he knows the commissars have gone. Frugality is something he must teach:...

. Borealis Where Ursa Minor spins about its tail The cold-chill, sabled void of arctic nights Bestirs to life as unseen hands unveil The shifting silence of the Northern Lights. Chameleonesque, the colored curtains curl In chromic revelry as frozen thunder Twists the rainbowed polar sky a-twirl With melting flames...

. Lives There the Man after “Breathes There a Man with Soul so Dead” by Sir Walter Scott* by Roy E. Peterson Lives there the man who won’t defendHis hearth and home from whom intendTo quench his fire and steal his goods,And leave him starving in the woods. Who won’t...

. I watched as the convening mist rose twisting through the trees; It changed gray shapes and silhouettes, and shattered inner ease. I closed my eyes and bowed my head at shadows dark and gaunt. Poor choices often follow us; a lifetime they can haunt. The murk and shadows preyed...

. . Kismet If I'd been younger, or you not so old, Or we'd met at a different time and place, Would there have been within your heart a space For me, for love to reach and grab ahold? Might there have been such glories to behold As two might...

. "He has made everything beautiful in its time. . ."  (Ecclesiastes 3:11) The sun shines so brightly on this verdant hill Where I sit in silence so peaceful and still; I've come here alone to survey the fair scene Spread out now before me, so fragrant and green. A...

. The poet has now escaped Hell, and has arrived in Purgatory or what he calls the StairWell. But he seems to have been abandoned by Dante, and has a fresh set of problems to confront. In this first section of the Canto he encounters an unexpected companion to help...

. Do they still dance on old walkwayswith lowered shoulders, mastered breathand almost martial, measured gazethough one that's bent on life, not death?Will men with class step up and raisean arm and pause: a shibboleththat leading, and not lording, paysrespect---and takes his partner's breath? Do they still dance outside cafeswhere...

. I've battled beside Gilgamesh, the Bull Of Heaven slain by us. I've fought beside Achilles, hot beside a burning hull, And watched as Agamemnon, captured, died. With Oedipus I've lost my vital eyes With insight gained, avoiding my own lies. I've been to Hades too with Gilgamesh, Again with...

. . Who Knew How often I crushed autumn leaves Until I saw a robin drink From one that cupped the fallen rain, And many times too, I did break Icicles dripping from a roof. How often in the spring I plucked A bud before it opened full, Afore the...

Reviewed Book: Mostly Sonnets: Formal Poetry in an Informal World by James A. Tweedie, Dunecrest Press, July 2019 by Theresa Rodriguez As a fellow sonneteer, I felt like I was reading the words of a kindred spirit when I read James A. Tweedie’s Mostly Sonnets: Formal Poetry for an Informal...

. The Magpie’s Chorus With sunlight at full power And silence in the air, I sought a shaded bower, A cool drink, and a chair. But then, I heard the trilling Of magpies in the trees Pour out like liquid filling The desiccated breeze. They put on airs and graces,...

. Eyes on the Prize __What time it is Can be determined only by the Sun. __The choice is his, By whom all duties have been duly done, __To set the pace Whereby all useful progress shall be measured. __In such a race, Ambition and persistence will be treasured __Like...

. A Song of Saint Francis Good friends, I wander vale and hill The Master’s words upon my lip; My only thought: to do His will And sing such Love as makes hearts skip! Rejecting wealth, prestige and sword -- I only live to serve the Lord! God’s blessings are...

. Midday Dreaming The raindrops fall like teardrops from a sad and sodden cloud; Their spattering the sound of some a- doring, cheerful crowd. I touch the cloud with outstretched fingers Lifted to the sky, The rainfall’s ozone fragrance lingers As the storm rolls by. I hear the sound of...