Beauty

. Planets, Gods and Weekdays Alarms are snoozed, and Monday's born. A few more snores as dreams are shorn, And sleep is corked by clanging horn; __The moon's bereft, Her silver day now dimmed and worn __By weekly theft. A remnant fire of Mars appears, Now Tuesday steers earth's working...

. . Sophisticated Lady—Small Town Girl “Sophisticated lady” gropes the table at her bedside, blindly taking random swipes to kill the morning scream That shatters little privacies she shares with no one else, and steals, with full impunity, her one recurring dream. Cursing imperceptibly, she slaps the tiny box wherein...

. The Sonogram Dodona housed the oracle of Zeus, And there the Greeks sought his prophetic aid (Whose force depended on how much they’d paid) In auguries divinely quite abstruse. Beneath his sacred oak they lay diffuse, His priests who’d listen to the serenade As wind among the leaves discreetly...

. Chicken and Andouille Gumbo Try my gumbo recipe From the land of andouille: ½ cup unsalted butter; ½ cup all-purpose flour Melt the butter, whisk in flour, Cook and stir a quarter-hour Till it’s peanut-butter hue. Set aside. This is the roux. 1 Tbsp canola oil, ½ cup each...

. A Requiem for Suzi She fed the birds, she knew them all by name; She cried to see a small dog hurt or lame; She stroked stray cats and even wild ones tamed. __She was wonderful, we loved her. She loved all children, love without a stain: From tip...

. Delightfully Mine Of handsome landscapes I admire, How few were planned to please my sight. High skies of which I never tire Are gifts of light, not owned by right. The borrowed mountainsides I see Beyond the field I cultivate, The sparkling seashore’s fluency, I merely try to navigate....

. Encapsulations “It’s a shame that the tradition of producing small poetic encapsulations of classic texts seems to have died out.” ---Joseph S. Salemi . I. The Way of Peace an alexandroid Thomas a Kempis, The Imitation of Christ, Book III, Chapter 23 Obey!  Go do another’s will; __Avoid your...

. La Luna The poet compares the moon to Eve, our fallen but redeemed mother, and the sun to Mary, daughter of Eve and Mother of us all; she celebrates Our Lady’s victory over witchcraft, communism, and Islamism and her continued presence with us in our pilgrim exile. In daylight,...

. The Window Seat “They don’t read poets till they’re dead.” That’s what my wise-guy father said. “They wait till they have gone away ‘fore caring what they had to say. Still if that’s what you really want, To drink from that life’s bitter font, Then who am I to...

. Beatrice Does Not Smile: Canto XXI of Paradise by Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) translated by Stephen Binns And now my eyes were fastened once again __upon my lady’s face, and all the while __Beatrice __my soul could not another sight retain. She was not smiling. “Were I to smile, __she...

. Awaiting Adulation We all spend our lives awaiting adulations’ late arrival. We’re convinced that’s all we need for our emotional survival. So, we count up every “Like” and then we add them to each “Follow”. Disappointment is a bitter pill that most of us can’t swallow. We sit lost...

. A Novice Speaks to a Guardian Tell me, Oh honoured one, The secret of the Way, Of how to live, to reach the place Of light! . The Guardian’s Reply Kid, train And work hard; doubt The self; gain all you lack To meet the best and worst; and...

. A Picture of Repose A young boy’s seated on a wall that overlooks Capri, an oil painting by Dane Peter Vilhelm Carl Kyhn, where a rock ridge arises over architextured walls, with arches, domes and towers over roof and mason sprawl. The landscape artist captured a sweet momentary peace,...

. Friendship When was it first struck up? Nobody knows. It’s carried us through heydays, drabs, and falls. An unsown balm, ex nihilo it grows Like capers from the cracks in old stone walls. Previously published in The Lyric. . . Rhyme of History So-called public opinion has forced common sense Into the...

. Art Freezes Time Great art freezes time when a painting is hung. An image of beauty eternally young. Who painted the pictures that hang on this wall? I talked to the soul that had painted them all: “So few are you great ones who wielded the brush, Once painting...

. Restoration of Nôtre Dame One Paris evening seven years ago, We walked the neighborhood of Nôtre Dame, But no café had seats. We settled on A bench with the cathedral as tableau, Congenial scene our hearts cannot outgrow. Could we imagine it might soon be gone, A ruined temple...

. The Little Knight The kitchen door slams open wide; The boy flies through to play outside. His house becomes his castle’s walls; The distant car horns, clarion calls. A stick becomes a mighty sword; The bushes, an invading horde. He charges with his battle cry, Defending home, sword brandished...

. Three Sonnets  by Vittorio Alfieri (1749-1803) translated by Adam Sedia . LXXIV Melancholy, why take your only seat On this, my miserable heart---oh, why? A trembling supplicant, I yet entreat: Oh, when will you relieve my tearful cry? Is this dark pomp of your funereal suite--- Infernal phantasms of...

. Walking Near the Waves When, walking near the waves, with eyes downcast, I look at my reflection from the shore, Which seems to sink towards the ocean’s floor, Weighed down by tears, which into tides have massed; The memory of joys forever past Resurfaces, and brings me back once...

. Parque España, Mexico City I walked until I couldn't walk without at least alighting on a city bench, the first that had a shaded seat, about ten yards from workers digging out a trench to place a pipe to mend a water break. But this was causing traffic to...

. How Great Thou Art __An Easter Ballade . It’s Easter. I can hear the choir sing. The gospels have been prayed upon and read And now I cheer the news the watchmen bring With shouts of “He is risen!” I am led Up to the altar where through wine...

. After the Storm All darkness past, the sun now shines Through shredded storm clouds drained of rain; Its bright beams crown, as day declines, The Victor’s head, now free of pain– That holy head, which for my good Was first pierced by a thorny crown, Now bows in peace,...

. Hymn I met Him on that Sunday afternoon I trod the Kentish cobbles through the streets Of Rochester past dwellings in the gloom Of fog laced with the waft of teashop treats. I entered the cathedral with a heart As heavy as its chilly walls of stone. I heard the organ stir and choir start To launch the lilt of Heaven’s work of art. That sabbath, seeds of...

. . The Shroud of Death The shroud of death’s night-shadow fled Before the dawning light of day; Unveiling tombs wherein the dead In grave and solemn stillness lay. And earth-life voices stirred the air With gentle breeze and creak of limb. And morning reached a garden where The birds...

. Of St. Vitus Cathedral, Prague Once I used to live a waking dream Devoid of starlight: lanterns on the hill Betwined the huddled palaces which gleam In reverence to the crown cathedral’s will. I saw her from my window in those days; From everywhere. From alley, square, and park;...

. Deconstructing Grűnewald’s Crucifixion It isn’t de rigueur these days to show A bloodied, tortured Jesus on the cross. Post-moderns would prefer we came to know Him as innocuous instead of gross. No sympathy allowed, but go ahead And drown him in a jar of urine, mock Him as irrelevant—just...

. The Faithful Who Have Chosen Not to Wait He rose and told us He would come again To supervise a world of righteous men And women who believed in what He’d said, That both the living and the wakened dead Should nevermore of chrism be bereft. But what of...

. The Wound in Christ's Side Culprits inflicted countless injuries On Jesus’ body during fifteen hours; The spear-thrust (last of loathsome savageries) Ripped out from His dead Heart, for sins of ours, Water and blood in separate healing showers. Although the gaping puncture proves Him dead, The wondrous wound, life’s...

. True North Light, opalescent, swirls the arctic bright; Siberian, Scandinavian, Alaskan lights. The morning sun, Aurora, hides her face. King David sings a chariot’s fiery flight, a psalmody of light, exultant grace above the open grave of polar night. Midnight: a momentary ache of blue, a tranquility of light,...

. The End Unraveled string may be rewound, __A hidden thing be sighted; A missing object may be found, __A fallen object righted; A candle snuffed can be relit, __And if a glass has spilled, That doesn’t mean the end of it--- __It still may be refilled. A soiled cloth...

. Regret The rivulets, the patterns in the glass, the dots of rain that race down to the sill, the treacle speed of days that somehow pass, she thinks will kill her, but they never will. It wasn't all her fault, she tells herself, too late to change a single...

. The Mystery of Poetry The mystery of poetry __is found between the lines. The poet sends the signals while __the sentence shows the signs. Alliterative artifices __alert the adept minds. The power of each poem portrays __the images one finds. Enchantment of entendrés and __emotions words define, As carefully...

. La Muerte In those days, no king ruled in Ithaca. A pack moved in with communist ideals: An orgy funded by another’s store. Wine flowed like beer, with all the women free. All except one. Plus one too old to count. The old order withdrew in toothlessness, And kept...

. Shishaldin Radiant angel, bathed in light, Gleaming opalescent white _On the smooth, sheer snow Clothing your smooth symmetry-- Smooth cone, sculpted gracefully _Like no peak I know--- Rising from the icy sea, Rising high, majestically _Piercing through the blue; Rising to the diamond sun, Your light’s source, the only...

. . Ballerina The balanced ballerina on her toe was poised with perfect posture—back and chest. The crowd, in silent awe, enjoyed the show, as she maintained a flawless arabesque. The dancer twirled to glide a sweet chassé with ease and elegance of mastery. This student of the classical ballet...

. Song of the Wailing Women Her spirit has gone forth. Return her to the earth, Released from work and words; In death she is the Lord’s. Did Adam bury Eve? Leave Abraham to grieve The wife no longer his. He buys a field that is The plot of holy...

. In My Wilderness Once, I thought I saw things clearly. Certainty felt quite sincerely. But, my path was very nearly Overgrown by worldliness. Without charts or maps beside me. With no compass there to guide me And no confidence inside me, I became directionless. I was trapped, was somehow...

. The Cat Who Barked There is a row of trees that crowd the ground, They’re dark and still. My cat lies in that spot. His tiger stripes were equal all around, But now lie wrapped in shrouds and put to rot. Or—perhaps not. Though he once mewed, and purred,...

. Promise While winter holds her icy grip __There’s promise in south breezes That make their yearly northward trip--- __Springtime, she comes and teases. The snow and ice as water run forth __As she firmly squeezes The cold and windy heart of the north __With warm and southerly breezes. In...

. The Glass Delusion of King Charles VI of France ‘His malady grew worse every day until his mind was completely gone. Sometimes he thought he was made of glass and would not let himself be touched. He had iron rods put into his clothing and protected himself in all...