Poetry

. On the Dine-and-Dash Phenomenon In restaurants, we dined but didn’t pay; we gourmandised, then upped and ran away. An appetiser, main course and dessert, we wolfed them down until our bellies hurt. The wife, the brats, yours truly, ate our fill and promptly legged it---no one paid the bill....

. Flamingo The S-curve of that sinuous neck,The stern black tip of that great bill,The blue eye with which we must reck-on like a gaudy monarch’s will. Not Disney’s giddy croquet bird,The one which lolls while Alice triesTo make it mind---a bird absurdUnder the Red Queen’s baleful eyes. Rather a...

. Just Like That No special words, no passionate embrace; No gazing, full of meanings, soul to soul. Just casual talk, not even face to face; Just mundane filling each of them their role. Perhaps they did touch base---a text, a call: “We’ll have the roast tonight. If you don’t...

. Four Letter Words My dad was smart, my dad was wise; He crossed his t’s and dotted i’s. His grammar skills were without taint. And he did not say y’all or ain’t. He taught an English class to teens (In a suit and never jeans). “Raise your hand, do...

. Ora Pro Nobis pray for us The dead die when we living let them die; We breathing clasp to hearts our breathless dead; We pack them fresh-embalmed on icy beds. In silent rooms they speak our names. They cry To us: “Remember me! Remember me!” Ah, Cissy, I remember...

. Reward for How You Live from Italo Calvino’s Italian folktale “Gesù e San Pietro in Friuli” One night, while traveling on a mountain road, two wanderers came upon a small abode. The vagrants, Jesus and Saint Peter, knocked. The house’s occupant then came, unlocked the door, and opened it...

. The Ghost Girl One sunny May, I ran to play, __When I was twelve years old, Upon the hill.  I miss her still— __A girl with curls of gold In ribbon ties, big sky-blue eyes, __And waving, dark-red dress Soon ran my way and asked to play— __How could...

. The Snare Drummer’s Plight The highlight of the evening is Bolero. The snare drummer begins the famous beat, the marrow of the land of the torero. The players, who have sprayed themselves with Deet, ignore the insects swarming in the light or lighting on the scores. The music’s bite...

. Some Words to Catholics about Bergoglio God only knows what’s left to say— Most Catholics drift from day to day, Like refugees in war or flood, Half-starved, or weltering in blood From wounds that fester with gangrene. Our stomachs turn with what we’ve seen And heard from stupid clowns...

. The Day the Roofers Came He fled the day the roofers came. His fur was fluffed and frizzy. He whizzed across the busy lawn so quick it made me dizzy. The slam and clang and hammer bang had left him in a tizzy. I searched the day the roofers...

. A Precious Wife Is Like Fine Wine A precious wife is like fine wine, made mellow with the years, Aged in a barrel made of smiles and laughter, sighs and tears. Though time may etch its lines upon her once unfurrowed face, Time’s passage makes her well-refined in every...

. Periodicity Springfield, Illinois, May-June 2024 All our town has caught cicada fever. Seven broods emerge, the selfsame time. This fluke converts me to an awed believer in nature's odd propensity to rhyme. So curious, insect cycles intersect like a comet's rare traverse across our sun. Last seen 1803, this...

. . Five Rose Poems by Rainer Maria Rilke translated by Alan Orsborn . The Austrian poet Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926), writing in both German and French, penned 24 French poems about roses that were published posthumously in 1927 as Les Roses. The American composer Morten Lauridsen (b. 1943) selected...

. Sidetracked Life’s troubles come in all varieties,From nagging aches that barely raise a frown,To fearsome packs of deep anxietiesThat, given half a chance, will drag us down. Much worse is when assaults get physical,Break bones, tear muscles, even puncture skin.Expressions on good days turn quizzical;On bad days our complaints...

. A Formalist Poet at the Open Mic Part III: Something in the Rafters by Daniel Kemper I wander into the incandescent glow of the poetry center and Patrick is muttering as I walk in the door. He’s wiping his forehead, which means, despite his otherwise abundant curly brown, silver-tipped hair,...

. A Sonnet for My Son on Father’s Day You coo her name in buoyant notes of joy Then watch her toddle, tickled by her grin. She spies the bug-eyed crab---her leggy toy In Daddy’s hands all set to twirl and spin--- To scuttle on the floor beneath her gaze....

. A Sonnet ---for my father, an avid gardener and feeder of wildlife, who recently underwent hip surgery No one shall intervene this afternoon. The well fed squirrel squats upon his branch; The chipmunk chills within his rocky room; Both stare expectantly, their faces blanch To see their lord emerge...

. The Doctor An expert in each area, this man's The doctor for all things in disrepair— Tea kettles, doorknobs, hafts, electric fans... His fingers soothe their maladies and wear. No institute or training course as such Has seasoned him; he learned by merely seeing My grandfather at work, imbibing...

. Mates of the Greats Gauguin the banker thought Painting while married was Quite a nice hobby And so did his wife. But then in Tahiti Paul met with a sweetie And lived on papaya The rest of his life. Pity poor Vincent, he Starved and he painted, and Cut...

. Distant Thunder Oppressive heat in heavy air; Oppressive light from summer skies; White clouds glow with a garish glare, __Menacing as they rise; Oppressive stillness reigns: no breeze Rustles the leafy, drooping boughs, And only rarely from the trees __A lazy chirp resounds. Then through the silence, faint at...

. Home Run Oh my God the play we made, And, really quite efficiently. We had two billion pawns we’d played, Lost sixty million… two or three. It’s almost none, percentage wise. Well worth the effort---gains obscene! And Post-war, what a nice surprise, These small wars keep us in the...

. Ozymandias after Percy Bysshe Shelley More solitary than an orphan’s reachThat vigil, that the shifting peaks repel,A site of none left even to beseech---Less ruthless now, where only fragments dwellNor murmur but the wind’s “iconoclast”…       IMPERIUM itself before it fell. A calm within his silence as it passedAs in most...

. Meeting Xu Zhimo by Margaret Coats Three Chinese girls behind me in the line Escape King’s College Chapel evensong; They show a phone, ask where, at once decline Sought-after seats, to rush away headlong. They’re seeking the poetic presence of Not Milton, not Wordsworth, but Xu Zhimo who wrote...

. . Download "Longfellow's Bridge" on your favorite music app HERE. . Longfellow’s Bridge (Lyrics) lyrics by Gunny Markefka, inspired by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's poem (after lyrics) I stood on the bridge at midnight As the clocks were striking the hour And the moon rose o'ver the city Behind the...

. I Hear the Distant Thunder I hear the distant thunder rolling__Across the nighttime sky.Incendiary lightning strikes__Of fire are drawing nigh.If I can keep on writing, it__May be by candlelight.I must prepare for darkness black__On this sad stormy night. The heavy hail is hitting now__Upon my window pane.High winds are...

. . Little Boy Blue . Original Version Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn, The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn. Where is the boy who looks after the sheep? He's under a haystack, fast asleep. Will you wake him? No, not I, For if I...

. . Driven from Their Homes Deported and despised. Compelled to leave. 900,000 driven from their homes With pain enough to fill one-million tomes--- And yet they are forgotten. Will none grieve? . Morocco, Egypt and Afghanistan Iran, Iraq, Tunisia and others Expelled them with a racist hate that smothers...

. The Latest Gender Identity He’s fat, but he identifies as skinny, Insisting everybody call him “Mini.” He now, of course, considers “slim” his gender, And must henceforth be referenced as “trans-slender.” . . Responding to Texts My friend will often not respond to texts. He said to me that...

. Cape Canaveral’s Pioneers Asleep I wonder if the lights across lagoon Waves, little though they are, the lights and waves, Portend some goodness underneath the moon Like new moon light on marble architraves. The houses on the shores send out their light. Canaveral’s lagoon holds little dreams Much smaller...

. The Universal Horoscope and Zodiac Twelve figures in the blazoned zodiac Set by the gods in their unchanging track Spin in a regulated, yearly round Until an infant’s primal, wailing sound Puts an end to labor’s strained dilation. Transparencies of detail, implication Refract to a single jewel: this hour,...

. The Song of Everlasting Sorrow Tang Dynasty poet Bai Juyi (772-846) wrote this poem about Tang Emperor ("Son of Heaven") Xuanzong (685-762) and his famous concubine and former Taoist nun Yang Guifei, who is regarded as one of the Four Great Beauties of Chinese history. It takes place around...

. In Spring 2024, UK poets Jeff Eardley and Peter Hartley crossed paths with American poets James A. Tweedie and Margaret coats in England. . . The Day That I Met Jim by Jeff Eardley The rain was horizontal on this English summer’s day. He’d flown in from Seattle and...

. Winter into Spring Sonnet The garbage dump outside the town is white as winter’s snowfall claims the castoff chair from autumn’s cluttered leavings, hid from sight in drifts, the broken dinette set left there for rats to nest below, before degrees had dropped too low to stay when there...

. Book Reviewed: Legends of Liberty Volume II by Andrew Benson Brown, Bard Owl Publishing, March 2024 by Theresa Werba Andrew Benson Brown has created a continuation of his Revolutionary War historical mock epic in Legends of Liberty Volume II.  This is a retelling of history which blends fact with...

. Admonition It is a form of madness To long for days of yore. And bitter is the sadness O'er those who've gone before. Now we, ourselves, must wander The dark Stygian shore And cross the river yonder, But cross not anymore. So, treat each other kindly, Our days be...

. Poetry Is Warfare A poem is the writer’s battle pleaAgainst asceticism’s barren call.Truth and beauty (air that poets breathe)Needn’t acquiesce to Adam’s fall.A poem with its structure, verse and rhyme,Artistic language and clandestine senseIs no old-fashioned claustrophobic crime.Formal verse is part of the advanceOf a culture that will grow...

. On the 80th Anniversary of D-Day Humanity once more is under threat,when eighty years ago a Western frontwas opened up at Normandy to getanother foot in Europe’s door, then hunt down fascists who for years ruled France’s roost,inflicting death and terror on the folkacross an entire continent. It looseda beast that...

. Today My Brown Sedan Is Two Today, my brown sedan is two, But I behave as if it's twenty, So freezing by a showroom's door, I scan the models—new; aplenty. And busy with an old dollop Of mud, there goes my niece of seven. I wonder how she finds...

. To a Cicada So, welcome back, you ancient thing! Some time ago, your tribe took wing; But here you are again, my friend, These summer nights with me to spend. Some may have thought you'd left for good, But you've come back---I knew you would!--- To comfort aching hearts...

. Under the Umbrella inspired by “Le Parapluie” (“The Umbrella”) by Georges Brassens (1921-1981) Rain fell in waves throughout the street; A woman walked with no umbrella. I offered mine; in voice real sweet, She answered, “Thank you, sir. I’m Stella.” She dried her young, angelic face Under my umbrella...