Poetry

Dandelions She touched their gray-haired afros tenderly: an urban six year old with kinky hair who pounced on dandelions (bud-vases were full of yellow stubby). Telling me: “This is the way that dandelions age” – then blew upon them (instant baldness), sad that “no one liked them but the wind...

Canadian reservist Corporal Cirillo was killed this day at the War Memorial in Ottawa, while standing in his ceremonial and Scottish dress, Glengarry bonnet, kilt, red garter flashes, and the rest. He was a barrel-chested bouncer at the Club Absinthe, an ordinary guy assassinated at the plinth, by some crazed,...

The tip jar was snatched at O Cafe. O! “Somebody just picked it up,” mused the guy at the register. I’d stopped in to buy six ounces of beans, fresh sweet espresso, number two grind. The young baristas know their stuff. They're very warm--no snark. So why did you make...

Fall Haiku New England college towns: Pumpkins, apples, breakfast in a warm café. Swamp-maples afire! Rusty colored barns, silos draped in bittersweet… In their black pea-coats, off of the Metro North, the leaf-peepers arrive. Cross-country. Small-town football. The leaf-smell hunting— God I love the Fall...   The Little Vector (a...

From the Pages of Washington Irving, for my Hudson River Friends Whoever 's made a voyage up the Hudson must remember Catskill Mountains, a dismembered branch of the great Appalachian family, I trust. West of the river, swelling to a noble chance, their hues and shapes are magical barometers. When...

French Suites Each keystroke is precise, clear as a verb Untouched by modifiers. Sharps and flats Are reliable as death, the light trills All mapped out. This strict staff allows no room For cadenzas. Play it as he wrote it. Still, out of all that, out of each note hit,...

  Waiting at a Bustop Under an Umbrella By Damian Robin The pro-democracy tear-soaked bud could burst into a petaled flower flood. Protesters gorged the city like a sea and said they’re not against the CCP, that foreign power just a march away. But that had been a public holiday....

Two Months On I walk between the tired trees restless soldiers standing ground pray for just a tiny breeze bringing me a cheerful sound. Bubbling ruby robins tweet, squirrels dart from tree to tree. Leaves crunch underneath my feet. All these sights I love to see. Two months past my...

610 is there to take it down, the Falun Gong, that touches Dao. It's clear to see the dangers of forbearance, truth, compassion, love.   Note: The 610 Office, created on June 10 (6/10), 1999, is an extra-legal agency whose sole purpose is to persecute Falun Gong. The 610 Office...

Courage I saw a tiny spider spin a web Within my humble hut between two beams. He tried to throw a thread across, it ebbed Away.  He did not have the will, it seemed. And then the tiny spider tried again, Again he failed to reach the other side. Five...

I saw the face of beauty fixed Upon the rising sun Beyond all mortal compliment Her loveliness there shone Within the constellations set Against the heav’nly realm She glittered ‘cross the universe My heart to overwhelm The Seven Sisters ne’er could light All heaven like her smile Nor Aphrodite’s sweetest...

Lamenting our Complicity in the Installation of Suicide Nets I met a “bum” outside an Apple store holding a sign which read: “I’m taking bets.” “On what?” I said. “On something that’d abhor maybe the most insensate, calloused vets.” I curiously said to tell me more. He had no problem,...

  "Breathes there a man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself has said, This is my own, my native land." —Walter Scott I saw this stolid man stand tall, and obviously proud. He wore a bit of blue and white, o, Scotland, strong and stout. He looked like...

A counter to a Walt Whitman poem When I first heard the learn'd astronomer explain his proofs and figures, and arrange the particles of this vast universe, I was excited; I was not estranged. I truly loved his charts and diagrams. They made the cosmos understandable, as if I'd found...

Chinese Cameo 1 Here’s a tale of friends and family— Near the founding of the CCP, Zhou Enlai and Sun Bingwen were friends, both Party members seeking sim’lar ends. Both heaved and puffed up Party power chains. Both pulled and pushed to help with Party gains. Sun died and Zhou...

  I hope your life will offer you new opportunities, that you will find contentment in the choices that you seize. Remember family's important. You can count on us, especially when the way of life is hard and mountainous. Remember to believe in goodness, when you're down and out. Remember...

  When snow arrives As long forecast, It sets a scene That does not last; But for the while Snow sits around, All else remains Transfixed, spellbound.   Jane Blanchard lives and writes in Georgia. Her work has recently appeared in Concho River Review, Mezzo Cammin, and Orbis. Featured Image:...

For the Mid-Autumn, or Moon, Festival My Ford Explorer would ascend no higher: Stuck half-way up that driveway's first steep hill. 'Twas a December night so cold and dire, The truck, that old machine, had lost its will. Not I, I sprang right up and looked about, Fit spikes upon my boots...

  The Truth James Foley Stood For, a Ten-nos* James Foley, searching for the truth, a photo journalist, was murdered in cold blood by a masked IS jihadist, beheaded on a video in deserts of Iraq, mercilessly, cruelly, by a killer dressed in black. The guy who only wanted to...

Untitled Savants like to arrange their stars and push their poets into piles: marble-misers who assign the jars according to the artists’ styles. They line them in their fusty den when they deem an era’s past, and deign to burp them now and then, but work to invent a ‘new’...

There’s a wonder about it, the fragile beauty of lace. Many kinds for centuries have been important to own; one can go to Ireland, Flanders, from place to place— they’re in catalogs: Irish, Mechlin, lace for the home. Many kinds for centuries have been important to own; even I have...

There are a number of reasons for writing poetry, and alas they are not all good; for not all poetry is good, and indeed some ‘poetry’ is not poetry at all. This is not to denigrate anyone’s effort, but you don’t want to pay for a gold ring and get...

The Commissars Oppose Falun Gong They were old, had lost their youth, So, like the old, repressed the Truth. They fumbled, rigid in expression, So stiff – they lacked Compassion. Their purpose was interference, Lacking right Forbearance. In all this, all they had lost: Truth, Compassion, Forbearance – No Tao,...

In Rembrandt's scene of 1653, Aristotle Contemplating a Bust of Homer, there is much that we can see amidst that musty sett(l)ing of gold dust that balances upon the old and new, upon the dark and light, upon the dead and living, giving forth beams of the true and glimmerings...

The Bored Knight A tired knight rode to his castle After a long day of hassle. He bowed to the land’s king, his lord, “My liege, I’m incredibly bored, I’m more like a stupid monkey Than protector of royalty I stand there at the outer gate Like moldy food that...

The allegory of The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne isn't flawless; yet it is, in places, good. The A itself does signify adultery, able, and angel, as well as in the hornbook phrase, "in Adam's fall, we sinnéd all." I also think it represents America, a nation married to the...

  Spring Haiku I’m optimistic; like a brand new tennis ball, everything’s chartreuse. The brook trout’s belly is like a sunset I saw; its stipples the stars. Papa bear’s hungry. He tests his weight on the bough. I’ll need more bird-seed. The calf on the grass, steaming in the morning...

  She could not see the avalanche cascade from foam-flecked marble rapids, being blind, but torrents of egrets and apple blossoms played whirlpools of nebulous beauty in her mind. She could not hear, tumultuous mystery, the thunderous plunge, a sea's storm-breaking crests, crescendo of a choral symphony, only the silence...

I. The Tin Shant on the hill in Martinique is stoutly situated, unique in design, and built half a century ago.  Though stucco and cinderblock, we call it the Tin Shant due to a fine-sounding tap on the tin roof during rain.  Lovely sounds when you’re comfortable and dry. What’s...

  A miracle, how else to say it then? At first, but ground, absolutely nothing there, A river meandering by, some cattle, gorse, Nettle and herbs whose use proved no sure cure. Then, as if by magic, he stood majestic, by – Conjured from out thin air his being gainsaid...

  The Glass Bottle Tree When the wind blows through, the tree shakes. The glass bottles tip their sunlight Over a stiff hearth of twilight; Sealing its glow as night awakes. Two silhouettes do gives and takes In drums of waltz down blue moonlight. When the wind blows through, the...

  Currency of Compassion Throughout the history of humanity conscious coveting with eyes, insanity anxious and eager to grasp with empty hands a void in the beating heart, deviant plans rash, thoughtless takers of a world marching on loud voices troll the abominating song. Confusion and greed found, pushing those...

When the last candles smoldered on the funeral eve, And no echo of condolence rippled midnight silence, I rose in scented darkness and took my leave. December met me at the church’s door and raised my eyes To nebulae shining where ends precede beginnings, To myriad galaxies’ solemn surprise -...

. . Fathers and Grandfathers When we see our Brethren bold, Reach the age called Growing old, Men grow thoughtful, mind afire, With the echoes of a Sire. Working, eating, drinking, they, Striding through their noontide-day, With a stately, decent air, That within the lion’s lair Stood with strength, and...

I walked around the garden, and did think. If I had my own how would I create? With enclosed space I’d make myself here sit. Comfortably, and I could have tea and cake. From broad leaved plants a wooden structure made. Encouraged Ivy, wrap and grow agreed. And reached the...

True to Nature Men take up arms to battle in the sun, anticipating minor victories won o'er valiant, steadfast foes who, if they could, would laugh and say our blades do little good as far as cutting them down to their size. For soon enough the downtrodden shall rise and...

The aspens are turning, my neighbor said. I went to see. Mostly gold, some red, They stood and whirled, their white trunks bare. A bright sheen (spun gold) filled the air. The whole big hill was turning, too. Trees from the back came into view. I tried with a toe...

Originally published in The Epoch Times. LinkedIn's Censorship in China LinkedIn connects people the world over, Crafting a cozy café oceans wide Where people can sip with each other, Do business without an eight-hour ride. Yet, recently, when I was at LinkedIn, I noticed something red in my chai tea;...

Poems from the Hungarian Poetry Reading 9/19/2013   Twenty Years Later By János Vajda (1827–1897) / Translation by Zsuzsanna Ozsváth and Frederick Turner Like snow on Mont Blanc's distant crest, That neither sun nor wind may harm, My unvexed heart now lies at rest, Inflamed by no new passion's charm....