Culture

  Forgotten The grass has overgrown the weathered stone Since they first placed his body in the ground, And visitors no longer come around With hope they'll not, in turn, face death alone. Did Life, for him, contrast this sorry end? You'd never know by glancing at the name. In...

Mama My mama took two drinks a year; A shot glass down the gullet— Yet hated bars and abhorred beer. Would execute a pullet— An ax, a stump—one frightened bird Was done for in a minute, Yet any gossip that she heard, Would say there is no truth in it....

  What song shall I sing for a nation divided By politics, race, economics, and power? By what sweet refrain shall our nation be guided Through all that we face in this dark, bitter hour. Around me the clash of cacophony rages, The music of dissonance pierces my heart. For...

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.    

Translator's note: The following consists of three poems by Jehan (or Jean) Froissart (c.1335–c.1410), translated not very literally but as far as possible in the original form, with its elaborate repetition and rhyme scheme. The form appears to have been created by Froissart. He calls these poems rondiaus qui sont...

Song at Sunset The sun sets ‘neath the mountain top: __A golden orb that blinks And just for seconds lights the sky __Ablaze before it sinks. I see the sunset in your eyes, __Heart sinking in your breast… And bend to give you one last kiss __Before your final rest....

Requiem for the U.N. 73 years—countless billions of dollars— And here we are today... Behold the statesmen smartly dressed Assembled from the East and West United in your global cause To feed the poor and end all wars. Yet still we wonder why we see The daily carnage on TV...

  To You, My Wife a villanelle To you, my wife, my love I declare, My joy and gain, a gift to me blessed, A morning flower of beauty and flair! O flesh of mine, this heart you repair, Whenever sadness tramples my rest; To you, my wife, my love...

Grapes Peel me a grape But remove the seed I love the flesh But have no need Of hard encounters In the skin Juicy, fat, dry or thin. On second thoughts—feed me gin.     More Phobia Limerick Riddles Each poem below describes a phobia. Guess what the person is...

  Eternity in Our Hearts after Ecclesiastes 3 I contemplated all these matters from beneath the heaven, seeing things the way God sees them. For, no matter what may come, it has its place, and everything its day, in God’s economy. For everything there is a season; every purpose may...

  I. Return to Rome Turn, turn, sing Seeger and the Shakers, turn Till one day all comes right—but is it so? Here down Domitian’s track I run, I burn: Here dreamed of glory, all those years ago. Did glory come? I went as envoy south To a state so...

  My Daughter Sees a Starling on the Lawn I thought to tell you how the bird was called, What symbol circumscribed the creature’s being; Intending to give your mind a better hold On the unsought resplendence it was seeing. But having gestured towards an utterance, I caught the purple...

Who is that smiling cherub whose huge wings, Open, extended, like a swan in flight, Lifts him above the angels to a height From which he conducts, for the King of Kings, Great open-air orchestral happenings And plays concerti to his soul’s delight, Nudging the brass to broadcast all their...

A Moving Experience We’re the Stooges Three—your moving company. If it ain’t broke before we tote, it soon enough will be. Your furniture and prized possessions We handle as if our own. Employed, of course, movers’ discretion When choosing which “Fragiles” are thrown. We’re the Stooges Three—your moving company. We...

  In Frenchman bay, near Otter Point, the sea Against an ancient rock comes crashing down. This grey-clad cliff protrudes its stony knee Into the swirling surf, with horny crown. Sometimes the thundering waves foam violently Atop this shelf, its face to thus obscure. Sometimes the water withdraws most reverently...

Von Sacher-Masoch’s Rebuttal to the Golden Rule If a brutal bash can bring one pleasure, one man’s lash is another man’s leisure.     Angus MacHartey’s Final Party a sequel to "Angus MacHartey's Parties"  Angus MacHartey’s famous parties Are terrors I’ve told you the tale of before. The drinking and...

The New Year The fields stretch out, bare, icy: __Wide, blank, yet-unetched slates, Tabulae rasae, waiting __The chisel of the Fates, But deep beneath their starkness __A mighty force has stirred, The germ of the becoming, __Unknown, unseen, unheard. Its course is set in motion __That none may stop or...

  Moth, Angel of the Night Emerging from a rich cocoon, you shed off your old husk– with legs outstretched and wings unfurled, you head out in the dusk. O harbinger of sunsets-- O twilight angel true! The time has come for you to fly out in the midnight blue!...

Surveillance, Twenty Twenty I never thought I'd live to see my TV looking back at me!     One Nation, Divisible How long have I heard about ______their lies? How they weaponize and ______polarize? How they demonize and ______patronize? How quickly now I can ______recognize And how very much I...

  It seems the art world all but missed the dart Hurled ‘cross the continent when Hassel Smith Called Jackson Pollock’s paintings “restaurant art”; Or else it put it out of mind forthwith. We learn, “It’s not that Pollock dripped, but how.” How patrons prize his mast’ry of technique— The...

  Hark now to the yuppies’ anthem, And the lifestyle that it preaches— How we all reside on the chic West Side With our Chardonnay and quiches. Chorus: We all reside on the chic West Side With our Chardonnay and quiches! Apart from our dread employers, To no one we’re...

Cumæan  Below, beyond the tiles now cave’d down, Up from the rubbled earth arose a sound Shrieking in a pitch strung to sting the ear, Some spirit of a hag command I hear Of the low, ruined place that was her home, The Force, the Glory, the Empire, Rome. “Scan...

Bees Are Spectacular When people talk of “bees” it well could mean Two things: the sum of separate insects or A colony—some workers and a queen— A score of several thousand bees or more. In some important ways they are the same: Each single bee acts like its colony; The...

On the occasion of New Year's Day 2020, two poems by Damian Robin, a writer and editor living in the United Kingdom.

  ‘Tis late now in the balmy eve, without the slightest stir, When lighter than a hot balloon cuts through the humid air Such light through dusk that becks the dawn like some dry burning fir, Streams freely, past high up the noir chalkboard, from rockets’ glare. Mock lightning sparks,...

  by Eric Awesud Ble Adolfo Martinez, a man who hails from Ames, Iowa, was sentenced sixteen jailed-years for the burning of a flag. The thirty-year-old man purloined a raindow-coloured flag that hung upon a church, and lit that rag, that cloth on fire. So obviously a thoughtcrime, he had...

  Three Hundred Spartans In twilight’s ash three hundred stars await As blue-black thunder roars with battle drums, Three hundred voices murmuring of fate, As odds and armour stack in fearful sums. Oh watch, my brother, watch your patient steel, And wield it knowing valor keeps you strong, And feel,...

One Last Candle The angry storm approaches in the night, Its curdling howl is heard for miles around. The trees all flinch in fear of nature's smite, Then cast their sobbing leaves upon the ground. No soul dare venture out to face the storm, For nature's wrath is not so...

. A play in one act based on the true story of Li Zhenjun. Play by Evan Mantyk. Characters Narrator / Voice of Tradition Zhenjun “George” Li Communist Policeman 1 (CP 1) Communist Policeman 2 (CP 2) Man . SCENE I The Voice of Tradition speaks to audience. . TRADITION...

Palimpsest ...written in their hearts... Romans 2.15 We try, but cannot fully scrape away those ancient words engraved upon the soul. We would instead compose upon the scroll of our morality that which today appeals, although we understand that too will overwritten be at some point soon enough. Whatever pleasing,...

  It is rare that a bill can succeed on The Hill based on only the skill of a hobbyist. If you suffer the lack of a plan of attack, what you need is the knack of a lobbyist. Since their fee must be paid and expenses defrayed, I’ll dispense...

  Christmas has been canceled—it’s naughty Santa’s fault. His haughty carbon footprint has been a grave assault on melting polar ice caps; they’re now a muddy puddle, where sweaty elves and Rudolph are sizzling in a huddle. Adios St. Nicholas, your super-speedy sleigh should’ve been an eco-yacht; your flights have...

Come to Bethlehem / Silent Night   Song and Poem by James A. Tweedie Come to Bethlehem, come and see God stripped bare of majesty. Fragile as a flower; Emptied of might and power; Come to set God’s people free. Jesus Christ is born. Born into a family. Died upon...

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sA_UsvwgdQ8 Our nakedness was swaddled by the night, With Eden’s worn-out dust our feet were shod, When heaven opened and a being of light Announced that earth had just received its God. And we beheld what angels had foretold: The Patriarch, the Virgin, and the Child. The barn was...

The Feast of the Nativity ‘Twas the night before a brilliant star They roam the desert near and far, When they happen upon the city of light The City of David in all her might. Greeted, they are, from here and from there, Yet nowhere to lay their heads so...

Carol They come slowly—loiter, you might say, Some with olive oil splashed on their bums, Others with enormous crooked thumbs, All full of holes like sculptures on display. Broads… up to their elbows in sweet cake; Widows…clad in blizzards of mock snow; Ladies… so thin that their skeletons glow; Tarts…with...

by James Sale Alessio Zanelli is a fascinating poet, and probably a fascinating man as well. This is his sixth collection of poems and part of his well-publicised and unique charm is that he is an Italian who writes creatively in the English language. This is an extraordinarily difficult thing...

  For many, the gifts are the be-all and end-all: the big screen, the tablet, the Barbie and Ken doll. For me, gifts I get are like ice in the sun. I cannot recall them. No, not even one. How did I find a true way to remember the import...

  Recalling Christmas in the past: the time I mixed my drink— a cocktail, “Everything we have”… I puked at lunch. I think you ate your meal, despite the stink! Another time, our puppy dog tore gifts beneath the tree. A nasty whiff: we didn’t spot the poop till half...

Sara's Prayer* Take me beyond all thought and word, where only beauty can be heard. Then silently, before Your throne, I'll dance, Dear Lord, for You alone.   Claire* She dances like a flowing vine that has the most exquisite line drawn by the hand of the Divine on this...