Beauty

  Orchards Let Light In “Oh to be like ‘The Man who Planted Trees’” There is a grove that in the meadow grows Where stately fruit-filled stanchions bloom And in the fruit there is a juice that flows Like water breaking from a pregnant womb. As misty dreams rise with...

Psalm CIV: Benedic, Anima Mea O praise the Lord, my soul. The aspens sigh As high above Mount Axtell in blue sky The hawk cries out God’s glory, and the clouds Grow to a thunderhead that blots and crowds Out light. The Lord’s electric bolts flash down Demonstrative on forests...

On a Bereavement I Mourning Sickness Can anybody say how long it lasts, This numbness that deceives while it relieves The harrowed brain? My senseless state contrasts So markedly with that of he who grieves In honest but conventional display, In typecast manner, equally sincere, But may I say, the...

  20 January 2020 My father died, just yesterday, and mom About a year ago; I’m filled with grief For things that were not, might have been, and now Will never be. I’d felt that death would spare My heart—at most I’d shed some tears—but oh! The pain of what...

  In a time long ago, where the high myrtles grow, Lived a tribe of the Bellenden Range. While below, on the plain, in their tropic domain Lived a tribe known for hostile exchange; They had hatchets and spears, paint from eyebrows to ears, And a sliver of bone through...

  Icy, biting breezes cut like knives; Sea-spray wave crests crash upon the shore; Silent, unseen clam and crab life writhes, Buried neath the surf’s incessant roar. Winter beach grass, windblown, stiff and dead, Flagellates the backs of dune and rill; Scratch of sackcloth, ashes on each head; Penance for...

  Through barren fields, beside the ruins of man, The sunlight hardens stains of blood and gore; Macabre deeds that years ago began, Their horror still would haunt forevermore. This open graveyard 'round whose ghastly dread, The trembling air is scared and scarcely moves; A mother somewhere weeps for children...

  I have been bid into the House of Song To merry-make at Inspiration’s fest Alas! I fear my raiment would but wrong The stately host and every lofty gest! See there the orphrey wrought with glinting rhyme! The ragmas* styled with metaphors of gold! Here flows the baudekin of...

                                      Amy Foreman hails from the southern Arizona desert, where she homesteads with her husband and seven children.  She has enjoyed teaching both English and Music at the college level, but is...

translated by Leo Zoutewelle To you my word will be reproached as lie, Maliciously: “who left you so maligned, In vain are all the days in which you pined For him who cheated you and made you cry.” But I have weighed your virgin heart before And know your strength...

  A Truly Perfect Love My fingertips caress your hair and I no longer have a care about what happens in this mortal plane. I lay you down upon the bed and then I gently touch your head and you surrender love to me again. I feel your tongue from...

Aranjuez (ar-ON-wess) has been one of the estates of the royal family of Spain. It is near Madrid and the Tajo (TAW-hoe) River flows through it. The Fountain of the Thorn includes, as its centerpiece, a bronze statue of a young boy removing a thorn from his foot. This is...

  Five Rivers to Cross I sat down by the river Styx to wait upon Phlegyas, ferryman of old, among the uninterred who congregate and those who do not have a coin of gold. The boat arrived—I did not hesitate, but climbed quickly aboard, and acted bold. Traversing this River...

  By lamplight through the long night hours, he kept his vigil by her side, His love still fresh, though wilting flowers adorned the room on every side; He would not give her up for dead, but tended her with loving care And would not leave, though many said it...

  Poland Brave nation, strong and proud you stand, a Boulder in the stream One nation, people hand in hand, who’ll rob you of your Dream? Though much withstood, still more to stand you’ll see in coming days; Yet you will match this new malaise with brilliant new displays. Once...

translations by Alan Steinle Translator's Note: This poem (“Tres cosas”) was originally written in Spanish by Baltasar del Alcázar (1525-1606). I have translated the poem into English and have retained the abba rhyme and the eight-syllable lines.   Three Things I’m a prisoner to all these, and I’m as happy...

  To Whom It May Concern Who writes letters anymore, and in verse? I don't care whether you like it or not. I suppose I could have phoned you, or worse— dropped in. I'd be putting you on the spot. You're just like everyone else nowadays, no face to face,...

O, Where Is Love? by James A. Tweedie O, where is love? You’ll find it in the pain _That binds a mother to her newborn child; _In bitter-broken friendships reconciled; _And in the kiss of lovers in the rain; In being kind and offering a smile _To hardened hearts too...

  I thought and thought of pride and pride began to grow and over-ride my common sense until I thought the thought itself was what I sought— nor could I sense the meaningful sense that I, a common fool were trapped in blindness of the self (it's not a road...

by Michael Curtis | excerpted from Occasional Poetry Tradition grows from wisdom, from the accumulated experience of millennia; in poetic practice, our classic tradition grows from the craft of Ages. Change is slow, development slower; five-hundred, six-hundred, a thousand years might pass before language, our language, Shakespeare’s language becomes to...

  a rubaiyat Step gently O' my boy, this 's your first day... light-footed sweet and slow... on sinking clay. A farmer's school, this paddy field O' son, this's where you read and learn a yeoman's way. Ye bow to the earth and take her benison. Here she's the text...

  a villanelle The mortal eyes in time shall wilt away, as fast as breath retreats its kiss from glass, but delight they will on the endless light of day. We never had enough of dawn’s array, of green of grass and blue of sky which pass. The mortal eyes...

  The Absolute and Relative Argue with repartee: Ultimate One or Ground or Truth, Or relativity? Through the Hubble’s stupendous view, Ancient galaxies flee— The Relative accelerates Into infinity. But science cannot form the lens For Relative to see. The Absolute stands fixed in place And holds the master key....

  The Park Northern pintails brushing blue, the crescendo of their wings, weaving windsong into words some say that, “Up jumped spring.” The rising sun, through veils of dun, atop a pool of glass with flitting beams, does bend the streams to cast a liquid brass. Children fashion cradles, and...

  Ilaria Del Carretto was the second wife of Paolo Guinigi of Lucca. Her sepulchre lies in Lucca’s Duomo San Martino and the tall Guinigi tower has a garden in the sky and is crowned with holm oak trees. Her image wears a mantle and pelisse. Many have come to...

  The Problem with Socialism Upon Reading Charles Murray's Coming Apart Some sit on clouds and moonburn as they dream, Skin blistered pale by light of mirrored beams, And snuggle with the shadows where they loom, Unmindful that the waking hour brings doom. High minds cement high parapets with mud,...

  Part 1 I wished I’d had a shotgun as I looked out of me window To level at the woman and the lad. They’re strolling up the dirt track of me driveway, jumpin’ Nora, A Sunday morning. God, it made me mad. God-botherers, I’m thinking, or tourists who’ve got...

A Child’s Winter Inventory Winter ‘87-’88 Twittering birds; Chattering teeth; Snow coats the trees In an icy sheath. Glittering snow, Bone-chilling breeze; The frost seeps in; Things begin to freeze. Fluttering scarves; Skaters on ice; I think that winter Is really quite nice.     To Winter December 16, 1994...

  While walking through the Grand Bazaar In Istanbul, I came upon A man whose name was Al-Jafar. His friendly face was thin and drawn, A misbaha* was in one hand. And in the other, a Qur’an. He stood within his vendor’s stand Surrounded by Venetian glass And pottery from...

Sonnet for a Homecoming Best way of all to be welcomed back at last, Returning home from months of life abroad: Spring songs of birds arouse me from my fast, Spill into empty house and littered yard. And now downpouring early morning rain Releasing scents of fresh green grass and...

  The autumn sun warming keeps rose bushes forming well into the days of December, but frost without warning one fine winter morning leaves frozen blooms long to remember. Dormant, it’s waiting yet anticipating what gray rainy showers will bring, the bush saturating while never complaining sprouts roses that flower...

Proverbs for Engraving onto Imperial Monuments War is the price of freedom. Depths bewilder. The blow aimed at the beast hits him who shields it. The sword of Justice best serves him who wields it. The gibbet’s final victim is its builder. A round coin rolls to him who most...

  Within the shadow of the fortress wall, I stand agape; such gross, exquisite scale. My bulging eyes attempt to take in all But sadly, unsurprisingly, they fail. Hot inspiration spikes; aroused, I call, “Wake up, you bricks, speak up, recount your tale.” I push my ear against their rugged...

An English Ode That famous field where nodding poppies sway In sunlit grass, where souls of all the good Spend sweet Eternity in dance and play And with the gods, take Beauty as their food __Upon the isle across the sea __That circles all the mortal world With misty waters...

  Song of the Rose The rose awakens, ere the sky Has wakened to the sun; And we, my one true love and I, Awaken with a tender sigh, To love until the day has run And all our pains are done. We part the burdens of the breast, The...

Victus a response to William Ernest Henley’s poem “Invictus,” from which the first two lines of the final stanza are taken. Dry chatter of dry souls dies out, Beleaguered by the eastern wind, When this world’s chaff is blown about: The chaff of every soul that sinned. Their tongues grow...

  A Letter to Sir Grammar Dear Sir Grammar: With all kindness and courtesy, may I request, A new package of words, freshly made, For, truly, it seems I have used them all up, And my writing has near been betrayed. To start with, I shall need a splatter of...

  Years ago—I still remember: final Thursday in November, I was in my kitchen cooking food to rival feasts of yore; To and fro sashaying, hopping, slicing, dicing, mincing, chopping, Dish by dish—no time for stopping, for so daunting was the chore: Playing hostess for Thanksgiving—such a monumental chore ____I...

  translation by Anna Leader I do not know what it might bode That I should be so sad, A fairytale from long ago Now will not leave my head. The air is cool and darkening Above the quiet Rhine; The mountaintops are sparkling In afternoon sunshine. The loveliest young...

Praise for Fall You float in on a late September breeze with still-warm days and mild, cool nights in tow. It’s not your way to bring the first hard freeze before November when your cold winds blow. The trees, a color riot on display, God’s handiwork, are certain to enthrall....