Culture

  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...

  Two Mistakes is a drama-length poem in metered verse for which I won second place in the Tom Howard / Margaret Reid Poetry Prize. The full work is posted here. It is based on Shakespeare's A Comedy of Errors. I transplanted the location, beginning it in the 1820s in...

Bring On the Leeches A condition called aspergillosis, And a touch of marasmus as well, Was the surgeon’s succinct diagnosis. All my innards were hurting like hell, And he told me that nothing he did Stood a chance of improving my grave Situation. I slipped him a quid Then requested...

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....

Thank You Sonnet This thanking you in sonnet form might seem Somewhat unusual, but I think it best, Simply to show how simply lines are stressed Without a trace of guilt or silly squeam- ishness; or worry modern critics deem Your work invalid when it's not compressed. Rather, let gathering...

  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,...