Beauty

. Of all Creation, who am I Who sins against Thee, Lord Most High? Of all that crawl, of those who creep, No one has ever sunk so deep. Of those who swim and those who fly, Least of them all, this sinner, I. There’s nothing else can go so...

. As a child, they could not keep me from trees And craggy, tangled limbs and aching arms. I loved the camouflage, the filtered breeze, Nose-smacked tang of moss and far-off farms. Grandma's had a crook just right for hiding. I savored hard-won silence in my perch, Nursed calloused hands,...

. Owl ensconced on oaken branch, A wingèd spirit rare, His gaze is wisdom: calm, intent, Bewitching and aware. Soulful and implacable, His feathered stillness bright Is outlined by cerulean sky, A beacon of the night. Behind stark owl a full moon glows, Casts vectored rays of light, And yon...

.. Grauballe Man He lies exposed to view in this glass case Exactly as he lay three hundred years Before our Christ was born, between his ears Torn open with a savage force: his face, All blackened by the peat who in disgrace Perhaps or battle died, betrays his fears....

. Rush He was larger than life And it cut like a knife When his wife let us know That he died. From this kind of grief There can be no relief. Such a powerful blow Meant I cried. 12:06 comes around, I’m transfixed by the sound Of the words...

. Too long, too long, my love, Have we lain out here. Too long, too long, my love, Have our ease, our cheer Fixed us fast, sprawled in cool shade, With our arms and breasts clasped near, Too pleased to note that youth and day would fade. The sun, the...

. These stones that like huge sculpted figures lie __Amid the trunks of moss and fern-clad trees, Eons of creatures have seen born and die __And the land’s face carved by the shifting seas. ____All of earth’s seasons since the dawn of Man, ____Are but a day in their old...

  There is a scourge that permeates our midstWhich we cannot so easily dismiss.Elitists strive to elevate this curse;A type of art most poets call free verse. True poetry once rhymed and had some form,A style evoking passion was the norm;But now these attributes are deemed archaicAs it makes little difference how you...

. . Till rolling seas cease heaving high, The starry nights stop passing by, The universe is wrapped in flame, And there is no one left to blame. __Until then? ... You’re my loved one. Till sun no longer makes a day, And earth will never get a ray, The...

. L O V E... It’s not a dozen scentless hothouse roses. __It’s not a chocolate-box of sweet cliché. It’s not the scorching kiss that lust imposes __To lead the fired and fevered flesh astray. It’s not an aphrodisiacal dinner __Or sighs in dizzy highs of fine Champagne. It’s not...

. Among the many flowers in the vase, ‘Tis I—the flower with the pretty face, Full humor, sound stamen, and skill in fun— Who is to say to you, Michele, “Well done.” As so the master charged.  Yet we who fade, Who soon, like him, shall die, know we were made...

. . The Tale of the Rose (Excerpt) by Christine de Pisan (1364-1431), translated by Margaret Coats . This Tale comes from the Paris home of the Duke of Orleans, brother of the King of France, where on Saint Valentine’s Day 1402, there assembled certain noble folk, rich in honor...

. Fool’s Wisdom “I am fearfully and wonderfully made” ---Psalm 139:14 I am amazed at what some fools believe Who say I am a fool to have belief In a creative force. To preconceive Against this possibility is chief Among the many errors of our age. For what takes faith?...

. All fruit is sweet as marzipan, and seraphs carol just for me, Each brook sings like a silver lyre, and finches trill in every tree. Life is a cloth embossed with gold, and even through the blackest rains, No rainbow seems too hard to reach, for ichor courses through...

. “The Gift of Life” is a formal epic poem of 600 original Shakespearean sonnets, a tale about a love that existed in life and art with equal force. The heroine of the tale goes to the great war of words with the avant-garde, on behalf of the classical artistic...

.. . Slow Verse No need to rush: These lines have lots of time. They never face a hanging at first light. They can take pains to whittle a neat rhyme And years to get each subtle cadence right, But they can never take the hero’s part, They can’t shout...

. You ask me “why?”---the question seems to burn like you were made to seek out novelty, to stimulate your mind, explore, and learn: exactly why your curiosity is not so curious at all, to me! Your brain contains an elemental drive that underlies a trait to quest and strive....

. 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...

. Blackwater River State Park A warm summer day. The kayak floats quietly. The cicadas sing. . . Nightfall at Pensacola Beach The sun has now set And not a light can be seen. What just made that splash? . . The Forts of Pensacola Bay The guns are silent....

. Beneath the starry firmament so dark There lies tonight an old, forgotten tree Whose bark is peeling, wretched, cold and stark And has not heard since auld youth’s melody. The crooked, blackened branches send a plea To heaven’s glowing mercies and respite For passersby mock its antiquity Unknowing of...

. Go, Fading Leaf __Go, fading leaf, Tell him who thought my heart to spurn __That life is brief (But briefer still his love did burn __I fool enough was to return). __Tell him who sold Our shaky venture for the rock __Of love grown cold: He ought to’ve taken...

. Everything is gone, gone. ____No one’s ever stayed: the family and the friends I loved, ____the bread my mother made. Nothing’s ever gone the way ____I thought that it would go- springtime brought me sickness ____and the summer gave me woe. The pain I thought would surely heal ____has...

. How To Be Like Byron Bright butterfly, why do you fade Into that duller, browner shade That strays into the flame at night? You’ve lost your nature’s vibrant light And seek it in another source. For you, I’ll heartily endorse A colorful biography To help you live by, dogma-free....

. Ode to Spring Oh glory be to things that grow! That burgeon, blossom, bud and blow In Springtime’s light and airy breeze, Which ruffles softly new sprung leaves. What tongue there be to justly praise The wonders wrought by Vernal days? These beauties bright which turn, indeed, Each frozen...

. . Father And John: How It Once Was Before self-righteous rules, brash and insistent,There was a natural rhythm, quite unspoken.So when my father hired an assistantTraditionalist, he followed rules unbroken. There was no power-structure interference—No lying résumés, self-serving spinningBy quasi-moral snoops. Avoiding nonsense,He struck the soul of it. John’s...

. The Verbum Dei Retreat Centre on the Isle of Wight aims to be a place of encounter with God We took the ferry; darkness closed; Warm lights ahead; who knew the way? Crowded in a car, pilgrims led For God knows what to Verbum Dei. They took the register;...

. A coat of luminescent snow Descended on my patch of grass, And for a moment all its glow Inflamed my eyes like burnished brass. And in a moment it had gone, But not withdrawn; it nimbly turned Into a floodplain on my lawn, A flood of slushing drops concerned...

 . Long View Cottage The view is long and dark atop the mountain where I roam. Birds sing a little sweeter in a high and softer tone. The people gave it many names; I only call it home. The fog hangs thick and wet just like a wave crest with...

.   Earth Song We longed to see Norway's Northern Lights,That great, magnetic, celestial balletOf colour, one of nature's majestic sights:'Not to be missed at any cost'. The clicheWas ironic; we'd scheduled just one dayIn Oslo, and then we would be on our wayNorthwards---but quarantine prevailed.With lockdown extended and restrictions imposed,We had no way out; borders were closedAnd all attempts to...

. On Rembrandt's "Return of the Prodigal Son" Three centuries have passed since it was wrought--- A work of art transcendent yet humane. The tender play of feelings Rembrandt caught: A wastrel son disgraced, prostrate with pain; Humiliated by the sin he sought But somehow freed from Pride’s eternal stain,...

. The Death of Adam Excerpted from Musings on Piero della Francesca’s “History of the True Cross,” in the Church of San Francesco, Arezzo, Italy There’s always both: the sacred and profane. The right tends to the former, left the latter. The weak side’s earthbound, ugly, heavy matter, where even...

. Stream Above the bend, the water deep and clear, the current strong; seen from the Buckman Bridge, ten minutes walk for me, my cabin near, through pines down from a timeworn granite ridge —a lofty mountain once, it’s said, in time gone by. I come to see and hear...

. Be good, my Sorrow. You may rest assured; The Evening whom you called descends; Behold; The fall of dusk leaves some in towns obscured With newfound peace, yet some with cares untold. Through gauntlet mortals move in sordid herd, While flailed by Pleasure, headsman uncontrolled, And reap Remorse by...

X Every Little Thing I. His Version She treasured every little thing that you                gave her: the sparrow necklace (hazel blueto match her eyes) the bracelet slipped insidethe box of chocolate treats---the wine train ride.And it's not been just things, but moments too: the...

“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. “I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the...

. Rosarium a sestina A rose arises red from its green sheath Adorned with swords that prick and pierce: the thorn, Whose vigil kept ensures its life's not brief. Unmatched in charm though fresh from garden born The rose enrobes in em'rald linen leaf Eclipsed only by ruby jew'lry worn. The...

. My word will not survive a fire: the dust, the ash of paper singed by matches struck by fingers bent on silence. And it must rot here in summer heat in humid muck where mold will gnaw away at every page. My poetry will age like bread left out...

_ Orchestra Tuning Up Is this the way the universe once sounded?A mass confusion of discordant trumpets,Flutes, horns, and violins like baffled cometsWithout a geometric course, confounded? Can this be how the universe was founded?An orchestra of galaxies in commotion,Celestial bodies bent upon collision,Spinning around infinity, surrounded By instrumental and...

. Stress can envelop, encircle, entangle. Strictures can pressure from every angle. Tripping and slipping to ways that are errant happen to all who endeavor to parent. What should you do when in need of a breather? Run or surrender? The answer is neither. Here are some morsels you might...

. Portrait of God drawn from Scripture by François-René de Chateaubriand (1768-1848), translated by Adam Sedia Know you the jealous God, who dare engage In sin, whose impious deeds ignite his rage? His flaming chariot courses far through space; Death and the Demon flee before his face; Trembling, the Threefold...