Poetry

Spring was near now Spring’s here, come to waken all the flowers and to welcome April showers. Spring was near now Spring’s here. The grass is green as green can be and the blossoms are blooming in the apple tree. Spring was near, now Spring’s here. A little bird has...

If Romeo Had Received the Letter Part I Romeo (in the catacomb, lying down beside Juliet) The friar’s note said: “Romeo she will wake.” Thus here I am now with my life at stake. You’ll resurrect? Or will the potion err? the anesthesia taken on a dare, a hope that...

Blue Star Mama painted calm and clouded landscapes Before she wed, blue-green and grassy shapes, But these went by the board just after she Jumped off into the matrimonial sea. Later, Bach rocked the house and Chopin too, For as we grew up, that was what she’d do, Bringing us...

I Watch the Sun I watch the sun, its trek, across the sky. The shadow too to see how it reacts. When light steps forth, the shadow it gets shy. Then shadow finds its strength when light contracts. A quiet little fight the two ensue. He reaches out his arm...

  Boston Public Garden On Boston Public Garden's willowed shorebank, two little girls are feeding ducks: they prance from beak to beak, arms arcing past their foreheads to farther thrust their crusts. They feel, perchance, how full the cupboards of their lives are stocked: so full they're called to fling...

By Evan Mantyk In the sea of free verse, drifting downward into the bottomless whirlpool of aesthetic relativism, it is hard to not get lost; but poet, editor, and professor Joseph S. Salemi seems to have found the other shore. He has stood firm on the bedrock of rhyme and meter...

By Cid Wa'eeb El Sur "The end is where we start from." —T. S. Eliot, Four Quartets, Little Gidding Upon the heels of an Idlib chemical attack, about five dozen Tomahawks were hurled back to back. Like giant, hornet-robots hissing with their striking bombs, they targeted Shayrat-Base tarmacs, depots, planes—near...

  “Doing what deserves to be written, writing what deserves to be read, living to make the world a happier place.” That's what Pliny the Elder said. He quoted “In Vino Veritas,” from some older, and wiser, gent, but he put it in one of his gardening books, and so...

White Wolf, Black Wolf: A Cherokee Story A trijan refrain Inside you lives a wolf of white— of patience, peace and love. He is forgiveness, hope and light; a blessing from above. This wolf of white the world will see through all the good he brings to thee. _____This wolf...

  One Near-Death Experience at the Royal Bournemouth Hospital To be dazed out, phased out, near to dying In a hospital bed Somewhere in a street near you, Pain excessive, crying, Eyes blank at blank ceiling staring ahead And nothing, nothing to do. Only night comes on, but what matter?...

After E. T. A. Hoffman "Only connect..." E. M. Forster, Howard's End By Ewald E. Eisbruc The inner structure of the movements, working joint by joint, the way they all are linked together, toward a single point, th' interrelation of main themes, producing unity, beteem each listener to reach a new...

We Forget How quickly we forget the people killed, Millions slaughtered to get a lie fulfilled. All those Russians in the frozen gulag, All those Chinese, dead, without epilogue, All those hearts, for grand fantasies, stilled… The same ideas which now make students thrilled Inspired other men to the death...

Divided into easy to engage and topical categories such as Beauty, Humor, Anti-Communism, and The Environment, the 2017 Journal features selected poetry, essays, and translations from the Society’s last 12 months. Purchase online here. Below are the featured poets in the Journal in alphabetical order:   Ahern, Edward Anderson, C.B. Blanchard,...

  Oak tree like a gnarled arthritic hand jutting into the sky black and bent knobby knuckles, twisted swirls and burls appearing ancient, energy spent Dry leaves are sparse, barely hanging on and are missing in many places Branches and twigs like a skeleton which ghostly tule fog soon erases...

Sleep, lying in dry river beds Sold rapidly, buy the shore banks Brains washed from corporate heads Dried and neatly styled on fuel tanks Rippled, ragged breaths of ashen air Smog saturated sludge and stench Precipitations drought and bare Floating plastic water bottles’ island’s quench External thermostat control is diplomatic Hemisphere and...

  To me, to rhyme— It is sublime To others But a waste of time To match the sounds Of words, they say Promotes an Aural truth-decay To them I say To rhyme’s the way! To make the words Run, jump, and play Forget the rest To rhyme’s the best!...

The Theater of the Bush To westward the sun seeks a comfort nocturnal, Her warmth slipping under the covers ahead; And daylight soon passes the threshold eternal, Turns on the night-light and settles in bed. Awakens from slumber those creatures encumbered By prisons of sunlight and tethers of day. Possums...

. . Approaching Spring Above the mountain, under the sky, Canadian Geese, you hear their cry, Over the mountain, hear them sing, Man and Wife, approaching Spring. . . Charge to Orion Gird thy blade and tighten belt Spurred unswayed by heights not felt Betelgeuse and Rigel fire Nimble Lepus;...

  Are the dead at peace in the ground? wrapped in loam, slow dissolving to earth. Is the mother at peace in travail, wracked apart that a child might be born? Does a man find peace as he toils for a cause, half around the world's girth? Were the martrys...

  Spring is Coming From naked trees, droplets of dew, Drips like tears onto my upturned face. Everything is bleak, nothing new. No creation feels like outer space. Hear ye, hear ye, everyone come. What, a spot of bright green on that tree? Although it’s as small as a crumb,...

By Basil Drew Eceu At least four people have been killed and forty injured in a terrorist attack in London in the afternoon. Here near the cradle of great Parliament'ry government, a cruel terrorist went mad upon the hard cement. He rammed, and slammed, his car into the people that...

By Elizabeth Spencer Spragins Poetry has been an integral component of Welsh culture for centuries. Indeed, the Welsh word “bardd” (poet) has been traced back to 100 B.C. Depending on their skills, Welsh poets held one of three official ranks, and earning the designation of “chief poet” was a high...

A Pantoum The wind, it sings through trees of pine The breeze, it sweeps my senses clear This day shines bright, this day shines fine These dunes are bringing heaven near. The breeze, it sweeps my senses clear Awakened eyes view vibrant hues These dunes are bringing heaven near The...

How much wheat can a woodchuck eat? Or cabbage, carrots, and peas, Spinach, parsley, peppers, and kale, Tomatoes, lettuce, n’ beans? What if he brings his family n’ friends? A party they will throw! So pack your bag and grab your hat— It’s off to market you go!   Connie...

The Rocky Mountain Pines Written in Rhymed couplets of Anapestic Tetrameter. In the mountains or plains, with the pine in the air, I’ll awake to the sun with a chill to compare. When I hike up a hill, with a heart full of gloom, And the trail is lined by...

By James Sale There are nine Muses of poetry, daughters of Zeus or some say Apollo, and the Titaness, Mnenosyne, goddess of memory, past and future. And of these nine the most important is Kalliope, she of the Lovely Voice, and the muse of epic poetry; and she is considered...

Dancer the arch of her collarbone a bridge, her legs a throne, the clean and simple lines of her body free of confines. she dances, arms akimbo, hair flowing, and I know that she belongs to the wind, to breathe the free air, skin pale and wide like the sky,...

  Saint Patrick was a green alien, He came from other parts. He was not a native Irishman But was taken to their hearts. On oceans of pre-destiny He made a Christian start With a sense of heaven’s purity And faith in his small part. He sailed the sea on...

  Celestial Teevee Something that’s always puzzled me: Does the Creator watch us on celestial teevee the way we watch Modern Family? If so, can He (She? It?) switch channels? (To other worlds, galactic variety shows?) When does He get up for beer and pretzels, since there are (I assume)...

By Evan Mantyk Last year, the College Board released a significantly redesigned Scholastic Aptitude Test (SAT). The SAT is used by millions of student applicants each year to gain admission to U.S. colleges and universities. The redesign brought the SAT closer to its counterpart, the other major U.S. college-admissions test, the...

Cold and Uncertain shaken and stirred; Flying through clouds so quickly they’re blurred. Hold, comfort and buckle me in; Make us trust in safety again. Sitting armed with a passport and strapped with hopes from the past; Remembering the memories which are certain to last. Then optimistic voices, so assuring...

  Songbirds Sing (Triolet Sonnet) As songbirds sing with joy of spring, unfolding blossoms show their hues. From my front porch the wind chimes ring as songbirds sing with joy of spring. Fresh colors cast on ev’rything— in shades of yellows, reds, and blues. As songbirds sing with joy of...

The Press is not the enemy, but Donald Trump is right; the Press is disingenuous; they cannot get it right. Left in the midst of overladen, value-judgment words, left in the air, they're like a flock of one-wing, flapping birds. The journalists have difficulty being more diverse. It is as...

By Dona Fox It was Friday night. I fought my way across the campus through special effects left over from a Grade-B horror movie. Lightning shattered the sky as I entered the building. Thunder rumbled as I opened the classroom door. He was slouched on my desk, legs crossed, elbow...

or Mutatis Mutandis The mode of most catastrophe is gradually, then suddenly. Time slowly ratchets up the stress in states that tend to stay at rest until some last-straw catalyst, the tumblers’ incremental twist allows locked plates at last to shift; the temblored continental drift frees the long pent-up potential...

By Wilbur Dee Case One of the most unlikely poems of the Modernist period is that by Robert Frost: "The Pasture." It is unlikely for many reasons. First, it seems more like a Romantic lyric, i.e., one hundred years too late, because of its rural depiction and its simple, formal...

  The World Is Still Too Much Too much, and much too much, it still goes on: The men and women who covet wealth and bling, And acquisition of each material thing, Yet search for some elusive paradigm Of Self as one with Nature. Rising seas And tempest winds instill...

By Evan Mantyk One week in mid-January this year, in the relatively obscure world of poetry, Joseph Charles MacKenzie’s “Pibroch for the Domnhall” exploded like an atomic bomb, shattering perceptions that rhyming and rhythmic poetry—poetry that common people appreciate or at least understand for a change—was dead upon the stage of...

When I struggle for sleep, I dust off a classic and try counting sheep: Trouble is, my sheep show off, they leap like Olympians over their feeding trough – They soar through the air, blending into the clouds, pirouette, land back down, where the rest of the animals wait, giving...

All photos by Mark Wyatt / All poetry by Alec Ream Chant of the Wooded Hall Chlorophyll concordant eaves Soaring ceiling, verdant leaves Torah spell my secret sees Worded oracle of trees Beneath a thing be found intent Unsheathing singing, sound and scent Growing shoots a task of me Sowing...