Beauty

April 26 is Poem in Your Pocket Day, part of National Poetry Month. On this day, people are encouraged to carry a poem in their pockets and share it with others. Below are recommended rhyming poems for this day from contemporary classical poets and famous classical poets of the past....

The lamp holds sway along the shadowed streets A penumbra encircles its sweet shine As night rests softly like a feathered cloak Upon a multitude of dancing stars And night and stars and lamp become a song A story writ in music’s measured bars The lamp’s penumbra swings on shadowed...

From Lost Love & Other Lyrics A casida Sleep, the enemy of inspiration, An unlikely ally that hangs around, With dawn’s rebirth, cause for celebration. Dreams, their rites of passage are at my feet, There refuge lies in the revelation of sound, An archipelago, where lovers meet. A young heroine,...

  Wee hours, when crickets tune their eerie cords and hoot the yawning owls at twinkling stars; the night-maid roves seesaw, like a drunken bard, besmeared with stripes of billion moonlight-scars! A slithering thief along the parapet wall, a snaking beau crossing the forlorn street, a Robin chirping sweet on...

How Can We Know? A villanelle How can we know where we go when we die; Pondering signs, looking up at the sky, Wondering if Someone's hearing my cry? Which religion is right, which one a lie? Too much in common to outright deny; How can we know where we...

Part 1 Between a teardrop and the heart, We sense our feelings weakened, mourn, For sadness as the tones impart A sound perceived and now forlorn. Opposing songs composed, to ache, Before their scripted voices break, Imagined dreams, enthralled to wake, The haven of the thoughts we make. And moods...

“The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.” ~ Louis L’Amour You are not alone on this wind-rush march, Itinerant ink scribing papyrus Upon demands and deadlines flaming torch; Or over ant-hills disturbed omnibus. Sometimes the hour is long as day or night, And eyes rebel to...

  Heroes, Victims, and Poseidon The metre of ancient Greek poetry succeeds in “achieving a length and complexity that are unusual in the heroic verse of other literatures.” ~ Michael Grant, The Rise of the Greeks, 325, as quoted in Michael Schmidt, The First Poets, 16. The heroes are heroic...

Obituary Late summer, when the bumblebees begin to die, You’ll see them clinging to the petals of a flower For dear life—or at least it seems so to an eye Untrained in entomology. They’ve had their hour, Have likely reproduced authentic replicas, And now are caught in the inanimate repose...

Glistening orbs Dance on air Drifting skyward Without a care Iridescent spheres Shimmering bright Reflecting prisms In the sunlight Luminous globes Fragile and frail Constructed of A diaphanous veil Fleeting bubbles Bursting free Illusive sight Imparting glee   Born in Wilmington Delaware in the early 1950’s, Ann Christine Tabaka has...

Canto 1 is the provisional name for a sequence of 33 Cantos that James Sale is attempting to write in the style - and using the terza rima - of Dante. His aim is to create a contemporary epic of heaven and hell that stands four-square against the meaninglessness of...

A sonnet of longing and of a glimpse of hope. July 17, 2016. We looked imploring to the starless sky; we worlds and worlds of darkness, seeking light, that we might momently forget our night; for that strange hope we held, we knew not why. And then it came, and...

By David B. Gosselin William Shakespeare (baptized April 26, 1564 - died April 23, 1616) is arguably the greatest writer in any language. His poetry is not only one of the most exalted examples of what an immortal sense of creative identity can accomplish, but it is in a sense...

Pigeon Cove, MA 1948 Above, the sky, remote and pure, Below, the earth, steadfast and sure. Between the two, the surging sea, Fighting both for mastery. Blue swell of wave, foam flung high, White flash of challenge to proud sky, The surge, the crash, the sounding roar Of wind-swept wave...

    He pressed a rounded stone into my hand. He said, "Take care of this," and turned away To tend to things we needed for our trip: The boats, the lines, the paddles, and the rest. The stone was not like those about my feet. I wondered at the...

  I know why the red rose weeps Why she hides her tears in dew As the summer breezes sweep From those seas of peaceful blue, And then like our dreams She fades with the morning dew. I know why the red rose weeps Through the dreamy months of June...

April Fools Easter: April 1, 2018 In dark Gethsemane I was betrayed By Judas’ kiss. I was arrested, tried, Found guilty, beaten, thorn-crowned, mocked, and flayed. Then nailed to the cross on which I died. My lifeless, piercéd body was deposed And quickly laid within a borrowed tomb; Enshrouded, then...

(All poetry by Bruce Dale Wise)   On Secretaries of State: Falling from Grace by Brice U. Lawseed Across the World in India, while touring for her book, the former Secretary Clinton, trying to look cool, upon the steps of Jahaz Mahal palace in Mandu, slipped on the stony steps,...

. . The Sun The face above that shone below From space to hover, cast a glow And warmth afforded to the one Who in its path was found; the sun . . On Mass Shootings I cut loose the clod from the moorings of root I thought about God,...

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...

This Collar, Blue My elbows leak with grease And all my toes are laid with steel I'm rough of neck My knuckles specked with cuts that never heal The world I mend The swirls on plastic lens paints squalor's view Ah, but still, I'd never trade this collar, blue  ...

See the Music Mysterious the inner eye that hears the dancers flying by across the stage in grand jete' as woodwind, horn and cello play And there, just barely in the wings the graceful ballerina sings the song of butterfly and swan to the pirouette of the baton See the music! hear...

About the Lady Godiva and her famed naked ride through Coventry Once in the town of Coventry, Leofric Earl had held decree; Too great the tax that he appealed, Greater than his folk could yield. They had endured their master’s needs, None but one spake ‘gainst misdeeds; His dearest wife,...

by Jane Blanchard George Herbert was born into a well-to-do and well-doing family of Montgomery, Wales, in 1593. When he was three years old, his father died, leaving a wife and ten children. Herbert nevertheless received a marvelous education, including studies at Westminster School in London and at Trinity College...

In garret lofts poor artists have quite often painted women bathing, combing hair inside a nearby mirror… __________________________Your eyes soften, and, pale as blossoms or flesh from a pear, your skin glints in the light. Snow falls outside amid the greyness and the winter cold, yet this one moment it...

  in the woods, I stop in twilight dim … as spring throws off the evening’s hoarfrost coat midst groaning fir and shivering bare limb I hear the spirit whisperings that float on ragged winter-worn breaths sighing through the ancient dark depths in capacious folds of days-end mystic green to...

Winter’s Nocturn       When angles of the sun are shining low, Intuition tells us we must sleep. Nocturnal tracks appear now in the snow To mark the chilly vigil some must keep. Enlightened constellations rule the skies, Reminding us that distant worlds must be, So vast the universe,...

Statues A Villanelle Two Buddhas now a lost reality, A crowd chants loudly near a pile of stone; Across the South you won’t find General Lee. The temples fell despite UNESCO’s plea And ISIS’ pledge to leave the past alone; Two Buddhas now a lost reality. For Durham’s statue lax...

  The wisest poem ever Was written by my daughter, Although I’ve never known her To be much of a scholar. She’s only five years old now, But wise beyond her years. My daughter wrote a poem That moved me into tears. She scribbled down her feelings; A napkin was...

For Bill Horn Send up on wings of blood our fathers’ cry, Though the unhearing dead brook not your sound, And flesh yet binds us to the groaning ground, Release your paeans to the boundless sky, And let your vibratory voices fly Beyond the veils of earth, above, around! O...

At night I hear Prokofiev and Liszt and dream of playing baby grands as sly Euterpe lures me towards the melodies of pianists. My fingers cannot meet the demands of Mendelssohn’s complicated chords; they dance instead atop computer keys and feign the sleight of Mozart’s hands, fluttering like hummingbirds, composing...

Sonnet I: Liu Haixiao Mr. Liu Haixiao (pronounced Leo High-shaow) is serving a 16-year prison sentence in Jilin Province, China, where he was arrested for tapping into the local TV network to broadcast programs that debunk state propaganda demonizing Falun Gong. He has been given opportunities to walk free contingent...

A rhupunt A modern place that maintains grace a safer place for all who come The airplanes fly the city sky the mountains high you're never numb never alone away from home in temples roam to gods you'll hum No silenced love no eyes above a place free of dictators...

I. As clear blue symbols dance before my eyes, And I lie still, my head upon the ground, Each part of me, in dappled sunshine crowned, Wants formal shape in selfish compromise, And hides itself in Nature’s rich disguise – I watch my youthful fragments form a mound Of former...

  You Decide Some know me as Destiny, The weaver of the cloth of Time. Although my looms are never stilled, They say I choose how high you’ll climb, How fast you’ll fall, how great your name; I am the ruler of the game. Others think of me as Fate....

12/03/17 Of all ye gods, that crown Olympus high, Who yet remains that man’s not brought to heel? When aircraft daily pierce great Zeus’s sky, And Neptune’s depths have long since been revealed. Alas, the greenhouse did Demeter in, And eBay showed poor Hermes to the door; Now Hestia runs...

  Within what hut, My woodland maid, May I remain awhile? Next what fire may my chills Be warmed? Be there A path that leads Past stony piles and tells Us not to walk alone? I do not think, My woodland maid, Deep sleep my dreams will find; Nor will...

  You caught me staring at you yesterday, or so it seemed, for you—you smiled and blushed and all your girlfriends giggled in the hushed and stilted silence of the lecture. They had to have seen me staring your way too, slackjawed (old love has always been a child), transfixed...

The Day the Poetry Died Wonder why poetry is in decline, While not ever writing one lyric line? There is no experience more perverse, Than self-indulgent poems in free verse. Your pain, your angst, and existential doubt, Pretension endured day in and day out. Deep thoughts, believed you’re the first...

  The unchanging moor, but heeds season’s call To don her different well-coloured weeds, My heart is cold, left lonely; waterfall And bright babbling brook, pretend their proceeds Quell the vast sorrows of this tranquil scene, I feel unsure; their songs, certainly sweet, Are not for me alone, my wise...