Poetry

  The Pinnacle of Poetry Well under one percent acceptance rate, Submitters wait a year to learn their fate. Yet some who scope its pages think they see The naked emperor of poetry.     Absence of Consequences The world is replete now with scammers and thieves, Endless crimes---and the...

  The First American Sonnets: David Humphreys by Margaret Coats In 1776, the first known sonnet in the United States of America was written by a young patriot ready to join the continental army. Below, see it and several more by David Humphreys (1752–1818), who was born in Connecticut, and...

  The Holy Rollers on Poetry We are the Holy Rollers— We live for solemn prayer. With censers of pure frankincense We fumigate the air. We quote from Sacred Scripture, Especially Saint Paul: We love to quote Galatians on How works don’t work at all. We gather folks around us,...

  Poem 1 by Sappho (circa 630-570 B.C.) translated from Greek by Bruce Phenix Immortal Aphrodite, richly throned, wile-weaving child of Zeus, receive my prayer: do not, my mistress, overwhelm my heart ___with pain or care, but come here, if at any other time you heard me, at a distance,...

  The Cautionary Tale of Phone Addicted Mimi A girl called Mimi thought it best to give her active brain a rest. She bought the latest mobile phone, the same as her BFF, Joan, and all day long would browse and scroll, which soon became her single goal. At school...

  Look Away “Look away, across the fabled sea,” Our fathers cried, with voices loud and clear, There’s a place awaiting you and me, And all who’d live in hope and not in fear. “Look away” from servitude and chains, From tyrant greed and realms of dark decay, There’s a...

  Sunday Morning in Canada By all accounts he was a thoroughly Unpleasant man. His wife divorced him and His children held him in contempt. Once he Got ill his son would finally shake his hand. On Sunday doctors then will coalesce And grant the man his sorry fate, While...

  Bean I found you in a shelter, cold and wet, your dark, expressive eyes fixed on my own. They told of yearnings unfulfilled as yet; I knew without a doubt I'd bring you home. You snuggled close, my wool coat wrapped within; The start of many happy years with...

  The Swan’s Song He brewed his words in cauldrons on the moors. They doubled as they bubbled to the brim. He conjured clifftop storms and sea-whipped shores On savage isles where wizards’ secrets swim. His words tamed shrews. They kindled gall and guilt. They silenced loyal lips with unhinged rage. They stoked...

  The Gravedigger I garden to acquaint myself with graves. Accompanying death with every turn, my spade exhumes pharaonic tombs, engraved by earthworms’ hieroglyphic gnaw and churn. I learn the scrawl that’s written on old bones, trace epitaphs inscribed with mold. I read the spider-weave in leaves. My trowel groans...

  Waiting for the Perfect Man A woman waiting for the perfect man, though she was far from perfect, had a list of qualities a man must have. Her plan to claim perfection could not be dismissed; on certain traits, she simply must insist. When she was thirty-five and still...

  The George-A-Saurus Forget the Jabberwocky, son--- Instead beware the George-A-Saurus: A wicked monster you should shun; Whose single goal is to abhor us. He has the depth of Al Capone, The morals of a brontosaurus, A heart which beats as made of stone And far less charm than a...

  When Asked: “What’s Your Favorite Season?”   ---a villanelle I can’t decide which season I like best; they all have hallmarks that I love—can’t pick. Whichever time of year I’m truly blessed. There’s spring, when birds begin to build their nests, and all can once more go out for...

  https://youtu.be/jd7Zxqf4zDs?si=Ny4BwTAKFJ0378sl   The Last At-Bat of Lyndon Braun The crowd was on its feet because they knew it was the last at-bat of Lyndon Braun, the biggest name to don the Falcon blue, but they were down by eight with no one on. In hardened hands, he lugged an...

  The Perpetual Battle   I From Arad north to Hazor acrid smoke Rose from each cyclopean citadel Of Canaan---altar-fires gelt priests would stoke To burn the blood of children slain to quell The unrelenting, gluttonous demand Of Baal and Moloch, snarling lords of hell--- Till others at another God’s...

  Spring in the Moment It is a time to learn to walk. Too many ages have we spent In plodding with aggrieved intent. Let’s go with smiles and little talk. Cooperating bones will bear A body where the path allows, And please do note, the willow bows, As we...

  Have a Nice Week! I wish you a wonderful week! May Monday go smoothly and sleek, And Tuesday productive at work; Perhaps you’ll enjoy a new perk. I bet Wednesday runs really fast. Behold, half a week has just passed. On Thursday be happy and bright The week is...

  At the No-Win Inn The room for error is across the hall, Between the storage bin for grave mistakes And padlocked doors to closet space where all The skeletons are kept. The rattlesnakes Are on the floor below, along with ranks Of spiders, scorpions, and rabid skunks. Piranhas wait...

  When the Phone Rings I can’t still be excited when the phone rings, I was for decades, but no longer am. The joy of wondering just who that sound brings, Has been replaced by likelihood it’s spam.     Two Types of Talkers Of those who tend to talk...

Deep Water   I. Kōan I ponder by the ancient pool. A frog jumps in. I hear a splash. The sun is hot. The moon is cool. What could it mean: this vernal jewel--- This scintillating Bashō-flash? I ponder by the ancient pool. My school of thought is back at...

  The Dunes The dunes are marching, blown along Saharan landscapes. Grain by grain they stream across a barren plain, their sibilance a desert song. From sandstone hills, detached, they fly and join an undulating sea of desiccated waves, set free beneath a steely, sun-drenched sky. These rock-sheared motes are...

The Society of Classical Poets Journal XIV has been published! It features poetry, translations, and essays selected from those published on the SCP website between February 1, 2025 and January 31, 2026.  The Journal also features exquisite art created by living artists who are at the top of the fine...

  The Cover-up Everything went smoothly on the morning that we launched __And headed off to make our flight through space. And we’d now been receding from the earth for three long years, __While traveling at a hard to fathom pace. Now at last our destination loomed before our eyes...

  The Poet's Plight I sit at dusk and bear the scorn, sarcastic talk Of friends, and brood upon the metric skills of mine; They praise their sugar coated art as deep, refined— So smooth, concise, unbound by rules to fall in line While poets lie forgotten under hoary rhyme;...

  After the Turning Point ---a double refrain ballade At slender hindrances we fall, Uneven ground, path shadowy; To tainted food or alcohol, Blood clots or bullets, frail are we, But choosing a healthier strategy, An enterprising, purposeful view, Our disciplined efforts turn energy To forward the rational good we...

  Forest Fire Fantasy ---a trenta-sei The smoke from summer fires filled the air, A lightning storm had been the cause of most. Entire forests went up like a flare As ecosystems were turned into toast. To fight the flames came men with skill and pluck, With air support and...

  Where the Ground Gives Way Once I took your face into my hand, and sunlight showed the tears within your eyes; it seemed we stood on slowly yielding land, where something long concealed began to rise. No word was said—yet both of us could feel a hidden current moving...

  Two-Tier Keir: Being a Short Account of a Trickster He sought to be in politics--- _Self-virtued Dalai Lama. Instead, we found through all his tricks: _A trickster, Two-Tier Starmer. He promised all he'd play it straight, _He'd never be a harmer; But all his promises were bait, _The angler,...

  Canzone of Parting   I There are secluded places in the wild Where the breeze settles, like a weary child, Down on the mossy blanket of the heath, Ceasing to stir the surface of the leith; Nor can one hear the babbling of the rill __Where all the world...

  What Happened to the Ayatollah?   I The Ayatollah’s disappeared: It’s just as all his friends have feared; But where he’s gone to none can tell, My guess is though it’s down to Hell. He’s with his wives and mullah chums: They’re sitting there with burning bums. He’s asking,...

  An Excerpt Get up and amble through the city of the massacre, then lock your eyes, and, with your hands, touch what you’re passing there, the clots of blood upon cooled brains, dried on tree trunks and rocks. Go to the ruins, gaping breaches, fences, hearths and walks. All...

  A Very Early Taste of Poetry by Joseph S. Salemi The earliest and most important steps in attaining literacy are not usually remembered. I liked drawing with a pencil on paper when I was a toddler, and I would fill up each blank page with rows and rows of...

  Murder at the Stocker Mansion A Poetic Noir Whodunit   ---San Francisco. 1948. 1. Prologue The Stocker mansion sits upon a cliff Which overlooks a rocky, wave-tossed shore; Victorian---and derelict as sin. Within the parlor---could there be a whiff Of something sharp which wasn’t there before? A touch of...

  Barabbas They named their chosen one and set him free. They picked a thug who reeked of others’ blood. He bore the stain their wayward hearts could see--- Familiar ground might serve some greater good. They knew the cutthroat path the rebel took, The street where shadows veiled each...

  Out of the Box Round and round the mulberry bush The monkey chased the weasel. The monkey thought ‘twas all in fun, “Pop!” goes the weasel. ---Children’s traditional Around and around and around she goes… But where she stops nobody knows. Our life is a gamble created by chance;...

  To the Captive Sun You set now, levitating low, Just deigning lazily to throw Your gently flaming, scarlet glow On empty miles of windswept snow, Tinging the icy, barren white With fiery red as if alight Yet melting not, to tease the sight Before you fade to darkest night---...

  The Birthday of a Bride A woman, when she enters into labor on the day She brings at last into the world the object of her love— A long awaited, precious baby, sent from God above— Knows well that, to receive this gift, she has a price to pay,...

  The Precious Blood The blood of Jesus bought me from the hands Of foes for whom I scorned divine commands. My guilt is gone: His blood grants purest grace, And entry to His heart’s most holy place. His bloodshed seals our ceaseless covenant In goodness vigilant and militant. His...

  Stabat Mater Dolorosa by Jacopone da Todi (1228-1306) translated by Morrison Handley-Schachler In the hour of crucifixion, Mourning and in deep affliction, Once a tearful mother stood, From grief’s sword-thrust undefended, While her world hung there suspended From the coarse and shameful wood. How distressed was that dejected Mother...

  The Lip Surely before I have felt as though heaven _were pressed to my lips such as this, Yet touching your smile is so sweet I imagine _there never has been such a kiss. Riv’ling the ruby—the cottony soft— _as warm as a slow summer breeze. The ultimate passion—Love...