Beauty

  Row after row, steps rising from the river, Row after row, steps falling to the same, Rising, going westward, falling, coming – a game Words play on life; and life, a little later Shells the words all down, and leaves Just the strong impressions, firmly etched, Deeply carved, with...

  A Hardcover Book Carrying a hardcover book instead of a small electronic tool I get polite, benevolent smiles seemingly reserved for the old; people ask, “How old’s your Bible?” as if following some rule. I’m asked it so often I’m disappointed if not asked—you’ll find it easy to believe...

  Inscription on the Golden Gate, Constantinople (Translation) Commemorating Emperor Theodosius' Victory over the usurper, Maximus, at the Battle of the Save in 388 AD. Theodosius was the last emperor to rule over both the Eastern and Western Roman Empire.  These acres Theodosius gilded on the Tyrant's fate; He brought...

  The golden days of late October fade As bleak November’s iron skies descend. When tresses, like the leaden clouds, have grayed, We see our fruitful time’s approaching end. The sunlight that besieged us with its heat Now leans against the south walls, cold and tired. There is no empire...

  on a Maine mountain Here, my mind can cross the thoughts of birds; ___land on a summit’s fingertip or drift into clear blue until it's out of words. Nerves flutter in a teasing gust so soft ___I fall into the arms of starry spaces, my heart takes in the...

  Just west of old Ben Lomond, high and gray, a downy-heathered island on a loch did soak our feet before we rowed away for western shores, to find a little dock in Luss. A pot of tea to warm our bones, and meat pies, piping hot, our stomachs fill....

Sweet Recollections an awdl gywydd Tea time, just my mom and me… ___memories so sweet and dear, knowing I was her first choice; ___still her voice is crystal clear. Some of my favorite hours. ___fresh cut flowers in a vase, aroma drifting after, ___her bright laughter giving chase. Drinks poured...

Sonnet XXV: Ode to Autumn Of shadows long and light of rarest gold, Abundant bringer, harvester of land, Receive, O Autumn, as in days of old, This wreath of olive from a poet’s hand! I sing the praises of your crimson hue With purple lips that kissed your blushing wines;...

By David Gosselin The answer to the above question is of course no. Shakespeare and Dante are not dead because every true poet is immortal. However, much of our contemporary thinkers seem to be under the impression that they are dead, and that they are not as relevant and talented...

. “Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.” -Norman Maclean Ask not the earth, ask not the sky, Drain not the firth nor pester, pry, Strain not the stone, nor probe the airs, To gain what’s known, amid what’s theirs. Beneath the stuff, below...

  Canzone 4 For Bob Hunter I am your eyes now, imaging memories, Amiens, Ypres, Flanders and the Somme; And in my secret world the pale dawn holds Out her hand bearing gifts that sight unfolds; But you have seen men in the sacred rites Of death, limbs twisted, bones...

Autumn Haiku The red squirrel flits From brown bark to golden leaf He is not gone yet   Winter Acrostic When cold winds blow and rain comes from the north In time, you see the days are growing short Now frost appears and creeps across the pane The crust of...

To Dawn by I. Warble Seduce I. Warble Seduce is a poet of Romantic leanings. Dawn is his paramour. 1. It's evening. An aroma of roses arises in the garden. Sunlit rays of gold enfold the myrrh and frankincense, a carpet under you, the best of days. Night lies down...

  End Rhyme Send in a poem they pretentiously beckon But they will not read any rhyming of rhymes There's no place now for creative wordsmithing Prose is the darling, full of self absorbed whines The obtuse, the indulgent, the prosaic, they'll read And heap platitudes endlessly, on genius they'll...

  Scorn “Enargeîs is the technical term ‘for divine epiphany: a word that contains the dazzle of “white,” argós, which comes to designate a pure, unquestionable “conspicuous-ness” ’ ”.  ~ Michael Schmidt, The First Poets, 19 I wonder if perhaps we moderns know This brilliant whiteness much more clearly than...

An Introduction to Poetry and Its Place in an Integral Human Formation Introduction  It is well known to most sensible educators that one of the fundamental goals of their profession is the so-called “integral formation” of their students.  The enthusiastic educator strives to propose this formation, for he knows that to...

  Let My Footstep Strike the Ground Like a Spear A Villanelle Let my footstep strike the ground like a spear Hear me bound through the groves of Sicily Drawing power from an Earth soaked in fear. With father, I run from thicket to clear Mt Etna rising to the...

  The Pilgrimage to Heaven Beneath the shadows whence no light embarks On paths renounced by most intrepid men; There, gypsies seldom find enchanting larks Or songs which overflow the silent glen. Circuitous routes aplenty lead to plains Where neither sweet repose nor respite wait; Some haunted bowers bear the...

  Commie Carcinomas When least expected they arrive, an avant garde of hordes wielding a deadly pestilence like slashing, bloody swords. Discovered far too often when repulsion is too late, as they, metastasized, become dictators of our fate. Inciting panic born of fear beyond all sane repose, they spread with...

As forecast now the sound of her arriving… That distant rumble from the driveway heard; A nearer clap, as though the night reviving Within the rush of breezes freshly stirred As forecast now, the pleasant calm retreating, What peace in here, a splendid deaf-and-dumb; As from the hall, a muted...

Of course, I like to see rainbows, But my heart hasn’t leapt for one; I’ve not wandered like a cloud blows, Though I’ve been lonely in the sun. Oh, I like Nature, that’s for sure— I just can’t feel Wordsworth’s amour. I’m sometimes in a pensive mood (And, yes, my...

Meritocracy When the Left tries to cow us and trammel our prowess ____We resort to a stiff upper lip, Well aware that their winning will spell the beginning ____Of our comeback the moment they slip. If the Government makes us repeat old mistakes, ____Then our indolent selves are to blame,...

Sonnet VI from Sonnets for Elizabeth Consider how the bards of old had sung Before their numbers vanished with the years, And how their harps delighted captive ears When thought itself was green and fancy young. Think how the meters of a distant tongue Gave figuration to men’s hopes and fears,...

The Mausoleum, Dumfries His crypt sealed by stones made by mother earth, A soft voice: This is where Robert Burns lies, Yon granite gaol is unmoved, unchanged, Tourists trek on through the graveyard, a dearth Of sound until they leave his hallowed cries Behind, written in black and well arranged;...

  Within my gardens soul abounds, A spirit stirring neath the ground, Aroused by secret depths that found, Concealed, inspired, a place profound. And as the rustling leaves surround, With stories from the breezes sound The haunting wind shall sing and pound, Upon the life beneath this mound. And in...

. . Boast of the Poplar My common green I turn to gold, As Summer’s steaming, burning hold is broke, unseemly in July, At the close to mollify. I the Poplar; broad my graft, I see afar: afore and aft, Uncloke my leaves at August crest, In golden sheaves I...

  ~ Dedicated to Falun Gong practitioners facing persecution in China Brutality meets decency and then What happens?  Hardness softens, or it cracks A little.  Craquelure might happen when The decency is struck.  Unless an axe Completely shatters bright compassion, right Can still survive, strong, beautiful, and calm. If brutal...

On Formal Slavery (to a Nation of Free Verse) For there are those that call us slaves.  How poor and simple we must be to cling to ties that stretch us, bend our purpled backs before some ruthless lash and ask for more.  A slight psychotic tendency, a dream of...

  What is my body that was never mine, That, fevered, it should waste below the deck? I rise, instead, to face the ocean’s brine, The Muslim’s wrath, the ending of my trek. What is the ball that penetrates my chest, If not the lead that tipped the Roman’s scourge...

  Basics Tonight I paint flowers on my tablet. I wanted to write about deeper things like God and love and time and death which brings me again to the compulsive habit of pursuing the truth. On this planet it is probably one of our failings to overlook truth in...

  "A man’s as old as he’s feeling …" ~ Samuel Taylor Coleridge “If the body frees the mind in its quest For youthful dreams to be forever young Let not Time play such games like cricket test* To stay batting because the gloves are hung. If I should sit...

  Productivity Lately a feeling's been making me twitch, The Creator in me has too long sat bewitched. Too idle He sits, and He longs to express, some insightful new thought that he does not possess. I should be very pleased that He's been so subdued, that he's given me...

by Jane Blanchard Beatrice, Dante Alighieri’s second guide in La Divina Commedia (The Divine Comedy), makes her literary debut in an earlier work, La Vita Nuova (The New Life), a combination of prose and poetry that details his encounters with the girl, and then the woman, who became his muse....

“Carlotta Capuccino , ‘Plato’s Ion and the Ethics of Praise,’ takes the . . . view that poetry deploys ‘groundless praise’ and ‘promotes a dogmatic and passive style of life and thought,’ and so is ‘essentially incompatible with philosophy.’” ~ https://ndpr.nd.edu/news/plato-and-the-poets/ The pupa waits. Dogmatically it will Become a Luna...

  Incarnation I: Ego Mater Pulchrae Dilectionis I blossom forth delights on fruitful vine; My grapes are opulent and fair, Productive of a deep, supernal wine Of highest knowledge, hope, and fear. Late summer’s honey, heavy in the comb, Shall never be as golden nor as sweet As I am...

  Not Every Morning Not every morning is as this one, calm excitement for a future brought by change, so many years’ hard work to wrought from strange traditions of my past into this balm. The child me dreamt of serene home, torment behind for those who won’t escape, a...

  Re-visiting Dante “For Dante it was a strict rule not to rhyme the word ‘Christ’ with any other word except itself” – Clive James Inferno Down we went like no other care were there; No sense we’d be bedraggled, drowned, doomed, or lost; All that mattered was now, that...

  Sonnet by Joachim du Bellay (1522-1560) / Translation by Morgan Downs   If all our life is no more than a day In the Eternal; if the years which turn Chase off our days without hope of return, So transient are all things, be what they may: O captive...

Walk with me, though both of us May wonder where we go. Talk with me, explore, discuss The things we may not know. Sit with me, through anxious hours Of waiting and of pain. Stay with me, to share what’s ours In sunshine and in rain. Look at me and...

Beneath Brambles A villanelle Beneath the tangled brambles, look around. Vines creeping, smothering, create the dark. A trillium insists her bloom be found. Canes strangle, branches slip to ghastly ground from hemlocks cased by thorns that puncture bark. Beneath the tangled brambles, look around. The sun strains, searching through a...