Beauty

  Oh, the joy of summer's fall, Tripping on her tassels tall, Laughing with such deep release The ombre maples blush. How she twirls through apple trees-- Such a brief, chromatic breeze That the blitheness of her pall Outdoes the spring-ing thrush.     Luke Hahn is a freshman at...

. That Day of Infamy ∼ December 7th, 1941 Zeros burst through bluest skies __Like stealthy birds of prey, Set to swoop and pulverize __Pearl Harbor’s soul that day; That day of scarlet rising suns __On warfare’s wicked wing; That day the blaze from bombs and guns __Unleashed the Reaper’s...

for my two-year-old grandson, Exander “There’s no tale in the world I can’t believe.” I said.“If you have learned belief, you have learned something.” ---Rudyard Kipling, “Bimi” X We meant to journey to the park;earth did not hold us as it ought,to Neverland we did embark—not the excursion we had...

. One night a lean and wizened soul scuffed down the old mill road, while moonlight cast upon the knoll a mounted figure showed. The Horseman sat perfectly still, face shrouded in the mist. His hooded form withstood the chill, a scythe gripped in his fist. The old man stopped...

. To Some Other Poets Let hoary heads divine and then divide,Dot i’s and dance on pins and sneer with pride,And ogle with an obverse obfuscationTo fuel the furious fires of their frustration.  An academic audience allowsThat poets sometimes give us purple cows,Or castles of  the mind, or balmy breezes,Then trumpet...

. Appeal to the Muse O Saint Cecilia, more than just a muse— The very author by this pen and ink— I plead thy help, and never wish to lose Assistance at the quill, or in the rink. For Art is cutthroat; those who try may sink, And much of...

  And when the time, oh Father, comes To cross this life’s tempestuous seas, Grant that my faith should not succumb, Hold in the end still true to thee. Let not the waves of doubt overflow, Let not my skeptic mind then shake, Let not the tempest through me blow,...

  Gather round everyone, come near! My story is for all to hear. A song for you I now shall sing, A song about Murry the King. Murry was the King of the West And ruled till he was laid to rest. Godhild was his beautiful Queen And none more...

  The road of love looks smooth at first and seems as if it has no end. The wise know that the way is cursed, and heartache lies around the bend. The route has hills, and we can't see what lies upon the other side; yet we drive on, love's...

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...

_ Our Bishops, on Nov. 4, 2020 Our bishops hail the president-elect.Do they suppose the election is decided?Or are they anxious that we all move onAnd welcome policies that won’t excludeThe illegal alien from such benefitsAs she may gain through legislative act? Our bishops seem oblivious to the factThat charges that...

  They mix together here waiting for the trim black and gold gondolas heading into side canals that drain and brim with refuse and will bear souls that wait to ride. The tourist's straying finger stutters taking photos of shadows as they linger--- chiaroscuro, light and dark---along the rows of...

  Famine de l'âme The soul, deprived of one essential thing, Cannot rely on dusty stores of hope; Seeking to mitigate starvation's sting, Finds worthless every erstwhile way to cope: Profound malaise, la grande douleur exquise, Mere denegation cannot obviate; Frantic pursuit of new activities The pang of loss will...

  Where are the leaves that branches bore? They’re falling fast on forest floor, A cornucopia outspread, Of orange, yellow, brown, and red: Reminders of a settled score. Ah this, my gloomy guarantor Henceforth of what I must endure: The dull, the dormant, and the dead. ___Where are the leaves?...

  Don’t place your limits on this grief of mine or try to cheer me out of feeling sorrow. I need to wear it for a longer time and won’t be ready to let go tomorrow. The ragged tears that burn and sting my eyes, the knot that’s tied inside...

  The Shisendō is a hideaway villa in the eastern hills of Kyoto, Japan, created by poet and calligrapher Jōzan Ishikawa (1583–1672) as a place where he could read and write classical Chinese poetry in retirement. He chose 36 immortal poets, whose portraits (with their finest verses) appear around the...

  Cricket The game of Cricket, I’ll relate, Goes back to fifteen fifty-eight, Upon a field in Guildford way, In Surrey, many miles away. The game was played by many more, Up to the English Civil War. The village game was in the swing, With many people gambling. By sixteen...

Mozart on His Kegelstatt Trio Quite recently I wrote a little trio While wasting time at skittles with some friends. We needed something for the clarinet, Something not dolorous, but not con brio— A trifle which, their being at loose ends, Would keep my buddies occupied and set Them on...

All Divinity Is Love or Wonder* New Harbor October 2020 All Divinity is love or wonder. The moon pulls up the sea, while rocks plunge deeply underneath; ragged, cracked asunder, synclined metamorphic panoply. Moonlight fractures on the night-black surface, embers dancing over dying coals. A Fresnel beam each fifteen seconds...

  On Romantic Longing* Was it when autumn filled the air With musty smells and chimney smoke, This feeling in me first awoke, Which hitherto, had not been there? Or was it on a summer's eve I felt this strange emotion dawn, As children tumbled on the lawn, And played...

_ Pope Urban II Sonnet-Speech, Clermont, 1095 Oh Noblemen, I’m charged by God to warn that Christendom is threatened by the Turk. Torched churches and our pilgrim dead we mourn, whilst in Jerusalem’s bounds brute pagans lurk. At home your greed and thuggish acts have placed your souls in peril,...

Thank you to everyone who participated! This was a great effort for a meaningful purpose: the recent burning down of the Chateau Boswell winery in Napa Valley. Congratulations to the winners. Bravo!  ---Evan Mantyk, judge. First Place ($100 Prize) Ode to Chateau Boswell by Susan Jarvis Bryant You loom in...

  Introductory Note These paraphrased translations represent three short poems composed by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, a person so well-known that I will pass on offering a biography and only note that he lived 1749-1832. The first poem, "Der du von dem Himmel bist" ("You Who Are from Heaven") was...

A Wheelchair They kept their car-doors shut and windows closed, Nor left their house but stayed inside, disposed To hide if D were waiting wheelchair-bound Outside. Attendant crew, no siren sound, The ambulance would call and she would stay Away all day in hospital and they Would never know the...

  On Marriage I married a girl named Sue And alas! She married me too!     As Then, So Now When years ago and many ages since My flaming ardor flared (now fondness thrives For you, most wondrous of all wondrous wives), You turned this mortal pittance to a...

  On a Turtle of Broken Jade The tiny turtle made of milky jade Was smuggled by Jun’s parents from afar Evoking memories that flame and fade--- Confucian virtue rescued from the war. The treasured heirloom tucked into a bag But dropped amidst the panic at the pier. “Revolution comes!...

  Thoughts following a visit to the World War 2 National Cemetery at Colleville-sur-Mer, Normandy, France. Eugene Ovid Lambert was my name, U.S. Army Airborne casualty. Died on D-Day, that’s my claim to fame: June 6, ’44 in Normandy. How I died the records do not say, Probably while jumping...

  Remember, Remember… by Susan Jarvis Bryant No thankful foot falls on the London street In honour of our brave and voiceless dead. Remembrance Sunday’s rendered incomplete Without the steadfast march and sombre tread Of those who know the bullet-ridden cost Borne in blood and bone in barbarous wars For...

Shooting Star Upon the early fall of night my eyes behold a shooting star, electric streak in twilight sea, now here alive, then gone you are. What beauty brings this lustrous light well driven by some cosmic czar whose alien powers surely be from planets we believe afar. To capture...

The complete new translation can found from Hackett Publishing here. My poem sings of one man forced from Troy by war. Fate harried him to find a home on Latium’s shore— On some Lavinian littoral. By land and sea, Driven by loss, by gods who would not let him be,...

originally published on November 2, 2020 on MacKenzie Lyric Poetry Where shall they hide now, the merchants of death, Who cloaked our eyes and robbed our throats of voice, Who muzzled minds and sought to gag our breath, Who in the blood of innocents rejoice? To whom shall they turn,...

  Perfectionist Inclined Maligned by self-encasing brine, defined By certainty's demise, self-image lies Within a shrine. Perfectionist inclined, I crouch transfixed in infinite surmise: Confined by shell, by husk, cocoon intact, Unshattered yet, afraid to fall, afraid To try to fall, while each and every act Desires a release from...

  Yearning for Castles and Gargoyles Among the towers never made of ivory, protruding lewdly over walls of mottled stone, misshapen forms, insatiably unsavory look down on us. Who takes such agony to hone these brash, extended, fixed grotesques of form and function meant to stop the rotting from within?...

  Retired I’ve lost the ship I banked upon to shield me from this stormy world. For I’ve since crossed the Rubicon and sails no longer loom unfurled that marked my navigating days. My schooner scarcely can escort me from my maritime malaise. The stalwart craft I’d bring to port,...

  Context Is Everything When you attempt to cut some string A hammer doesn’t do a thing— Jackknives matter. When life has gotten back to normal, And dining out means dressing formal, Black ties matter. When you are carted off to jail And wish that you were back at Yale,...

The American Revolution: An Epic Poem Chapter I Chapter II by Andrew Benson Brown   Chapter III: The New-World Mercury The historical source material for the below installment is Paul Revere’s Ride, by David Hackett Fischer   “Listen up stupid, or you’ll mishear Of the midnight ride of—someone dear… I...

  Autumn Ecstasy In ecstasy has autumn come With burning bush, chrysanthemum, And quaking aspens shaking fast While crackling oak leaves shiver past The pumpkined porches bright and brown, And branches’ clothes fall lightly down From limbs that clap and brave the cold. The naked branches lose their gold To...

  A family that I read about Lost everything acquired. Their house, collections, photographs, All vanished in a fire. Thank God no one was injured, But this fact can’t be erased--- Although the losses were just things, Some cannot be replaced: A child’s letter to his mom When he was...

  You’ve grown up in the public school system, and it shows. You are sensitive to the world around you, and in touch with your “feelings”—a perfect little guilt-ridden example of a twenty-first-century castrato or an overbearing feminist airhead. You hardly know the alphabet or how to count, or even...

  On voting day, we hope the nation’s __red---a bright vermilion. Let’s count the reasons to choose Trump. __There are a half a zillion! Trump speaks his mind, with filters down. __He’s not a politician. A businessman, he gets things done. __His plans come to fruition. His policies on taxes,...