Pantoum

. A Pantoum of Wager God said to Satan: Have you seen my servant Job, a man who fears God and shuns evil. Satan replied: You’ve bought him with blessings. Take them away and he’ll spit in your eye. God said to Satan: OK, I’ll take that bet. He’s yours. Have...

. A Woke Recipe for Disaster a villanelle Heap fresh and zesty chaos on despair. Rub salt in history’s wounds till hatred sticks, Then sugar discontent with bogus care. Pour rage and scorn on free-speech freaks who dare To shower ice on mayhem’s spicy mix. Heap fresh and zesty chaos...

Bridge of Memories a symmetrelle in mixed syllabic meter A bridge built of memories spans the gap between future and past. Although life may speed by us too fast, from every experience, knowledge we gain. Each second of happiness, boredom and pain; far too many moments for us to retain...

  Bemused “Polyhymnia would not lift her veil, All my attempts at sacred poetry failed, Calliope did not lend me her tablet, Epic poetry left me desolate, Terpsichore was sure, I could never dance, Curtly did she say, ‘not a blighted chance’ Her scroll's secret code, Clio wouldn't reveal, History...

  The Price (a pantoum in iambic pentameter) The sea and sky, once beautiful and clean, They’ve paid the price for man’s hubris and greed. The jungle canopies were brilliant green as nature shared her bounty, fruit and seed; They’ve paid the price for man’s hubris and greed. Depleting resources...

  There is a tale of seven sisters whose father help up the sky pursued by Orion, carried to the heavens by Zeus. Farming season began when their star cluster appeared high— their position in the fall marked change in seafaring use. Pursued by Orion, carried to the heavens by...

By Carol Smallwood The pantoum is a poetry form that originated in 15th century Malaysia and drifted West in the 19th century with French writer Victor Hugo, among others. While it never quite took off like the Haiku, it never fully went away either and has been steadily blossoming among...

  Winter Storm Watch The sky is still; no flakes appear and yet we know that they will come. Held hostage by our doubts and fears we beat out warnings on our drums. We know, for sure, the flakes will come; we may be buried to our ears or slip...

There’s a wonder about it, the fragile beauty of lace. Many kinds for centuries have been important to own; one can go to Ireland, Flanders, from place to place— they’re in catalogs: Irish, Mechlin, lace for the home. Many kinds for centuries have been important to own; even I have...