Beauty

Reflections on a Dead Whale The sound of surf; the scratch of sand on feet; The sight of distant ships; the taste of salt; And on the gentle springtime ocean breeze The putrid, pungent, rotting stench of death. A behemoth, a California Gray, A biblical leviathan, as still as stone....

  Palermo’s great basilica is still— All prayers are tongueless for a lonely hour. Here high and holy silence can be breathed Like incense from the smoking thuribles Swung by acolytes at solemn mass. Antonello’s Virgin turns her eyes Ever so gently to one side. Perhaps The sacristan has shuffled...

  What might, what gold does Ithaca hold to vex us; Enthralled ‘till when, by whom, for what, and where? Do not the mermaids sing the song that wakes us to pleasured, pampered mornings in their arms and hair? Explain to me the madness of the twice-seduced to shun and...

Translations by Terry L. Norton. Original Latin by Phaedrus follows each. The Red Kite and the Doves When doves had from a certain kite fled And by the swiftness of their wings escaped, The wily bird of prey unto them said, “Why let your lives by constant fear be shaped?...

  1. THEATRE Strolling Players Dancers, actors, acrobats! Stripey trousers, floppy hats! They weren’t born to swing a scythe, pay a toll or weigh a tithe. Not for them the horny hand, tied to tilling leaden land. They will never need to chew on millet bread or turnip stew. Red...

Winter's Call O, can you hear her? Yonder autumn days? A siren's voice, as silent steps she takes? Her nuanced hymn brings frosty morning haze, And warns the trees to brace for pearly flakes. Her feigned allure she pairs with lovely sights, And softly laughs when warmth she steals from...

Ode to Leonidas, King of Sparta by Ian Williams Stern Sire and Father of the ancient West! Sacred, your primogeniture appears before the pride of Xerxes’ bloodied Best, “Immortals” bowed before these few brave spears. What fertile earth awaits the Asian horde? What day is come, abroad the sun-sparked seas?...

Still Going It may appear that I’ve run out of chances, No more to rise from absolute defeat, Victim of most hostile circumstances— I laugh, and drag myself back to my feet. Never assume you’ve seen the last of me; Can’t crush my spirit, can’t snuff out my light. I...

Moloch Beneath the sands and salted fields there lies A desert land of men once prosperous And proud. They raised a gilded city With their queen, a grander one than any Left behind, free and full of life—now dust, Now burned, now dead, a place the gods despise, A pyre...

“Look not on the face, young girl, look at the heart.” —Quasimodo, The Hunchback of Notre Dame A vile, lumbering mass, so hideous, Rejected and despised by every eye That fears and is repulsed by odious Perversions of our kind. You horrify And shock the average sensibility For which all...

Two original poems for Veterans Day 2019: "Veterans Day" by Roy E. Peterson and "Glory Glimpsed" by T.M. Moore

  The Journey Home Enwrapped in flesh we come to earth, Created in our Maker's image, Where from the moment of our birth We're parties to a mortal scrimmage. Just where the days ahead will find us Remains a shrouded mystery, But voices in the night remind us, Despite our...

  The gold-etched clouds of evensong intone A whisper of rhapsodic melody; Kaleidoscopic shards of psalmody Aflame with facet-fire of precious stone. The heavens declare God’s glory from on high, With anthems set ablaze by seraphim. The music of the spheres resounds the theme As day and night conspire to...

  Owe no one anything but to love one another. —Romans 13.8 What shallowness, what an impoverished view of human life, that reckons men to be machines that will dispense whatever we desire if only we are careful to insert the right amount of cash. That peace and justice can...

Black Cat a poem derived from "Schwarze Katze" by Rainer Maria Rilke, as translated by Martin Hill Ortiz A crash! I spot a ghost that bumps Eliciting my startled stare. A shadow shifts; a black pelt jumps— Soon all I see is darkness there. In fullest rage, the mad thing...

originally published on MacKenzie Lyric Poetry Oh, run with the sun and the wind in your hair! Before the day-star sets in the west: Love flowers best in the wide, open air. Behold! The noon-tide waxes not more fair Than you, my one, as these my lines attest. Oh, run...

On the Untimely Demise of My Hair In days gone by when life for me looked bright, And I rejoiced in the clear dawn of youth, My hair filled my soul with such sweet delight That soon my locks became my only truth. Time hurried past as fast as a...

  Sarnia Bound To the Sarnian shores, I´ll set my course when the sky at dawn turns pale, And the sea waves glow with sun-streaked foam and a chill wind fills the sail. Till the end of day, I'll make my way out across the boundless deep, While a sea...

  Mysterium Tremendum is a central idea in Rudolf Otto's "The Idea of the Holy" I muse upon the sea’s expanse And soar into a troubled trance. A distant storm front drowns the sun— Light fades into oblivion. I ponder well mortality, Though far from storm’s ferocity, As dusk settles...

The above photographs were taken and submitted by New York City poet Joe Tessitore. We invite readers to pick one of the images (or both) and write a poem. Post your poem in the comments section below.    

Mailied by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832) How brightly nature Shines this morning! What radiant sun! How the fields sing! The buds burst forth From each green frond! A thousand bushes Resound with song! And joy and wonder Streams from each breast. Oh Earth! Oh Sun! Oh joy without rest!...

  Leo Yankevich passed away in December 2018. This poem was submitted by Sally Cook. Crows and leaves beyond the windowpane, a cup of steaming coffee on the stool, my lines reflected in your eyes, which strain in light as mine once did, the feel of wool that keeps our...

  The Constant Truth A Reflection on the Times of My Life   I. The Old Days A sheep filled meadow lay adjacent to our street Where from March throughout spring one could hear the lambs bleat; Where we watched tadpoles dart in the roadside rill’s flow, For I was...

He Wishes to Immortalise His Mistress by Michelangelo Buonarroti How is it, ma mignonne, (as we all know) that figures carved in mountain marble stay exquisite, pristine, everlasting, though the hand that shaped them dies, and rots away? The Cause must cede. Effect alone survives. That Life is short, and...

Spring In spring the crocuses broke out as bold As brass from refuge in their barren clay. They speared the air in colourful array And blazoned they their petals proudly told Of azure and of purpure and of gold. Heraldic, seméed in a field were they, Where cultivated gardens may...

  In a town by the sea, where the salt air’s free, Lived a widower and his daughter. She was known as Claire-Kate; or by title First Mate On those days when their boat sailed the water. And it happened to be that they put to sea As the sun...

Campaign of 1940-1952 True Cincinnati spirit is the love of hearth, the principles of isolation, a life in works of service to the nation. Could he reverse the course and release the doves of peace, he’d throw his barbs at what he felt were dangers to the American way of...

  I hear Boeung Kak has now been filled with gritty sand, turned mud, now earth. The lake’s become a dusty field, yet memory preserves a berth for fishermen in long canoes, just toothpicks seen from on the dock, and sun-dark boys—no use for shoes— who paddled daily on Boeung...

Wind and Vanity after Ecclesiastes 1 My name is Solomon, and you may know me as the king of Israel, David’s son, a man of wisdom unsurpassed. And so I was. And yet I write to you as one emerging from some near-insanity and folly. I have seen, beneath the...

In every life Woe presses down, We falter then— Face to the ground. This woe in me— Am I alone? Without high ground, Can’t see my home! I reach for earth— Find only sand. No foothold here, No place for hand. My open eyes Then finally see Above this world...

  after Dylan Thomas Let me go gentle into that dark night Let me not rage against the dying light There is another light that beckons me That from this garish light will set me free It softly glows and grows on that far side I hear a hymn that...

Time Time to time to time—from tock to tick, to wall to window topple, stop, then stop: a tower, wrist, a rest, a clerk, a click— around around the sound (a drip) (a drop)— and tripping, dripping, dropping I have been a clock within a clock within a clock that...

Ultimatum  To My Friendly Neighbor Regarding His Overly-friendly Pet* Dear neighbor, do you love your cat? (I'm sure you must, they're such enchanters) I've got a bag of poo (for you) It left in all my planters. My dreams in spring revolve around My growing plants of many species, And...

This piece is sponsored by KidSecured by Evan Mantyk and Kathy Brellan Lord Byron was born George Gordon Byron in London on January 22, 1788 and died just 36 years later in 1824. Yet, despite his short time on Earth, he remains known as one of the greatest English poets...

  Daguerreotype An old once-treasured memory engraved On glass to keep the dying past alive. A fractal blink of time preserved and saved So that the tableau-ed moment would survive. Three men, each silent, starched and stiff, perform A stoic. static, soulless pantomime As their unsmiling, frozen faces form A...

  Aglaia, Euphrosyne, Thalia I find them there, no longer young, Though neatly dressed and well preserved: Three sisters in the trinket shop— Polite and helpful, but reserved. They guide me through their small boutique Of jewelry, knickknacks, souvenirs; Of statuettes and china plates; Of teacups, lamps, and chandeliers; Daguerreotypes...

by T.M. Moore   Our Image-hungry Age Increasingly, our postmodern generation prefers its communications to be in as few words and as many images as possible. Hence, the curious success of Facebook—a medium of images—and Twitter—a medium of few words, as well as of the numerous other communication technologies. Hence...

Harvest Sonnet If, in June, clouds crack and seeping, Leak their cache upon beast and field, Surety no longer keeping, This payment, late, defaults the yield; Lest the rain delay the reaping Another week and bring to bear Blight and pests with six legs creeping, To heaven we post one...

  This recording was made by M. P. Lauretta for the Southend Poetry Group in August 2019.   Sonetto n. 7 dal Canzoniere di Francesco Petrarca La gola e ’l sonno e l’oziose piume hanno del mondo ogni vertù sbandita, ond’è dal corso suo quasi smarrita nostra natura vinta dal...

The wind and balmy breeze Blow softly through the trees. All the darkness of the night, Disappears in morning light. The shadows on the ground, They do not make a sound. Birds awakened, singing sweet, Make the forest seem complete. This world we call the Earth, Comes into view at...