Poetry

. "American pragmatism insists that words are for use, not enjoyment; American puritanism insists that expression is a duty, not a pleasure." —Richard A. Lanham Everyone knows that poems work on different levels. Even if you just believe that a poem implies or suggests a bit more than it says...

. The arrogant are all about these days. How disrespectful are their callous ways! They go about as freely as you please— No mask, no vaccine, carrying disease And likely death wherever they may go (Which is all places, if you want to know!). But why do I speak of...

. This challenge comes form poet James A. Tweedie: Perhaps the most familiar of all formal, English-language poems is the classic 18th century bedtime prayer that reads: Now I lay me down to sleepI pray the Lord, my soul to keep.But if I die before I wakeI pray the Lord,...

. a rondel It's funny how a day can go so slow, and yet a year just simply seems to fly. We blink, and then another one goes by. Those winds of change don't ever cease to blow. Time's raging river has an undertow. So quickly does our hourglass run...

. At the Temple of Yue Fei Behind, a lake unstirring sleeps; Ahead, grey fog and budding leaves. A jade-green pool commands the heart, Beneath the clouds and sweeping eaves. A statue beckons; I respond, And past the present then perceives. While traitors kneel by mounded tombs, A land for...

. Lost and Found I’ve lost myself but in the course, I’ve found a sanctuary glowing, aspen golden. To me, I am the stream to woodland bound upon the forest floor midst boulders olden. My water flows as free as eagles soaring above the watching Adirondack mountains. A hemlock’s flitting...

. The Secret Garden Beyond these ivied walls grows naught but heather Gorse and broom, the moors engulfed by blows Of bitter, wuthering wind and gloomy weather. This haunted land is barren, bleak and old. But here---within the gate---my garden grows Warmed by sunlight bright as marigold! Enchantment! Every mum,...

. There never was a night so long When time went crawling by. The Arctic wind came howling in Across the Nashville sky. The planes had all been grounded With no tickets left to ride. It was wheels out on the highway On the night Hank Williams died. The radio...

. The Commander-in-Chief How Biden sucks---I mean the man, Who being wholly characterless Will criticize Afghanistan "Cowards"---when he can’t face the Press! . . James Sale is a worldwide thought leader on motivation: he has had 4 books on the topic published by Routledge, and over 700 management consultants in 15...

. Geese on the Moor On Laddow Moss the April air is cold And still. A single pair of wayward geese We find beside a tarn, their nest of fleece And feather sprigs of springy heather hold Together. Once we found marsh marigold Up here but now its meagre straggles...

. You are invited to a reading of exquisite poetry and conversations with the poets. This reading is part of a quarterly series of online poetry readings planned for 2021-2022. . Date & Time Sunday September 19, 2021 2 p.m. (New York time), 7 p.m. (U.K. time) Duration: 1 hour...

. “Come with me, child, past all this camouflage.” “Is there a secret garden there, Grandpa?” “Not quite. It’s just a small, padlocked garage, To keep out the enforcers of the law.” I keyed the lock, and lifted up the door For just the time it took us to walk...

. Cheap Sauvignon’s chilled and then swilled just to stave off the pain, While TVs drone on as cons ponder on who is to blame. We lumber along with each task And no one will ever dare ask--- Zip lips for survival, no scathing reprisal, or shame. He’s coming for...

Reviewed Book: Legends of Liberty Volume 1, by Andrew Benson Brown, T A J Classics, 2021 by James Sale Legends of Liberty is an important new poem from the American poet, Andrew Benson Brown. The nearest work that one might compare it to is probably Byron’s mock-epic, Don Juan. It is...

. Albert Pierrrepoint (1905-1992) served as one of GreatBritain’s chief executioners from 1931 to 1956, duringwhich time he hanged over 500 persons. All the namesand events mentioned here are real. My father and my uncle had the job.I learned from both of them those little thingsThat one should know in...

. Debacle in Kabul We all make mistakes and we all have regrets. The mess in Kabul is as bad as it gets. We messed up before when we left Vietnam, Not to mention, Qaddafi, Iraq and Saddam. We messed up in Syria, Lebanon, too. Our screwed foreign policy’s nothing...

. The gods of ancient Greece return to cast their blight upon our nation. Throughout the eons come and gone, now social strife is their creation. Chaos, the god of disarray, of lawlessness and vast disorder, now has become a resident, resettled on our southern border. Eris, goddess of strife,...

. after “Ballade of the Unborn Child” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox I wrote by hand my lines of verse, __Just lit by reading light; I made no sound, no sign or curse, __And suddenly was fixed with fright. ____Then out in the air on a gossamer wing, ____Came a sigh...

. W A R N I N G : __You won’t be forgivenfor the belt road you are livingfor flat miles that you have drivenover roadkill stacked and strivenon your blood red ride to hell. __You, the swollen high-ups,laced with torture-rapture tie-upswith your knuckles ever-tighteningas you find your slippage frighteningas...

. The Worst of Rhymes No matter where we choose to sit, A fool, alone, would not admit, We’re living in a world of shit And I have more than done my bit. Here by the guillotine I knit Caps for the heads devoid of wit--- I am a useful...

. A burst of laughter slips into an echo past the tinny bells and rattling glass of Joe's, my corner liquor store, the last and first of every day. Arroyo streets are dry of human traffic now, are dry of humans anyway, and through abandoned cars a gust of night...

. Write a poem rhyming the word "orange" with something else. Post it in the comments below. This challenge comes from Cheryl Corey, who provided the below poem as inspiration: . Nothing Rhymes With Orange Why, oh why, does nothing rhyme with orange?But if I say it en franҫais---“l’orange,”Aha! I...

. We can’t remember. After years of war that thing once known as “poetry” was lost. We know there was a Greek named Robert Frost; we don’t know what “pentameters” were for. In rotting libraries the lame and blind burn offerings to Hecuba and Seth. They brew a postapocalyptic meth. Perhaps it’s...

. Running round ruins of things long forgot, These tried, tiring times---who can make an end? Can read the scroll or seven seals rend? The limpid air is still and full of rot. The sorry dreams of fragile souls are bought And sold for tuppence. My unhappy friend, What plan,...

. Inklings The clues are there. They skulk between the lines. They lurk in spin and smirk in murky spiel. The clues are there. They leer in subtle signs. They lounge in lies and lace the dicey deal. The clues are there. They strain the untrained brain. They pester questing minds with raw alarm. The clues are there. They send the sane insane. They snake through lakes of fakery and charm....

. If We Knew It All . . . Where do dreams go when we wake up? Where does time go as we age? Why did William Shakespeare make up Plays we still perform on stage? Sometimes questions beg an answer— Questions trite or quite profound. Where is Waldo? Cures...

. Hagi at My Study Window hagi or bush clover, a symbol of poetry, blooms as summer turns to autumn. Paper shapes the future’s surface, Paperweights the present state. Inkstones hold a scholar’s treasure: Ink, the past in pine-soot sticks. Water droppers moisten motion Brushes pensively perform, Taken from a...

. Far from the city’s ceaseless bustle— __That’s where the eagle flies! Borne by the means of plume and muscle— __That’s how the eagle flies! There she is one with updrafts rising; There she knows pleasures worth surmising— Beauty and power synthesising __Thrill when the eagle flies. There, I could...

. The Argument: The Poet, with Dante and Virgil, has arrived on the third step of the StairWell, or Purgatory. Dante at the start of Canto 3 has been at pains to explain to the shocked Poet what just has happened on step 2. It has been an incredible, almost...

. I’m Andrew Cuomo---I get a pass. If you don’t like it, kiss my ass! I’m Andrew Cuomo---I don’t resign. I’m governor---this state is mine! . . Joe Tessitore is a retired New York City resident and poet.

. I stand upon the Bridge of Sighs as teardrops fill my weary eyes and think of life that used to be when she was still in love with me. I watch the river down below. My woes don't interrupt the flow. It catches all my tears that fall yet...

. Farmer, Unpack the dormant forces quiet days Have put aside and stoke the smothered fire Whose soot fanned out in lifeless carbon rays Upon the hearth of winter’s mild repose, But bear the fire within—long days require A bolder stroke.  The spring comes to a close, And summer spawns...

. inspired by this video from communist China: https://youtu.be/b4DmTPtAEbg . All their flipping has flopped, So their stance has flip-flopped __To a more relaxed focus on fun. “It’s a balanced approach,” Beams the school’s head coach __As she stands on the line she’s been spun. She would nail the routine...

. Three by Heraclitus I Offend yourself with mirrored knowledge (where’s that face you wore at college?) and your sense of life’s no-stasis, thinking of various times and places, recalling the endless grandmother summers, remembering bees and thunderboomers, and quote, “A boy’s will is the wind’s will.” All is flux,...

. A hundred tongues of smoke--- Translucent wisps, lithe specters--- __Rise, snaking languidly, Curling, grasping like tendrils At the light they invoke; Then billow into clouds That hang, a haze, an aura, __A veil of mystery, Of light diffuse, pervasive, That glows and yet enshrouds. An otherworldly scent--- Sweetness of...

. an excerpt When battle rages hot, the charge will sound. An army must not let itself break ranks, Although they see the cannon all around. To my Commander humbly I give thanks, For I see not the field as He, in view Of all the strikes and counterstrikes that...

. Silence is not golden. I’ll differ with you here. __Silence is an awful trap Lined with sharpest fear. Silence plays a part Only after we __Use our words of wisdom on Things that should not be. Silence is not golden. Ask the Jews of Germany. __It’s yellow as a...

. in response to Traditionis custodes (“Guardians of the tradition”)---the new motu proprio issued by Pope Francis on July 16, 2021. She has been scarred before. She knows the sting Of scorn and ostracism. She has been poor And homeless. Hunted, hiding from a string Of angry mobs, she lived,...

. When softly my sustaining comfort stirs Herself to offer solace coveted, Advancing toward the left side of my bed With that sweet courtly reasoning of hers, In fearful homage all my being murmurs, “O happy soul, from what sphere do you come?” __A little frond of palm, and some...

. Rondeau The rondeau echoes its refrain in a subtle way, just as rain at times will fall, not in torrents, but in a fine mist, the wood fence, weathered gray, resisting the stain of water. So, the reader’s brain, lulled, may not at first sustain the expectation and suspense...