Culture

. The Black Children In China, until rather recently, each pair of parents was allowed one kid, according to the “one-child policy.” Some parents had another, which they hid. Unregistered, these kids are sometimes sold to traffickers who make them prostitutes. If they refuse, they're left out in the cold;...

  From the stations they sent out a call To their jillaroo friends - one and all; For an overnight camp, while the sky bore the stamp Of a cloudless day darkened from view. So they came in farm utes, with their dogs: Kitted out in their boots, working togs;...

  I am a captive of the wicked queen. My mind’s a blank; the temptress took my soul. I know too well  what this desire must mean. And oh! The evil beauty I have seen. Though loving her must take a dreadful toll, I am a captive of the wicked...

Note: Teaching classical poetry rather than other forms of poetry or modern literature makes a difference. Inherent in classical poetry is a respect for tradition, for order, for discipline, and for the uplifting heritage of our shared human civilization. The good values that are inherently fostered will improve classroom behavior...

Anonymous (12th Century), 'Du bist mein' ('You are mine') I am yours and you, mine are; Of this ought you be 'ware. You are a part of, prisoner in, my heart; The little key is gone afar. You must remain there, where you are.   The original (modernised): Du bist mein, ich bin dein; Des...

  He thinks in lines And vexing vertices. His shining mind always inclines To maths and magnitude, minute degrees Of formulae, and the impossibilities He has deciphered with those symbol-signs. The architect Perceives the things the rest Of us forget. He can erect The best and boldest buildings, which attest...

  Ere gloaming wanes, acceding sable night, As writhen mists conceal a pallid moon, From bastion vigil, thou descry a sight; To rumours, foul and fey, thine ears attune. Beyond the eaves of darkness lurks thy foe, Where craven men are loath to tread—and lag, Thou, heedless, don thy panoply...

Room 402:  Gehenna Comes to New York (On Governor Andrew Cuomo’s Jan. 22,2019 repeal of New York’s Public Health Law § 4164)   Note:   “Room 402” does not refer to any specific event happening in a certain room, but  was chosen at random to represent any room in which a...

The Bad The first video of Hannah Silva instructs us on the abyss that poetry reading has found itself in today. The irrationality and baseness of slam poetry has given way to experimental poetry that doesn't even involve words at all (sent in my M. P. Lauretta). If you find...

  Three Thousand Years before Apple and Three Thousand Years after the iPad I carry in my knapsack poems by The ancient Greeks, the eldest ones, the best, The best of elders. They are still as spry As dolphins’ arcs beside Argosy’s quest. Lines wait within the safety of the...

apropos of 'The Threads' by E. Mantyk I fell into a radiant sleep; Thereon into dream and seeing: A paradise seemed me to keep; In its walls, the seeds of being. Thus thrown into this strange-sweet place, Sauntered I about, unknowing What ought I do with this rich grace Action...

. Though beauty also beckons there, Mt. Shasta’s peak projects severe, So from her panoramic view, Is cast a pall on me and you And everyone approaching here, Courage take but caution, fear -ing much to broach her topic light, On foot, on sled, by rail, or flight For space...

The Fate of Fine Art Too late to turn the clock back on fine art, Egregious oxymoron that it may Be called today, but where to find the start Of this, the slow beginnings of decay? For once we found our world inside the space That we saw bounded by...

Translation by Martin Hill Ortiz  Farewell to the Royal Gardens at Aranjuez by María Rosa Gálvez de Cabrera of Spain (1768-1806) Aranjuez: forest, rich with flowers, Through which the tangled Tajo glides, Within your thousand brilliant colors A meadow where my heart resides. And how your songbirds flattered me! I'd swear...

Mother of Falun Gong They said my mother would be back tomorrow, They said her smile would still shine proudly here, Her hand brush off the dreadful, bitter sorrow That manifests itself within a tear, But twenty years had faded like wan mists That glide and winnow on a brackish...

by Edward C. "Ted" Hayes   A Prefatory Poem (or a Gaggle of Goosefeathers) Some will judge this essai the exact thing it’s not – Distilled, unvarnished, contemned tommyrot For asserting mod poets’ sad lack of discernment And non-Sense of Craft – for expressing concern, meant To blow a loud...

  I like it, though it’s very dark; The firelight a fading arc Along the tree, whose ageing bark Shows day is near. I like it, but have questions yet: I do not know where this is set, And are they strangers? Have they met? Why are they here? The...

Who Needs QU? It’s time to retire Q-U. K-W’s logical choice. What’s Q do that K cannot do? And U’s vowel that has its own voice. Inkwire why bother with this, A kwest to our language refine? It skweeze’s down alphabet’s list And generates kwaint little rhyme.   Purple Reign*...

Salesman of Salesmen Infectious spirit, everybody’s friend,Hypnotic and fascinating, a forceOf pushy power, broiling to transcendObjections fully, only to endorsePositions he defends until the end. A dragon slayer (real or fancy free),Dynamic challenge underfoot emblazed,Through every turn of life’s calliope,Perfecting imperfections freshly glazed. Impulsive danger feeds charisma’s fire—Creative vision sold...

by Evan Mantyk As the border wall with Mexico that President Trump is building gains greater and greater attention, so too has the early 20th century poem, “Mending Wall,” by American poet Robert Frost. The poem takes issue with the old proverb “good fences make good neighbors,” which happens to...

    When I was young, I’d disassemble clocks So I could understand what made them go. With tools in hand, and pieces in a box, I’d wonder, and I’d look, and then I’d know. But lacking tools to take myself apart, I understand myself through what I’m told, And...

I start to age ten minutes out of bed, More fragile now but not yet dead. My son-in-law hovers round me when I walk In case I stumble as we talk. My daughter’s gift to me: a three-pronged cane Concealed within the quiche Lorraine. A stranger volunteers his seat to...

  Reinigeadal, Harris So many years ago it was, a child Tramped up from East Loch Tarbert’s rocky shore Across the peat hags underneath the wild And dismal sky that overhung the moor. No road could lead him thence, a mere track Between the heather clumps, it weaved its way...

Star Needles A star is just a bauble stuck on what We view as sky.  Lest it let winter in, We join sky fabric back together. When It makes a split, a slice of light slips through The center of each constellation, but The weave behind the moon where stars...

. The Preface to the Poems Composed at the Orchid Pavilion ( 蘭亭集序; Lántíngjí Xu), from the 4th century AD, is generally regarded as the greatest work of Chinese calligraphy. Although the Preface itself is not poetry, it introduces a set of poems and the Chinese language itself is especially poetic because...

by Gregory Spicer “Death and taxes” bemoan us now, as ever. Yet as I bask in the fading embers of Christendom's most sentimental season, my mind freshly equips itself for the new year by conjoining three of the most extraordinary poems of yesteryear. The "ladies first" ideal has me wanting...

The Fiancé inspired by Anthony Trollope’s "Can you forgive her?" (1864-1865) Alice, he wants your money, honey. Alice, he wants your cash. He’d never ask you without it don’t doubt it – He’s wild; but that would be rash. He’s no use for Alice in theory, dearie; He’s no use...

Translation by Michael Coy The Lake Thus, ever driven onward to new shores, borne constantly away, Can we never, in the Ocean of the Ages, drop anchor for a day? Oh, this beautiful lake!  The year has hardly flown, yet here am I, beside these so-beloved waves of hers. Here,...

Dedicated to far too many of my contemporaries, and they know who the hell they are. I. I am the perfect poet— I strike a dainty pose. I sniff the air for floral scent And elevate my nose. I’m not a coarse and graceless type Who spouts obscene derision. Instead...

  The fire waits with tiger paws on silent haunches by the hill, then mounts the rock with clinging claws, and contemplates the moment it will pounce—on sagebrush dry as bones, under a ghostly quiet moon, slink through tinder, stalking homes, and spring atop a shingled roof. In blazing orange...

Common Language I hear the music of the artist's brush Bruise with color the canvas' white, Feel the composers' fingers rush Across the keyboard into night To lodge clear notes in the blackest sky, Stars for some poor poet to ponder, For some sculptor to absorb and sigh While letting...

Transhumanism Somewhere about there’s a slithering sound of man’s enmity, causing excitement and casting the seeds of calamity, claiming enlightened revision of old postmodernity. Oh! But the thought is as novel as man in eternity. Lewis and Ransom have shown us to view the transhumanists in the same light as...

The Catholic Work Ethic I'll do as much as I am able __Before the sun has set. I doubt that I will run the table __Because I haven't yet __Achieved my full potential. There will be time to lie in bed When doctors have pronounced me dead, __And what is...

The Afternoon of Man Fourteen or so, one autumn afternoon, my homework done and supper hours away, I scuffed along on sodden paths bestrewn with yellowed leaves in woods where I’d once played. Perhaps it was the setting sun that grayed the air, perhaps a sudden chill just then, but...

  This evening of your festive day I pray _Oh Agnes, little model of the pure, _Oh girl with smiling eyes, and faith so sure: They won for you the martyr's palm this day. For neither threat nor coaxing in the fray _Of that heroic battle was to lure _You...

. Sonnet II: Liu Xitong Liu Xitong (pronounced Leo She-tong) recently spoke on Capitol Hill about the persecution he faced in communist China for his practice of Falun Gong. Read about the event and his story here.  They strip him down, but cannot strip his soul. They splash on salty...

  These twain ephem’ral lives were fraught with woes When they, a boy and girl in morn of life, Defied their due inheritance as foes And chased a star-crossed love as man and wife. Belovéd by their family, kin and friends, To honest, faithful vow of love they swore; Walked...

On Ralph Vaughan Williams’ The Lark Ascending, a romance for violin and orchestra inspired by George Meredith’s poem of the same title (see both below). Past years of smoke and pain, a tune in ether flows Untouched, while spreading forth from inspiration’s spring: Swift crystal tones unite in winding flight...

Author's Note: This Sonnet, formatted as both prose and poetry, is written as a parody of James Joyce; specifically, his final two novels, Ulysses and Finnegans Wake. For the record, I number myself among the vast horde of readers who once made a sincere and determined attempt to read Finnegans...

A Poet's Prayer My words are lying, cold and still; reproaching me, their silence shrill. With emptiness, my heart they fill. Inspire me, Lord, if You will. Should You decide I'm past my prime I'm still so grateful for the time when, like a bell, my words did chime -...