Poetry

Looking for Your Keys     While trapped between your life and soul. You look for keys to fit the hole, You struggle through your daily pace; In what we call "The Human Race." How much rain must you endure; Before you know the rules for sure? And how much trouble must...

‘On The Group Of The Three Angels Before The Tent Of Abraham, By Raphael, In The Vatican’ O, now I feel as though another sense, From heaven descending, had informed my soul; I feel the pleasurable, full control Of Grace, harmonious, boundless, and intense. In thee, celestial Group, embodied lives...

Zombie Dawning The zombies are coming; no one knows why – no time to ponder such things anyhow. Apocalypse gives us no time to cry. Survival is all we can think of now. They hunt for us in slow, relentless mobs and push past all our barricades by force. We...

The Society of Classical Poets is pleased to announce the publication of its First Annual Poetry Journal, available on Createspace and Amazon.  Below is a preview of the Featured Poets and Introduction. Featured Poets Andre, Kelly Ash, Deron Azriel, Yakov Braun, Graal Brugaletta, John J. Carrington, Enriqueta Covelli, Robert Chida,...

Verse Forms as Evokers of Poetry I wish to dispute the notion that a “poem” arrives in the formal poet’s mind as if it were a compressed computer file, which he or she then expands into the poem proper by versifying it.  Somewhat similar to this conception of versecrafting is...

The simple fruit the body once begot To please the supplicating year’s poor sky, Who pleaded tearful, nor did have a plot For bare escapes the heart could dignify, Lived and lost against the winter season The final nutrient from tastes divine; Lost and lived to seek a higher reason...

"Heavenly Hurt, it gives us—" —Emily Dickinson A sunlit chair by Michael John Hunt sits in light, inside a house with open door. It's at a foyer corner—shadowed bits upon the greenish wall and wooden floor. One almost could envision Emily Elizabeth, appearing, Dickinson, in white, a prisoner of family,...

The losses of this lifetime in retrospect I see Reflect a downward spiral of a flawed society: can we now recapture a mere morality? Erase euphoric rapture of the imperial ME? Delete from daily language a bold vulgarity? Will our world nevermore enjoy a true gentility? These are not rhetorical...

"How the Chimney-sweeper’s cry/ Every blackning Church appalls…” —William Blake, London “The Beijing Cough may not be as bad as the Hebei Hack." —Wu “Sacred Bee” Li   In Beijing, air pollution is so bad the smog is visible from outer space. The city’s in a hazy blanket clad. The...

Elegy for a Blush No more does she show her flower; No more does the maiden cower. Snow-white cheek has turned to tawny. All the lads are looking scrawny. On Her cheek she spread her plume: A roseate revealing bloom, A fire burning ’crossed a moon… Naïf innocence iced too...

History There’s a story in every piece of history. Each time I probe into a part of history, I see wars, plagues, triumphs, romances, and conflicts Between the poor and the rich. History inflicts Me with memories of pain, and also soothes me With memories of hope. History ought to...

A line that travels down the middle of the scene divides the picture's plane in two: above, the vast and airy openess o' th' arching building, green on top, and filled with golden light and shadows cast between huge windows, flag, and architectured space, as if some grand, extr'ordinary thing...

Dear Competition Participants, Thank you for your submissions! I am pleased to announce the winner and honorable mentions of the 2012 Society of Classical Poets Poetry Competition: Winner of $1,000 Prize: Alan Nordstrom Honorable Mentions: Leland James James Ph. Kotsybar Damian Robin Keith Robson   Kind Regards, Evan Mantyk President...

How that florid scent Wafts through your two vents Making all your senses yield To wilderness in a field. How the petals soft Carry you aloft To the clouds above us all, Lightly float and never fall. How the colors beam In a matching scheme, Fine art in a museum...

To Plait Celestial Chains They also serve who only stand and wait. - John Milton, “On his Blindness” They also serve who only stand and wait. Ere even days in this dark world and wide, small souls, or large, peek into this estate. Then side by side, their errand to...

Armor Discard the anxious sheath which guards The balanced song inside Lest ballads deep in ebony Reverberate untied Forgo the throttling winds who sing Their tainted, luring song Face every punch along the way, Distinguish truth from wrong A standing shaft knows not to sway Against the coming storm Its...

By Lew Icarus Bede             It is difficult, if not impossible, to know the state of poetry in any language during its "present period," poetry is such a fluid force, and the best, or the most enduring, works rarely ever rise immediately to the fore.  Therefore, it is doubly dangerous...

Mount Solitude Snow shelves sit like sentinels Waiting for a tuft-eared lynx Stacked like dishes jutting jewels Balance weights on tiny chinks Dripping in the sun all day Frozen stiff in lunar light Every ochre brown in play Moss and snow for green and white Painters’ knives have layered slices...

Spring’s Rhyme Colour floods so slowly, Each petal takes its time-- It blossoms near to holy As it enacts Spring’s Rhyme. The petals blush in summer And wither in the fall And wave to each newcomer Of their Garden Hall. One seems to blossom slower Than the rest as they...

My Love, Penelope My love, Penelope, I'm incomplete– You are not here, and I feel so alone; Love is a chore, without you there's no heat, Only dust, mere air, for you're my blood and bone. Victory brings me riches, glory and slaves, Each night a bacchanalia, all I've desired...

Death Be Not Proud Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure;...

Instead of Sominex Write a sonnet tonight before you go to bed. Just fourteen lines before you fall asleep. Something to clear your far-too-cluttered head. More fun than counting endless flocks of sheep. The clock will tick.  The steady, tireless tread of syllables across the page will keep your sonnet...

Quids Pro Quo Does beauty matter?  You, of all, know why: it skirts the edge of my and your decay. It brings at once both smile and knowing sigh. Yes, beauty—ever—has its own cachet. In beauty’s lap, perfection likely seems— redeems lost Eden, sheds the rose’s thorns, lets us believe...

On Cancer, Guns, and Hit 'n Runs The chemo sessions wore him down, He so despised the sterile smells, The chatter, beeps, and flimsy gown, And then those plain disgusting gels. But no more thoughts of days gone by, Of chances lost, of things begun, And multitud'nous reasons why Some...

  "every where the trace of men"                         —William Cullen Bryant In Thomas Cole's The Catskills and Lake George, that set on scenic Catskill Creek, New York, in 1845, trees are orange, dark and light green, and reddish brown; they form a core with large, gray rocks around the calm,...

Dogfight Sonnet Demon snarl curdles into a roar doubled with the counter-howl of defense. Darkened winter street was quiet before that tired walker’s leash-beast lost its sense. The guard dog growls, holds his ground upon sight; quivering mutt against great yellow Lab. The hoarse barking claws at a hard black...

All Such Poets Emit Great Delight. All such poets emit great delight. In such darkness they radiate light. Though despite the demise, They continue to rise. All such poets continue to write!   In Soul Sleeps Love, in Newborn Slumber Bay In soul sleeps love, in newborn, slumber bay. Thou...

Alabaster (The Statue) I see the fineness And sense divineness From smoothest feet to marble brow A curve of lip A tilt of hip As gentle as a tempest would allow A stolen glance A lover’s trance Time holds the flowers in your hair A shy unease The world to...

A meeting round a social platter Seduced me in a human game. I sensed the moral tone go flatter But did not put this in the frame. We are here and witness change. If firm, we help to rearrange The running sequences that matter, Make goods beyond the surface range....

Apprenticeship The poem will prove a stern and daunting master to those who pussyfoot around the truth and, weaving daisy chains from each disaster, still fixate on their gold and glittering youth. If you strive to disguise your fears and faults, pretend that you are not long in the tooth,...

I hear you in the silence of the trees The Wilderness, they called it once, found in many places. Walking now, my heart sees the past, time before this darkened ground rang with battle, ran with blood. Monuments now mark what happened then. At sunset figures walk these fields anew....

I. It's not an easy thing to die, it's not An easy thing to make believe I cling To hope when every day my doctors bring Me proof how sick my body is.  Yet what Can doctors do, but sigh?  There's not a lot Of time till winter reigns, for...

English poetry has been in existence for at least 1,400 years. This tradition continues alive and well at The Society of Classical Poets like nowhere else. Today, poetry is everywhere. It is in the songs on the radio, in our national anthems, and in the fight songs of our favorite...

The Dream I dreamed a dream of two parades so different, yet the same, And I could not place the meaning of the first parade that came. Along a road lined with many leafless and grey, dying trees A black parade moved slowly forward trailing grief and unease. Soft silence...

Feathers of Disenchantment Pastors preached of birds as models of love, so sweet, so proper. Then parbleu, we heard sad news about the cheating of the dove, promiscuity of the humming-bird, scandalous divorce among flamingos, sparrows’ shacking in ménages à trois. For swingers on the wing any fling goes, the...

Review By Christopher Nield / Image by Liza Voronin/The Epoch Times The Riddles of Merlin As I was walking Alone by the sea, “What is that whisper?” Said Merlin to me. “Only,” I answered, “The sigh of the wave”— “Oh, no,” replied Merlin, “’Tis the grass on your grave.” As...

In Praise of Formal Poetry Whether it’s ridiculous or sublime, we need the reassurance of meter, the familiar recurrence of rhyme. We yearn for verse that’s fixed in place and time, lines that march to a regular beat, or words, whether ridiculous or sublime, that echo each other like bells...

The roses clamored wildly. I confessed it, smiled mildly. Profusely rambling everywhere, The crimson blooms were sweetness rare. Entwined with random opulence Around the old white picket fence, 'Twas glorious disobedience, Quite like the charm of innocence. While I walked the path one day, Two passers-by did stop and say:...

Bless with Children Sent, Amen! to fill the world with wonder they come in trust, brim-full of possibility, a soul (or spark from God, once split asunder) harbored in each.  Our responsibility: to do our best, to cherish and provide at least the abc’s that foster health for every body,...

To the Skeptic Who Denies God You want me to prove to you my God exists. “The burden of proof is on you,” you insist; But when my lips open, you only resist. You try to use logic to tear me apart; You pull out your jargon to get a...