Culture

. The Southern Cross The caravels escaped at last The roiling tides of Bojador And entered tropic seas far past What any chart described before--- __An unknown world to cross. Strange southern seas! Unending miles Of blue, both sea and sky, stretched bare. The bights and capes, the shoals and...

. . Nocturnal Litany I “From all malevolence the night employs….” ---James Agee, “Epithalamium” . From all malevolence the night employs To haunt our ragged hearts and weary brains With bitterness that pulses through the veins Of memory with its unrelenting noise; From nightmare images that hover over us Portending...

. Love Sonnet The glint of summer’s evening leaves a glow upon her cheek, so soft and plain and fair— the glister of the twilight hours show the rosebuds, luminescent in her hair. And all the earth now sings a lovely song— and all her creatures praises do employ as...

. The Austrian Non Placet Comes in Time (Recess at the papal conclave in Rome, August 1903. One cardinal speaks to a small group of his allies) Two ballots done already. I perceive Things are not going our way. We will grieve If this man wears the triple crown. Please...

. The Screaming Screed and Stench Sister Cindy, Brother Jed, Before the cellphone, rumor spread, "They're speaking on the Common, dude, Their testimony's waxing crude!" Pioneer, the sawdust trail, Jed and Cindy, rare to fail: Taunt, enrage the masses bored. Were they working for the Lord? Snake Oil from the...

. Babel There was a time when all the world one tongue Among its peoples shared, and language preened Itself with fluffed-up thoughts that oversprung The bounds of things as yet quite unforeseen. Man set about a city to machine With at its heart a tower to touch the clouds...

. Paradise Island Some years ago, from cliff top and from shore,a flock of birds that never touched the skylooked out upon an ocean ship that borea biped crew from whom they could not fly.These creatures, armed with cudgel, club and gunmade landfall on this isle twixt West and East.The...

. My Beatrice III Affording still these glimpses like the first, those moments you were yet without a name; between us was the distance untraversed: the bringing into being what you became. Four times I glance into the rearview mirror, each time a Kurosawa axial cut: you’re here, then there,...

. A Musical Offering When Bach arrived at Sanssouci, King Frederick said, “Sir, you must be tired. My fortepianos may help to revive you. Please, come play.” While Bach was busy at the keys, the king presented him a tease: “My dear Herr Bach, I’m wondering if you could do...

. Off Guard Coyotes drag their quarry past the line  Drawn in the sand to stop the ghastly game   Of selling wide-eyed tots to vile swine---   No money-grubbing cur is barred by shame. Wild mules haul havoc through the gaping gates As mothers mourn the loss of drug-gorged sons. ...

. Left Outside The shopping cart, precisely ordered now while searching for those perfect little lines of lights for decorations---anyhow, I'm sure there must be something that combines with lights around the centerpiece to show a little flair, if not a little art. I shift my stuff and somehow, yes...

. Sunshine Sun, shine on me—come and stay! Dry my tears, send gloom away. Warm my soul, chilled to the bone By the freezing wind that’s blown. With your reassuring light Put my griefs and fears to flight. Don’t be shy; no longer hide, Cloaked by rain clouds dark and...

. In a Home based on Michael Bunker’s grandmother (b. 1909) as described in his book Surviving Off Off-Grid . I Old, blind, and helpless, Grandma’s all alone— Bed, radio, phone, and nothing stimulating, __Indifferent care-crew members— Unwanted, worn-out human unit, waiting To be no more than carvings on a...

. A Pro Who Can Con “Truth” is whatever will further the movement. You’re “credible” if you are telling the “truth.” “School” is my method to inculcate values into the minds of our pliable youth. “Investment” means piling up debt on our children. My “right” to free stuff means that...

. A Blanket of Snow from childhood memories of the blizzard of 1949 on a farm near Bonesteel, South Dakota. The world is all bound in a blanket of snow, The kerosene lamps keep the windows aglow. The fire from the hearth with the wood we laid in Protects from...

. Unshackling the Spirit I toss and turn at night. I wonder why I’m here. But then with dawn the skeptic’s free, Dismissing faith and scoffing at the sky. I’m certain---Oh so certain---all I see Is limited to mass and energy--- What I can see and hear and touch and...

. Once the Future You were the future once, not long ago. Your sterile walls of concrete, brick, and glass Outlined in steel, and jutting angles show Scorn for the forms you thought you could surpass. That future now has come---with water-stains, Sun-bleaching, rust, and there a pressure-crack; The vision...

. Learning to Laugh The pathos of a circus clown, with empty pockets inside out, now challenges a small boy’s frown. Bewildered by the mimicked pouts, the racoon eyes and painted tears, he wonders what this clod’s about who falls but never seems to fear the squirting flowers or flying...

. I Can’t Be Bought I can’t be bought. They always pan my poems and they have a plan to pay me if I will agree to stop composing poetry. They say I am an also-ran. Who cares if they are not a fan! My trek as poet just began....

. Windjam Dry leaves abruptly fell that day— Whirled weathervane communiqué Proposing a quick stroll away Along a narrow inlaid path To venture past the aftermath Of an alfresco yellow bath. Emerging from the stonecut room Behind a waterfall’s stray spume, A tenor tone, “May I presume To lift the...

. What Time Is It? “What time is it?” he asks of me, __“It’s now eleven o’clock;” “What time is it?” he asks of me, __As I hear the tick and tock. “What time is it?” he asks of me, __“It’s now eleven o-two;” His eyes light up in childlike...

. A Star O silent sphere of silver-soft-spun light,Thou crystal pearl strung on an airy veilSuffusing bright celestial delightIn snowy glory o'er thy starry trail:The bridal necklace of the night inflameWith purer ray, whose brighter progenyUnveils her blushing face, unmarred by shame,With vestal grace’s immortality---Or so at first you seemed...

. The Plight of a Troubled Young Soul Parts I and II are paraphrases of actual notes. . I. Not Today I know I’m ill; I am not well. In truth, I want to end it all. I want to toll my own death knell. I wish I could escape...

. Zelda She and Scott were the face of the Jazz Age, Drunk and riotous in post-war Paris, He scribbling out page on potboiling page To fund the wastage of two beaux esprits. When the stock market crashed, in twenty-nine, He ploughed on, as the now notorious Gatsby scribe; she...

. To Find a Waterfall The wild forest is a spiritual place. Disbelief does not last there. Halfway through My span of life, my sunrise-to-set race, I found my trail among the trees anew. Goal for the Spring: to find a waterfall, To trace my pathway out to that grand view....

. The Kakistocracy Does the news give you malneirophrenia, __but you've not been to sleep? Do you galumph all day around the house, __your mind in sorrows deep? Do politicians bring on crapulence, __but you've not had a drink? Is it those ultracrepidarians __who make you doublethink? All the solipsist...

. Because She Walked In Beauty They sentenced her to over seventy lashes, Because she walked in beauty, hair revealed, Which beauty they demanded be concealed. Courageously, she faced the mullahs’ fascists, Who glared at her with dusky eyes askant. Then led away and shackled to a bed, They beat...

. Summer of ‘73  It’s sunset and the sidewalk still feels hot. My legs and feet are bare, they do not mind Mosquitos nearly eating me alive. The neighbor kids are starting to come out. We play a game of hide and seek; I hide Up in a tree and...

. Father after "So Far, So Near," by Christopher Pearse Cranch (1813-1892). Father, maker of all spirit, infinite, You can ensphere it. Still, You enter all that's living: raising, guiding, and forgiving. Of all worlds, You are the spawner. You alone deserve our honor. All things good You don't deny...

. . . Maura H. Harrison is a writer, photographer, and fiber artist from Fredericksburg, VA. She is currently an MFA candidate in Creative Writing at the University of St. Thomas, Houston.  Her works have appeared in Dappled Things, Ekstasis Magazine, Amethyst Review, Solum Journal, Heart of Flesh Literary Magazine, Trampoline,...

. I’ll Keep My Truck I’ll keep my truck.  I won’t revise my thinking as gas prices rise. My son-in-law berates and blames my truck.  It drinks too much, he claims. He loves to spout and moralize. He says the long-term answer lies in hybrid cars of smaller size. The...

. The Pitcher Plant The insect dances on a pitcher plant drinking deep the fabled honey nectar. The rim affords a place to lean and slant— heedless treads the doomed fructose collector. Advancing where the juice is still more sweet, excess brings him to his tragic blunder: ignoring slippage neath...

. To My Brother after John Keats When I have fears that I may lose my sight before I've savored books I long to read, before famed writers oust my glooms with light and my starved mind their genius stories feed; When I circuit the nature park, a sightseer, surveying...

. A Mighty Fortress for Diane My eyes ache from the tears still left unshed As I remember all she meant to me. I still can’t quite accept that she is dead And find scant solace in the eulogy. A vibrant life bled out to ashen sod. Faith wavers. Maybe...

. The Five Ages Beneath rose bower and sweet cherry shade Long since have Saturn’s golden people slept And for their sins the silver race were swept Hence and in lightning-blasted clefts were laid; Next were the bronze folk in the balance weighed And wanting found and crumbled into dust;...

. Bunker Hill: The Death of Joseph Warren from Legends of Liberty, Volume 2 Dramatis Personae Joseph Warren – Physician, spymaster, and major general of the colonial militia William Howe – Commander of the British Forces at Bunker Hill Israel Putnam – Patriot veteran, popularly known as “Old Put” Col....

. Saint Sebastianus Sebastianus, soldier, pinioned, bleeding, Stands at his lonely and forgotten post Unperceived—no, even unsuspected— By the diseased and ulcerated world. Stomachs swollen with dyspeptic lust, Crisscrossing arrows of sharp competition, The noise and energy of the inane— All pass by him without a nod or glance. But...

. The Unchecked Pawn Quickly Black castled king-side and planned his attack. White then countered with confidence, primed for a sack, with the sneakiest strategy he could contrive: nonchalantly he pushed his f-pawn to rank 5. I’ll just nab it, thought Black, but wait ... what’s going on? Devil take...

. Homebound They get too old to come to Mass, too sick, Too shaky on their legs or just too scared To leave the house. The bleak arithmetic Of life has caught them sorely unprepared And suddenly the simple life they shared In prayer within the safety of their pew...

. Without a Dad Without a Dad, you are not sure, And never know you could endure The many doubts that blur your sight, Or fears that stalk you every night; If he’s not present, there’s no cure. And then there is the world’s allure That offers all that is...