Poetry

  An Ode to the Indian Soldiers ottava rima Be choking chill or burning heat; be rain or sleet; thou're there O soldier brave to save thy brethren sleeping sound inland, sans pain. Thy eyes surveying every crest and cave; the crooked snowy paths and frozen plain; forgot a wink,...

for Robert Conquest I. Each day Naftaly greets a prison train. Two days ago: spies and reactionaries, yesterday: kulaks from Ukraine, this morning: counter-revolutionaries. Snug in his fur behind militia guards who hold thick water hoses in the snow, he looks at blue-lipped prisoners in cars, exposed to frost of...

Paperboys lack actual colleagues, but I was a part-time paper boy, and my mother, a part-time colleague. When I’d oversleep, or in bad weather, she’d rescue me from the steep daily grind. “Leave the bike home. I’ll drive, to save time.” That was all; guilt trips were not her way....

By Sam Gilliland The Poisoned Chalice Let he who lips me then beware, My potion’s more than honeyed mead, One sip, I shall your soul ensnare, Death conquers all, so take you heed! It is a foolhardy enterprise to embark upon a venture so obviously doomed to failure that the...

I Keep A Different List My neighbor counts his losses and his gains, but I keep track of raindrops when it rains; he makes note of coins and dollar bills while I am watching ants upon their hills; while he is in the office making money, I go out among...

The Great Living Hell On Communism Under the radar I fly Thru' an ever more darkening sky Thru' the smoke from the volumes that burned Thru' the silence of lessons unlearned Thru' the sound of the shattering glass Thru' the thoughts of the mindless I pass Thru' the dust of the statues that...

By Con Chapman Boston may no longer be the Hub of the Universe, but its Standard Metropolitan Statistical Area remains the undisputed capital of America in at least one respect—home of suicidal poetesses. The western suburbs, where I live, form American poetry’s Bermuda Triangle. Sylvia Plath, raised in Wellesley, took...

When Santa’s sleigh took to the sky, He saw a wonder by him fly: A Chinese Fairy dance on clouds And point to where there gathered crowds; A theater’s lights shone dazzling bright And beckoned him to veer his flight To see the face of those who’d seen The Shen Yun show’s...

  The Buds of Life On Nightly News I saw a sight obscene: A seahorse in embrace with cotton bud, Soon causing me to ask, ‘What does this mean?’ The answer came most clear, with numbing thud - Our oceans have become a rubbish tip For detritus abandoned in the...

  For Bishop Berkeley & for Madman Blake First, the wind; then, the waves; then the shore —but the Mind—yes, the Mind—long before. First, darkness; then, ignition; then the light —but Vision—yes, Vision—long before sight. First, nowhere; then, somewhere; then everywhere —each here—each there—like a visual prayer. First, the past;...

Any treatise claiming critical review of verse, whether in the widest sense, or, as in this case, the result of compressed choice, purely down to the author’s own consideration, I hasten to add, is probably deigned to fail as an intelligent summation of poetry penned by John Keats. That said,...

  Slowly yet steadily the heat starts to soar as the sun’s first rays glimmer in the east sky. With no breeze to cool down the forest floor the temperature reached an all-new high. Nothing stirred in the dry heat of the day and lions lay panting in the shade...

  Justice Rendered by Cal Wes Ubideer "Sanctuary cities help protect undocumented aliens." —"Weird" Ace Blues July 1st, 2015, Miss Kate Steinle had been shot. A single bullet struck her in the back, as there she walked upon Pier 14 with her father, San Francisco Bay. She died, killed by...

The silver masses rising in huge numbers, The ship alone upon the sprawling sea, The snores of men found tossing in their slumbers, And salt-tinged breezes shivering with me, The solitary voice of man to man, Confiding of their former selves, their wives, The things they learned, the businesses they...

The Morning Muse This time of day the Muses pass As rolling clouds and dewy grass, To see their handouts properly bestowed. How much I’ve felt and ever feel That writhing impulse in me reel When dawn's first grayer hues begin to glow. And if I had the craft to...

Joseph Pulitzer Junior High September 1959 – June 1961 I think we spoke but fifty words, all told. No more than that, and most were just polite— A brief exchange of greetings or a comment On some observed absurdity or joke... The school did not encourage us to talk. Perhaps...

. . What Tolkien Said “...together through the ages of the world we have fought the long defeat.” Galadriel, of Celeborn Together we fought the long defeat The loss, the win, but no retreat Embossed and scalded by the fray That cost us all - but took the day. ....

The poetry of Fray Angelico Chavez can be read here. By Joseph Charles MacKenzie Fray Angélico Chávez, O.F.M. (1910-1996) remains the most important poet of New Mexico’s modern history. It is precisely by virtue of this gifted priest, polymath, historian, author, and painter, that we in New Mexico are able...

A Slice of Eden A mango tart broke my heart dark one stormy day because it said I'd be dead if I touched its glaze, & lotus cake made me ache late one luckless night because it cried when I tried taking one small bite, & once when I slyly...

For Joseph Charles MacKenzie Herein lies silence and serenity, Along with untold tales of many men, Mixing mud and straw, soon to be a home, Where wives gave an hundred births dignity, Often joy, tinged with great sadness, and then Blood red roses bowed with bitter aplomb; Outside, the waiting...

  Another Cakewalk Mark Twain may not be safe to read, at least in public places, Because he gawks with foolish words at human folly's faces; But take a moment to digest (puts iron in your belly) His words of outrage in defence of outraged Mrs. Shelley: "The slave of...

  For honor! For valor! The battle stole and won Where up the soul arises down the barrel of a gun The courses set and forces met with destined blood and bones But I, I fear, am fated here to never journey home Tell my wife I love her Send...

I could but of thy outward parts compose A symphony of sensuality, Thy subtler habits then to serve as notes, Thy carvéd edges dictating the key. Then would I (perhaps) hold means tangible To prove thy beauty, past all shadowed doubt. Unlike base glass, that offers but one angle, Pure...

  The swollen hill is pregnant with the Spring, A promise of a resurrection day, A warm renewal, life in everything Is bursting forth like perfumed blooms of May And now it will be constant joy to pray To smiling God and look to a pale blue sky And dance...

by Dusty Grein The Man The American poet Robert Frost was born on March 26, 1874, in San Francisco, CA. He spent his first 40 years mostly unknown, and it wasn’t until after returning to the United States from England—where he had his first two books of poetry published—near the...

  She remembers the first time his hand closed around her fingers, the smooth skin of youth and a slight dampness like when he proposed. He loved her fragrant hand lotion, in truth, and he would inhale the scent off his hands hours later.  Years pass and dry wrinkles form as...

  Narcissus Saw Himself Only Once “Due to the poor quality, high cost, and small size of these ancient glass mirrors, solid metal-mirrors primarily of steel were usually preferred until the late nineteenth century.” ~Wikipedia, “Mirror” I wonder if improvements in the way That mirrors show us beauty in our...

  The birch, the elm, the aging spruce Cannot restrain the restless roots Of saplings drawn to the silent sound Of brother’s heading skyward bound Youthful trees spreading their wings Dropping away childish things Until what was there is no more Like climbing marks on a young lads door  ...

Note: Years ago I read an essay by R.P. Blackmur entitled “Lord Tennyson’s Scissors” which cited Tennyson for saying that “he knew the quantity of evey English vowel except those in the word scissors—where each vowel is enclosed and made of uncertain quantity by two consonants.” I got to thinking...

  Progress We fill our landfills That we build sky high With electronic gadgets That we must all buy ... All in the name of Progress We cut down the forest And industrialize the farm We poison our food And do the land harm ... All in the name of...

When I speak of history I speak well; I leave behind the past where broken bones Lay scattered on blistering sands to tell Of atrocities that are mostly groans. While you may feel the pain lurking inside With hurt failing any impunity; And browse pages upon pages to ride This...

The Function of the Poet Tanslation by David Bellemare Gosselin God summons him in times gone awry When each can’t will, but serves his duty. For pity to him who to all his brothers Declares his future in the desert wanders. Pity to him who wears his sandals And treads...

  Tikkun Olam*  His mouth agape, as though still asking questions, the Tsar lies at the end of his long reign. (Blue lips almost struggle to explain, caught in the halfway realm of last expressions.) The Empress sprawls, hands crossing her stained bodice. Behind her rest the bayoneted heirs, blood...

  A Country Song (for my wife's birthday) I'm no longer young and strong and things take me twice as long Might not hear you when you call and I don't stand quite so tall Seasons change and so do we as most any fool can see Pride can blind us to...

Haunted, by a recurring memory, Suffocating, where gladioli grow, Gaunt, with grief, heart stilled, ever passionless, Those dream-filled nights, devoid of charity, Make of slumber a fierce, eternal foe, With you, my love, a bride of bitterness. Thus, spectral songs echo after last light, Where hurtful remembrance always occurs, Oft...

  With sun seductive, blinding, thoughts of open rail reminding Of adventures held in albums, slightly faded, fondly worn; I departed with a vision magnified through time’s revision, Of idyllic destinations, perfect sunsets, youth reborn. But the way ahead, ‘though long, found no wonders quite as strong As those seen...

  To do no harm, no deeds with base intent, To this end we must teach the little ones The way of safe passage.  In lieu, so spent Time on a hateful road,  the train brakeman And teary conductor make the announcement. Ill-aimed conveyance fueled by malcontent, Some misfiring heart with broken cadence, Or sealed, shut mind.  Profoundly...

  Kudzu* Yes, I creep to cover, smother, choking greenery like no other. I am Kudzu taking over places once filled deep in clover, trees and bushes, vines entwining; each within my path declining. Little fazed by drought or drenching; thirst for space there is no quenching. In the brightness...

  Upon a winter’s evening, The sun sits out of sight, While all the stars are dreaming, I peer into the night. My footsteps slowly falling, The silence they do break. I hear a soft voice calling, A voice, a voice opaque. I bend my ear to listen. What do...

  Today I saw a little nest fashioned neat and trim, with plastic wrap, and grass and leaves entwined in feathered rim. What bird had labored to create a home so snug and warm and placed it hidden in a bush safe from wind and storm?   Kathleen Farrell lives...