Poetry

The village school is cold and still. Its entrance gate is rusted shut, the playground overwhelmed by sounds of loaded lorries, hissing past, no noise but theirs to fill a school where only shadows come to play. A figure joins the shadow play. It was a life ago, but still...

The Painter Transfixed, I bow before art’s magic splendour, enraptured by the glory of such hues, enchanted, charmed beyond all human measure, possessed by master’s clarity of muse - transported to a scene of worldly wonder, the light expressed within, a living thing - colors bold to capture mood asunder,...

There are so many different ways to behave And yet we often behave in just one. There are so many different types of “depraved” but the most dangerous is simply just “fun”. People uphold certain lies that they tell and will stick with those beliefs until death, even if it...

A Squinting gaze through the fog and the haze A glimpse at a shimmer while in a daze Brief yet bright, its beauty light is luring Something has gotten the spirit stirring Awaken you, my forgotten real goal Time to return to the home of my soul Finding a path,...

Mycenae Passing through the lion-headed gate, years fall from her shoulders like heaps of old rags. Even in the innocent daylight, she clearly hears gory echoes reflected in time's murky mirrors and, like courageous Cassandra, she, too, fears the scent of centuries-old blood which still gags. Passing through the lion-headed...

Argument from Design God’s antelopes have eyes placed far to side And horizontal pupils, features they Employ to see wide spans and speed away From lurking predators they’ve easily spied. But carnivores, with eyes in front of face And pupils vertical, see straight ahead, Are sharply focused on the beast...

Sonnet If I could choose to quietly slip away and make my exit while your backs are turned I'd do it now, why waste another day, after my time is up and all my books are burned? And yet the sun beats bright, and life is sweet and there are...

The purple snail (Purpura patula pansa) is found in the Mixtec villages of the Oaxacan Coast in Mexico. The inhabitants carefully bleed the snails and then return them to the rocks. But due to illegal dyeing and the consumption of snails, the purple snail is now threatened with extinction.  ...

The Playground The playground stands beside itself In grey, and waits upon the hill. The books are stones upon the shelf, Their spines are sealed against the chill. Still, the forgotten souls might try To steal away, when light of day Recedes, and float upon a sigh, To climb the...

Ballade for Trains They are no more, the whistles’ longing wails, Retreating like a stately, mournful queen. Where are the smokestacks that left fading trails, The blackened engine with its oiled sheen, Imposing in its tons, unfazed, serene, The ties in creosote, the polished rails? I hear their bell, and...

At Rainbow's End At rainbow’s end, I looked for gold; And still I search, Alone and cold: The rainbow’s gone And now I’m old.   The Hooves that Thundered The hooves that thundered on the roof, An awful sound to hear; And when the mighty steeds arrived, My heart was...

She swings huge plates and spins colliders, Shoots particles at stars to drown, (Slides coins from ears and tax providers Which wane and wax from head to gown.) She juggles charms, scales fractal spaces, Disapproves as proofs wave down; Attaches sums to umpteen places, Makes patent claims her stamping ground....

Tipping Point In our millenium's first dozen years, they say we’re headed for a tipping point -- a disastrous sum of many fears when Nature herself will crash and disjoint. It’s not the Mayan calendar that’s cause, nor the Sun’s circumstantial alignment, but our careless consumption without pause and our...

By Julie Catherine Vigna Sonnet III:  Beginnings In bare and dusty feet she wields her broom With none save cat, and creatures of the light To break the days spent work-worn in the gloom Or twilight by the cinders, black as night Her clothes just rags, and meagre scraps for...

Carrying a Torch for Rhyme Rhyming is out, some poets say You can’t express yourself that way For when you try for perfect rhyme With metered words and rhythmic time It’s writing to a metronome You lose the essence of the poem A poem that you can understand They say,...

By Loetta Meister   Virginity Tender petals Tightly curled Make a rosebud Not unfurled Tender hearted Little girl Petals waiting To uncurl Lovely woman Perfect rose Given to the Man she chose   Spectrum I'm pink with joy green with envy, I'm blue and sad, my colors many. The spectrum...

Enough There is a God sized hole within the innermost regions of every soul. Its dark, and it is deep, its shadows are weeping with the gnashing of teeth. We try our vain restraints to fill its desires, trying to compensate things that take us higher. Vestiges fellowship, forever searching...

Chasing the Devil I’m losing sight of what I want. I’ve lost the things I need. Danger one step ahead of me, I can’t help but proceed. Why am I drawn to such a life that brings me to my knees? Where is the strength to stand up tall, Deny...

By Neal Whitman The reckoning at end of day. Upon a bench two minstrels meet to split the payment equally. The reckoning at end of day. Some beef and stout for each in play. (The old guitar is known to cheat.) The reckoning at end of day. Upon a bench...

A Cold Truth If Love can move mountains I could move the Earth My Heart as a fountain We would never thirst If your Heart were the Sun I'd never be cold Away, I would not run With you I'd grow old Alas, it's not the case I'll accept the...

Seed Pot Seed corn, broodmare, hen: Half the earth is green, half brown. Man must plan for planting in spring to live    off the land, must harvest the rain to nurture his young, must save enough grain to reap what is sown from pots shaped like cones with holes, held...

Postcard Gallery Thumbing through glossies gleaned from countless trips – Old Master paintings, drawings, and prints reduced to four-by-six impressions – we’re induced to walk through pictures. Unmoored, the mind’s eye slips through memory’s gilded frame and into halls of house museums, sets sail down chapel aisles, funiculates up hilltop...

Below is an excerpt of the last ten stanzas of Lord Byron's ‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage,’ published originally in the 1810s. It may be read as an ode to the ocean, or perhaps an environmental poem.   CLXXVII. Oh! that the Desert were my dwelling-place, With one fair Spirit for my...

Dawn Drums They march again to war, Sniffling, shuffling, voices muffled, Through dawn's uncertain door Youth and man, rich and poor, Through campfires' smothered smokes They march again to war, From college, farm and store They carry loaded muskets Through dawn's uncertain door Damp drums tapping, four by four, Meadow...

Villanelle Vows All that is in this delightful garden grows, Should happy be, and have immortal bliss.       Edmund Spenser, Faerie Queene, st. 41 Have immortal bliss. Bride and Groom: “Dost thou?” And now you may kiss. We to bear witness two to make a vow. Have immortal bliss. Nothing...

Street Idyll Calm is she who sits in white Because the source of her delight, Wherein the street relucts to sound Its violence, is so profound. Her subtle philosophic sense Of something new and near and tense Inspires, in her concentration, Promises of stimulation. But cavalcades across the street Of...

Poetry For The Common Man No wonder poetry won’t sell, Since authors write it for themselves; And most of it would fare as well On dark and dusty warehouse shelves. Such work is crammed with metaphor, Emboldened narcissistic pap The poet world claims to adore, While others claim it makes...

Into The Mist This shadow life passing away, mute requiem of falling snow, a prayer to end the mortal day; then to a far sweet place I go: to beating wings of startled heart, not mansions grand or streets of gold, not angels wrought of worldly art, what earthly eyes...

By A. Michaelle Yarbrough The music of the crescendo plays so sweet As she moves across the floor so gracefully To a soothing gentle blossoming beat Her motion paints pictures of love lost painfully He’s just a prop to accompany in the duet A place of joy and pride stretched...

By Damian Robin In view, he made a start. Filling up his cart, He flogged his horse apart And made a mess-age: "art." With few horse hairs of doubt He fanned his ego out, Used skills of nearly "nowt," Stored bugs in sauerkraut. He keeps his heart in kind And...

HEAR the sledges with the bells -- Silver bells ! What a world of merriment their melody foretells ! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night ! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight ; Keeping time, time,...

By Xuanzang (Translated by Lan Hua) After unstinting effort Of the human frame To reach this mountain shelter Where a few words Suddenly discovered Exceed the poetic realm In a holy sutra Inscribed in stone The spirit's music is performed In the half empty mountain air Composed In Western Paradise...

By Billy Cosby Tonight, whoever watered your fresh sky set the nozzle wide and the evening’s cheeks wear a dark blush with glimmering shoe-flies needling clouds away I hope for weeks because yours are wild stars tonight, mustangs, thousands in Olympic golds and bronzes arm-wrestling for space, enduring pains as...

(Epoch Times) - Torkom Demirjian is the president and founder of Ariadne Galleries on the Upper East Side. He has been a dealer of ancient art since 1972. Demirjian is known in his field for his sense of history, grounding in the marketplace, and aesthetic judgment. ... Epoch Times: How...

NEW YORK—News broke this week that Damien Hirst killed 9,000 butterflies to create his latest piece of warped modern art at the Tate Modern in London. Animal rights advocate PETA bashed the work saying: “Damien Hirst’s quest to be edgy is as boring as it is callous. It does not...

By Billy Cosby The Good Earth is frozen over, dogs, but you two are scalding kilns with glassy stares that beam out in stripes, striking Earth’s white cup: a mug glossy now with silver, icy cares. Um, shut down the heat, pups; let’s power down and be as embers and...

By Damian Robin On a night-lit street, an empty pizza box Staggers against a wall like thrown-off knickers. Its flat and grey insides have darker shapes of grey, Tagged serrated cheese, and snagged tomato skin. Ugly, like the marks on tortured people’s skin. Or awkward stories you may read from...

By Catherine Tufariello Their shrieks careening dizzily between Delight and outrage, the students in the yard Are playing hard, Though they have little room and nothing green In their asphalt pen.  Nothing but fences, bricks, And at regulation height, a pair of hoops From which gray loops Vestigially descend.  With...

By Evan Mantyk Gov. Mitt Romney was absolutely correct when he declared that government subsidies to PBS should be cut. But he wasn’t right because he was paying lip service to some small-government ideology espoused by Republicans. First, to be fair, here is exactly what Romney had the gall to...

By Aubrey Henderson The sweet silence evades me these long days, When I can close my eyes and hear God speak, Without words, He dissipates the dark haze, Occupying my being with the grand mystique. I never wanted to cause affliction To you or any sentient being, Yet in my...