Beauty

  They march in an imaginary parade, All of the dear ones I have ever known, Relatives, friends, impressively arrayed,...

  Beyond His Ken based on a true story The plane was in the skies above Beijing When, let us...

  That day a dark, vermillion, winter sky, like a Turner water-colour, was seen reflected in an old pond where,...

  For England & St. George In praise let’s raise our flagons to the conqueror of dragons to the Saint...

  Golf My friends love golf so much But I do not share the allure. There’re many other ways for...

  The statue stands and holds aloft her torch, the Kalahari moon, the Northern Star. A lantern glimmers on a...

  Seven skulls sit side-by-side atop the wall of Erringtide. Their salted sockets watch the wide expanse of waves within...

  The empty sonnet frame’s a puzzle box into whose elaborate maze ideas are dropped. They press its walls and...

  Sonora: The Desert Harsh sunlight beats upon the thirsty land And glares upon the limestone cliffs and sand, While...

The March of Spring O, hear the bold approach of spring, who marches, stamping, blowing! He startles all the birds...

  So here he lies as he has lain in state These ninety years in this cathedral crypt At Westminster....

  What If My Time What if my time is limited? if all That I have left is perhaps months,...

  As Alexander rose upon a hill, somewhere east of King Darius’s dust, at once a pure, serene and awful...

  Sonnet of the Silent Voice Unbounded power marks a tyrant’s choice: He chains the infants up to keep his...

  The painter and poet Sally Cook has a new exhibition at UB Art Galleries. Because of the current coronavirus...

  Translation by David O'Neil Translator’s note: Piers Plowman is a late medieval allegorical narrative poem, believed to be authored...

  Easter by Joe Tessitore Behind the stone of timeless wait He rose alone despite its weight and strode from...

  Dulcius Ex Asperis by Andrew Ross Invisible and terrible A virus stalks the land. It floats across the atmosphere...

  No One to Comfort Them after Ecclesiastes 4 Just look around: Oppression everywhere exists beneath the sun, and the...

  Sullen, somber skies— Heavy leaden tears are shed in sorrow. Heaven cries. Thunderous sobbing grief— Thrashing, crashing; Flashing, gnashing;...

  Personae and scene: Vergil and Dante, somewhere in the mid-region of Hell. Dante: Honored Vergil, tell me where we’re...

  Pygmalion knew these women all too well; his instincts told him he’d better sleep alone. He took to art....

  The Last Bard o Scotland Translation by George T. Watt, frae the original by Joseph Charles MacKenzie Watters o...

    Read by George T. Watt The Scrieve fae Arbroath Non enim propter gloriam, diuicias aut honores pugnamus set...

  Chapter I Who sings of arms these days? Or even men? The seed of Adam’s tucked inside Eve’s apple,...

    Rahul Gupta holds a PhD for a thesis on mediaeval Germanic and modern mediaevalist metre and poetics from...

  A Life I Could Not Save She did not feel her age though she was old, But still looked...

  Don’t Get Caught The catfish and the trout hum different tunes, But both agree they love hot afternoons When...

As the Lights Go Out - the Last Limerick "The night cometh, when no man can work." John, 9:4 by...

. From hoof and hide, to flank and horn, Amid the wood, was noble born, Upon the field I walked...

  Job 26.8-14 The flash and crash were simultaneous. The whole house shuddered, like it was about to come apart,...

The Once-Lost Land The arm that threw the disc of day __Across the sky we know must dim, The hand...

  Im Fruhling (In Spring) by Ernst Schulze (1789-1817) I sit here lonely on a hill Where skies are clear...

. A very finely scattered sigh Of bashful mist would nigh attend My view and try---one wonders why--- To dare...

  Remember God “Men have forgotten God; that’s why all this has happened.” —Alexandr Solzhenitsyn by Connie Phillips We must...

by James A. Tweedie   If a Contemporary Free-Verse Poet Wrote a Sonnet Today, because I’m early for Pilates, __I...

  Carmen Cygni, a Retourne She holds the sickle and the scythe, Dark clothed and hooded, glimpse of white. A...

  translation by Jonathan Shoulta Andromache Will you, my Hector, forever go away to where with unmatched hands Achilles makes...

  I pour myself four fingers, or maybe it is five, sit in a broken rocker and slowly close my...

  Mere words have not the power to convey the loveliness laid out before my eyes; this triumph of rebirth;...