Poetry

. Nordic Memories They rise with the dawn of fashion Their eyes for new booty are keen, To ride the tide of nostalgia For something that they’ve never seen. Their patrons board the longship, Geared up for the latest craze, They soil and ink their forearms, And dredge up the...

. Lines Written in a Time of Illness My body is weak, and this reflects my soul,Who baser pleasures is obsessed to know;For the mind, of late, has been filled with resentmentAnd not contented by mere sentimentWhich, however piously it’s offered,Relief from pain has never, ever, proffered.Just like the blessed...

. The Matters of Life With furrowed brow she knits away her troubles,Her wrinkled face so tight and drawn with age.The skeins of yarn unwind in rapid motionAs woes translate to tight and tighter gauge. Tho weary of her task, she stays determinedTo process life through each and every stage,Intent...

. Help! I Can’t Stop Speaking in Iambic! Help! I can’t stop speaking in iambic Pentameter! No matter what I say, Somehow it keeps on coming out that way. It’s not the first time. Could it be a chronic Disease that targets poets? Tragicomic, Incurable, it constantly contrives To make...

. On Learning of a Lover’s Death Your parting words were not exactly nice, But when I read the news that you had died, At least for old times’ sake, I should have cried. I haven’t—yet. Is that a crime? Suffice To say upon a time we loved, made love,...

. The Blank-Page Stage I once embraced the blank-page stage, when words would somehow always rhyme, but now my brain shows signs of age, and operates on its own time. So now, I dread the clean-slate state since often, the right anapest remains elusive as I wait until my brain...

. Catching Up An hour passes in a second. A month goes by in just an hour. The rosy future that once beckoned Has now become a withered flower. Complaints about the pace of time Do nothing to arrest its flight. Neglecting chores is not a crime, But guilt may...

. 'Twas the Day After Christmas ‘Twas the day after Christmas. Mom went to the store To return all her presents and gift herself more. The stockings still hung on the big mantle there, While she was out shopping with nary a care. The children were playing with their Christmas...

. Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming Every year I either compose new music for Christmas or create a new arrangement of a familiar carol. This year I have chosen, “Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming,” a hymn which first appeared (without ascription) in print with German text (of two...

. Ode to a Christmas Pudding O fragrant orb of dark and luscious depths Made with magic conjured every year By souls who know the spell---those tricky steps That summon plummy culinary cheer, You started as a heap of shriveled fruits Steeped in sticky sherry till imbued With zest of...

. Stars Voluble Profound and lightless silent night _Lay still with curtains closed. Into unspeaking dark the Word Descended from his regal throne And rose from Israel below, _A supernova blaze Encircling music of the spheres. The stars were called to add their light: _Clear voices interposed, “We’re present! Instantly...

. Christmas in Florida I watched him pass! St. Nick himself---Kris Kringle,Who hails from Buffalo, not the North Pole.He waved; I heard bells on his golf-cart jingleAs he sang karaoke rock and roll. That’s how it is here. Golf-carts in procession:New Jerseyites, New Yorkers, MichigandersWho’ve moved where tropic heat is...

. A Present Unclaimed Under the tree is a present unclaimed Paper and ribbon and bows, good to go. Who is it for? “Who it’s from” isn’t named. Where is the tag? No one here seems to know! “Maybe,” Mom says, “There’s a misunderstanding.” “Bet it’s a joke,” says young...

. Professional musician and SCP poet Jeff Eardley performs a medley of Christmas songs on his guitar. Merry Christmas from the Society of Classical Poets! . . Jeff Eardley lives in the heart of England near to the Peak District National Park and is a local musician playing guitar, mandolin and...

. Make Room, He’ll Come In Have you spent much time wandering, feeling distressed,and upon your arrival, found no place to rest?You can’t possibly know what it’s like till you’ve beenwhere you longed to be but found no room at the Inn. And you know they’d have made room for...

. Santa Claus Has Passed Away As is their custom every year, the Men’s Club promptly after class had half the hallway commandeered and cheerfully began to pass out toys and games as grade by grade the children headed out of school. In former years what always made it fun...

. Love Broke Through Time On the first Christmas night Love broke through time With pain to Mary and her child whose bed Was straw with ox and ass in nearby stalls. Love arrived in suffering and shame. All glory be to God and peace to men! He radiated light...

. A Remarkable Day "He's God in human form!" whispers the crowd In motley clothes and groups of twos and threes Beneath the bulky, partly-aqua sky. As nighttime slowly drops, birds meet the breeze And soar towards the heavens, grand and proud. Under the shanty's thatched roof sits a mother....

. A Christmas Eve Sestina “He who sings prays twice.” ---Saint Augustine The vagabond had too much Christmas cheer. He doesn’t notice that the air is cold Although his clothes are unseasonably light. A crowd of carolers comes by to sing Of Good King Wenceslaus, The First Noel. Oh, Sir,...

. Jupiter Hammon’s Christmas Poem by Michael Curtis 1761 was a slow, yet interesting year for poetry. The imposter Macpherson announced the discovery of Ossian’s Gaelic Epic and the collected works of the rotted rake Wilmot, Earl of Rochester was published. Romantic passion was seeded, and creative destruction was soon...

. Home for Christmas Beneath the sinking skies I ride, a traveler on his way,                     .Through drizzling mist and fading light until the end of day.As skies grow dim and gray clouds droop and icy breezes blow,Wrapped in the growing gloom,...

. The Story the Stars are Retelling ---to the tune of 'Sterling' When burdens are heavy and Christmas is near And faraway star luster barely appears, Tomorrow’s prediction of rain with a chill Won’t drown the afflictions that cling to us still. The darkness we see all around through our...

. The Interview “Respect my grammar rules or else,” K said, “This interview will be extremely short. Or better yet, I’ll summon you to court.” My pulse raced. I could feel my face turn red. K said, “Respect my pronouns: ‘It and Them.’ My genderqueer identity’s protected. My tats, my...

. Dim and Not He carries one white candle in the space Beneath cathedral vaults. He has to hold His hand in front of it so just a trace Of light escapes. The candle’s flame shines gold Yet it is blocked by palm and fingers, so A forward gleam is...

. Be Still and Know . . . Gulls brawl over a chip and squawk. __Waves wash shell shards on sand. On the sea shore, a morning walk. __I wade through tidal strands. Colossal clouds roll overhead. __A pelican glides by. Like sails, its silent wings outspread— __Then rises to...

. Full Circle From age to age how long the fray’s been fought Tween those who seek the Truth on sacred ground And those who wish to harness mankind’s thought To what is measured, tested, proved, and sound. Empiric minds pronounced the pious “fools,” And promised nature’s Truth would yield...

. Song of the Sophist a pantoum I tiptoe past all that is true--- The facts never matter to me. My aim is to wheedle and woo. I peddle malarkey with glee. The facts never matter to me. I fib as I fox and digress. I peddle malarkey with glee....

. The Most Impactful Hate It’s fun now to listen to every Trump haterWho tries to explain how a racist dictatorWas able to win with a new coalitionOf Blacks and Hispanics defying traditionPlus middle and working class voters---all hatingThe type of a nation the Left was creating. . . Change...

. Aubade: Composure The first light tints the eggshell walls From dimmest grey to violet, And light-spokes through the window’s shade Glance over eyes asleep as yet. But light is opening within The mind still closeted in sleep, Like the Word creating space from void And a seed troubling the...

. The Lonely Sailor No sailor is so lonely __As one who rows alone Across the vast and battered seas __Along the cliffs of stone. He has no one to read the chart __No one to man the oar No one to keep the tiller straight __And aimed towards the...

. A’sailin’ ‘Twould seem quite true I never was __the captain of this ship, though in my youth I did believe __in charting my own trip. But Master Time has made it clear __how lowly is my rank. I’ve silver locks and aching limbs __and soon I’ll walk the plank....

. Come, Spring When by the winter cold we’re most oppressed, mere thoughts of spring’s arrival make us smile. We dream of earth in vivid colors dressed, blue skies, sunshine, birds trilling tunes with style, and all that lives fulfilling with pure zest the springtime roles, with winter in exile....

. The Wreath Circle of green— What does it mean? Never ending, Ever bending. It’s hope that’s vernal And faith that’s welling For God in-dwelling And life eternal. . Pruning Trees   Now that all the fruit has dropped __And all the leaves have fallen, It’s time to get those branches...

. Intersubjective Bootstrap If all life is a dream, is it your dream or mine? __And why should our two worlds agree? An answer avails if we’re both The Divine, __At our source, I am you and you’re me. Though it seems that we’re separate (I trust you’ll concur __It’s...

. Journalists Live in a Fantasy World If you like fiction, then turn on the news. You will hear journalists giving their views. Facts are conveniently pushed to the side; Truth becomes something that they may deride. Journalists live in a fantasy world: Lies are their truth while dumb insults...

. Let’s Just Say A friend of ours was asked by some reporter how he viewed the war his only son had gone to fight in and had died. His face went limp, his breathing paused his eyes welled up with tears, and all who heard the answer stood transfixed...

. Imitating Shakespeare’s Sonnet 107 . Sonnet 107 __by William Shakespeare Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, Can yet the lease of my true love control, Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom. The mortal moon hath her eclipse...

. A House in Winter Preternaturally silent, still.The omnipresent biting chill, And deepest, darkest night surround.The snow’s soft crunch, the only sound; Fierce, unrelenting wind gusts downFrom boreal realms afar, unknown Through naked woods, through night-abyss,To chafe and rouge with icy kiss. Yet winter chills and haunts no moreBehind that...

. A Simple Prayer Crown my head in gray, dear Lord, __And bless my tangled tongue. Return to me the mystery __I knew when I was young. Before the echoed scorn of cynics, __Before the sophist’s sneers Condemned and then converted me __And ground me in the gears Of mundane...

. Sharpton He talks his walk and walks his talk and then He walks his talk and talks his walk again. The walk he talks goes nowhere I can see. The talk he walks seems jabberwock to me. But everybody thinks his talk is grand And make him rich by...