Beauty

. Dystopia Reality is never what it seems To be.  It hides itself in shrouds of mist, In bulging envelopes of gilded dreams, In requisite pronations of the wrist That guides the palsied hand that holds the pen. What good is it to cry that life’s unfair If one does...

. Mourning the Dead by Li Qingzhao, Southern Song (1084-1155) | from Chinese by Talbot Hook Above in the heavens the star-river flows; Down on the earth the curtains hang low. As the air grows chill, and my pillow tear-damp, I arise, untying my robes just to know The hours...

. The High Cost of Low Prices Poetry is what I treasure. Books of poems give me pleasure, but my grief’s been hard to measure, since I did some shopping. “50 Famous Poems”---nifty! Now on sale for just $ 2.50. I should revel, since I’m thrifty, but my mood is...

. The Joys of Spring a pantoum It’s here—sweet long-awaited spring. New blooms smell lovely; skies are blue. The trilling birds are on the wing. Earth has awakened; life is new. New blooms smell lovely; skies are blue. Kids dash outside to have a fling. Earth has awakened; life is...

. Disambiguation As in the dawn the nature of the beams Of light invading chambers---how they glint, Conceal with shade, or paint with rosy tint--- Reveals the day, not as it is but seems, So, in the natal cradle of our dreams, From the beloved’s eye we aim to mint...

. To Tchaikovsky by A.N. Apukhtin (1840-1893) | Translated from Russian by Olga Dumer With my musician friend’s departure A minor key pervades my lines. Yet, like a fugue’s evolving texture, Old friendship amplifies with time. We played together, with bravura, Our youthful daring prelude. Since adolescence, fame’s allure Thrilled...

. The English Cantos: StairWell Canto 4 Leaving a broken relationship of the past behind in Canto 3, the poet enters a new world of education and what that means. Before entering a specific establishment, the poet has to catch up with Dante and Virgil who have forged ahead. But...

. Rescuing Contemporary Poetry from Vers Libre The conservative & informal vs. the free Before addressing my thesis, let me explain my choice of the word conservative in identifying a category of poetry, basically that which employs meter, often rhyme, and addresses traditional themes. Most would use the word formal....

. The Heroes of Beijing on the Jan. 21 movie premiere of Unsilenced, just days before the Beijing Winter Olympics As great as it may be to send those hockey Pucks on icy wisps of air into A net as sweet as tightly guarded honey, It is, at root, a...

. Apocalypse The fractured sky splits, flaming at the edge— The earth heaves upwards in explosive wrath. No eye can bear the clay-caked risen dead Sleepwalking through the streets in blackened shrouds. The seas turn into boiling, viscous blood And everywhere, unending trumpet-blasts, Swarms of gnawing locusts whose foul wings...

. To Sleep, to Sleep by Friedrich Hebbel | translated from German by Sean Thompson To sleep, to sleep and only sleep And never wake and have no dreams! The bitter woes that made me weep but half-remembered fading gleams. So I, when echoes of life's fullness Reverberate down where...

. Self-Exile "Parue—nec inuideo—sine me, liber, ibis in urbem.” —Ovid While driving underneath I had to pray: the tunnel, God, had better not cave in— as if New York could make the earth obey. My Lord, I won’t let New York City win. I well recall the moment's clarity as...

. Black and Red Within a latent, pathless peak, A mountain’s womb begins to leak The flicker of a fervent hue, When primal mantles stir a brew. This billow turns into a cloud That sprinkles as a stony shroud, While foam and fume pervade a thrust And stoke the trails...

. Lockdown The day sprawls wider than a yawn, a mouth that sucks a ticking clock, a door that lets the wind blow in, but no one comes to lift their fist and knock. The rain outside is free to run and fall and fling itself through puddles on the...

. Sonnetized “Why poetry?” My chair leans in his chair And slides me a sabbatical-swelled smirk. The past nine months I’d shouldered all his share So he could spend his patriarchal perk In penning pap not destined to see light. “A couplet is a manageable cup “To nurse while nursing...

. Living The Dream   “I look to a day when people will not be judged by the color of their skin,   but by the content of their character.” ---Martin Luther King, Jr. The USA gives thanks---hurray For Martin Luther King--- A good and gracious grand display For one who rose above the...

. Let It Bleed My family believes a puzzle piece is missing, that it’s me and if they snap it in, the family will have peace. The picture will be whole. They’ll close a gap. But as I stand outside, I see no space to fit me in. The edges...

. A Truthful Triolet I want the truth. I want to trust The words that trip from lips that lied. I want all doubt to fade to dust. I want the truth. I want to trust. Truth hurts. Truth heals. Truth's heart is just. My faith in you, it hasn’t...

. Obsession an Alfred Dorn sonnet As candles gently glow in amber light The picture centered high upon the wall appears to take a life form of its own. Yet, thoughts of her are stronger on this night. He views her fleeting image in the hall, as he sits drunk,...

. Caring Now, while Winter’s noisy emptiness moans In the flue, Dearest, look out at all these Somberly unimpatient silent trees Holding aloft their abject skeletons: Can new flesh somehow sprout from human bones Like April’s tender leaves? Can memories Of touches lost refind their first surprise As roots grope...

. Civis Romanus Sum (I am a Roman citizen) As Paul stood bound and for the whip outstretched, He said to the centurion beside, “‘Tis lawful here for you to flog a wretch, A Roman citizen and not yet tried?” The mere centurion on hearing went And to the tribune...

. The Artist Intuitive journey, subconscious creations refuse to diffuse while the muse makes the choice to infuse mystic magic with personal voice giving birth to original manifestations. Works will cement while fermenting with feeling revealing a meaning unique to each eye. “No one knows why,” says the strange passer-by,...

. Limerick China’s footballers haven’t a clue why they can’t go and get a tattoo, but I think it might be it’s since President Xi is afraid they’ll choose Winnie the Pooh. . . This Urge for the Truth We strive for trusted knowledge in the guise of Truth, but...

. The A-bomb Dome in Hiroshima The epicentre of the blast was here, This dome, its empty ribcage gaunt and bare, It stands mute testimony to the day A Superfortress, the Enola Gay, Took to the cirrus-marbled cobalt skies Above Hiroshima, unwished-for prize, Its mission: razing of necessity By nuclear...

. The View from Space My helmet gone, I float among the stars As weightless as my lungs deprived of air Asphyxiating slowly, I am far From all I love and anyone who cares. The stars are dead already: cold and hot, Like burning funeral torches in the sky Their...

. https://youtu.be/RMcLVFNbueY . Complete poem text here. CREDITSPoetry: Alan Nordstrom (1939-)Audio/Visual Work: Society of Classical PoetsVoice-Over: Evan MantykPhotos/Footage:“Milky Way with Tree” by Videvo, licensed under Videvo’s Royalty-Free License (videvo.net)Music:“Valley Sunset” by Alejandro Magaña (A. M.) licensed under the Mixkit Stock Music Free License (mixkit.co)Sound FX:“Crickets and insects in the wild...

. Cascading Nation Now not so much a nation as a place for pushing through a bruit cacophony of cultures in discordant synergy, dismissing calm consensus, wit, and grace as if considered discourse would abase befuddled masses yearning to breed free and manifest a new world destiny while tumbling headlong...

. Sadness Has Silent Feet Sorrow comes on softened steps, __But joy leaps madly in. Where is she with the golden hair __I would yet see again? Is she now like wind on braes __That sing the brae-wind song? Or does she, silent, by the sea, __Whisper, and walk along?...

. St. Joseph’s Admonition Forget yourself, and do what’s right, Remember how you gained your sight, So do not pause to quench your pain, Your will is strengthened by the strain, But weakened if you do not fight. Pick up your sword and slay with might, The demons who tempt...

. The Ninth Day of the Emperor's Wrath a rondeau redoublé The stadium roared at the end of the fight. In triumph the victor uplifted his sword. The emperor signaled thumbs down with cold spite. Death’s blow entertained the degenerate horde. The Christian who died was placed onto a board...

. Good Conscience Under our cauls a sleepless giber lurks, A callous judge of all our selfish smirks Who slices through our veils of self delight To show us prancing for unholy cirques. Our ego tells us to ignore the frights Our conscience lays before us every night And every...

. Sonnet by José de Espronceda (1808-1842) | translated from Spanish by Adam Sedia Fresh, lush, pure, and perfumed luxuriantly, The blooming garden’s flair and ornament, Coxcomb perched on the stem's filament, The budding rose-bloom sets its fragrance free. But if the burning sun stirs angrily, Shines flaming in the dog-days’...

. https://youtu.be/dYyxThEY71o . An Excerpt from The Western Star for Epiphany, January 6, 2022 The road stretched out forever in the morning, giving Balthazar plenty of time and space for thought. The meanderings of his mind returned to that strange gift old Caspar meant to give in honor of the...

. The Language of Hope The heart forbids the mind to let it go; __Extinguished love has deeper scars, __The foremost friend, the dreaded foe, It burns and scatters flames like broken stars. I pace upon the trampled grass and think __Of all those days when sleep was sweet, __How...

. Forever Faun In mottled shade of forest stood a faunSo still he seemed to be no living thing;The sun beamed down, already he was gone—His presence was a fleeting sign of Spring.Once in the distant past, when earth was young,Men saw the faun and prayed to gods that beAnd...

. Meditations on Ecclesiastes . Inquiry “What profit has a man for all his labor…?” ---Ecclesiastes 1: 3 None knows what all his work accomplishes; What one begins, another finishes A different way. Or, fools may come in after He dies, waste life in lust and drunken laughter, Abandoning the...

. So It Is Written The books that I have owned for many years, Still sitting on my shelves or stored in boxes, Have yellowed pages—damaged belvederes— With covers bearing pale mildewy poxes. I’ve read them all, but such a heavy toll Humidity inflicts on sheaves of paper, A nuisance...

. Introduction In a second-hand bookshop, located in the French Quarter (New Orleans), I discovered a poetry book by Margaret Hunt Brisbane (1858-1925). It had been in mid spring of 2005, a couple of months before Hurricane Katrina sorely afflicted New Orleans. I sensed that Mrs. Brisbane’s pure verse and...

. Last Christmas I’d rushed there through the afternoon In someone else’s borrowed car Where you, distressed I’d come too soon, Were giving samples in a jar. The last I ever spoke with you Was in that long, cold, darkened ward. Snow washed outside like waves, and you Were slipping...

. “Lud's Church" or “The Green Chapel” after Sir Gawain and the Green Knight I travel to this place each New Year’s Day, To where the fluting curlew builds his nest. Upon these stegosaurus hills I stray, The Wilderness of Wirral to the West. The Lollards worshipped here so long...