Poetry

  Caravaggio Light floods the window, spearing glass and Matthew. Leaning forward now, in conversation, he is called. The bright and dark, a holy mass of shadow, plays across his brow. A brilliant moment, somehow stalled in time and needing nothing more to start again. The voice implores the Saint...

  Refrigerator Bird “Say the word for penguin.” Jen Jen waited. Silence. Then I guessed: “Refrigerator bird?” Laughter shook the teacup in her hand. “Best penguin that I’ve ever heard!” In the margin of my workbook page she drew a penguin, waddling, fat. This is how she teaches. Not by...

  The Oak Trees Stunned by the sunlight on a winter day, A shock too strong to meet, I turned to look At oaks that stood in statuesque array, And somehow on their wintry limbs they took The sun’s bold light and sent it back to me. I heard no...

  A Cardinal on a Snowy Day A single cardinal, on a snowy day, Cloistered in a nearby hemlock branch Paints brilliant red onto a winter's gray His plumage, like a scarlet avalanche, O’ersweeps the eye, diverts me from a scene Of whiteness drifting down on dark green boughs. He...

  The Mayor’s a Maniac by Susan Jarvis Bryant The zodiac’s off track. The Little Bear is lost. The mayor’s a maniac. The sacred swords are crossed. The air is hot with ire. The masses are aghast. The smoke is not a liar--- The fire’s spreading fast. The blazing grapevines...

  Single Room Cigarette, 17th Floor Yale Club of Manhattan “...the earthly city glories in itself; the City of Heaven glories in the Lord.” ---St Augustine, City of God The bathroom’s tiled hexagonal, With a 1930s pedestal Unscratched, enamel, simple sink, Fine old doorknobs “click,” not clink. A polished place...

  Legacy of Light One by one, extinguished stars return to take their places in the fallen night; So long defunct, yet they faintly burn _in constellated webs of light. Imploded vanishings of dust and gas, from cold abysses of the infinite broadcasting their ghostly lives across _appropriated years of...

  The Swarm "Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!" From Lord of the Flies, by William Goldring They swarm like flies, both day and night, Just itching for a chance to fight. They hear the megaphone. It gleams Like nacre shell, pearlescent white. They've come to find...

  Lament of a Poet Falsely Accused of Using AI A charlatan, a master thief am I, the ghost of Blackbeard on poetic seas, an artful dodger begging alms to please an audience, his virtue gone awry, a treasure seeker uttering a cry of 'sesame' to gather panoplies of golden...

  A Gift from the South Seven degrees outside. How can it be that clouds float northwards? It’s not arctic air that’s passing through. So then, is it the rare Antarctic breath unwarmed by tropic sea, though summer rules the south? Can that account for such a strange occurrence? “Frigid...

  New Year’s Peeve   I. Cassandra’s Countdown The Eve arrives in sequin-spangled zing. The clock ticks on as tipsy cities glitter With beams of glee eclipsing sorrow’s glare Till midnight kisses burn with bursts of spring Abloom beyond abandoned dreams that litter The gutter neath the rockets’ garish flare....

  Homage to Brigitte Bardot ---God bless Brigitte Bardot for her courage and frankness. “And God Created Woman…” yes, indeed— Was there another female who came close To how He crafted you? No man could spy A single flaw in that Parisian breed Of firm-fleshed structure right down to the...

  Dearth of Emotional Intelligence Most everyone believes they have the skill To understand and manage their emotions, But some folks’ hopeless actions truly will Lead one to wonder where they got such notions. They’ll also think that they can recognize And influence emotions others hold, Which only leads to...

    Fireflies Driving down a country road one sultry summer evening, with headlights sweeping through the little clouds of dust ahead, Caused by cars that led the way or met me in the night, I scanned the ditches, left and right, for signs to find a bed. I’d always...

  Real Poetry Free verse is naught but prose in guise. No one can tell me otherwise. Confessions, images, and aches Are less than what a poem makes. It need not rhyme but it must scan. It needs a rhythmic formal plan Which should not be Procrustean, May even be...

  Flaws Awareness of a flaw Does not negate its gnaw; It chews upon the self And cultivates itself. Investing roots so deep, And sowing seeds to reap; It puts you under a spell, And tells you, "All is well!" It bores into our minds Until the soul unwinds, And...

  Her Grace The day arrived when Edna was too blind To live alone. She gave her things away— The china owl with one glass eye—her mind Was on the bumps in sidewalk cracks that day. A flowered pitcher, empty, save for tears— She knew what faced her in that...

  Twelve Labors More Part I. And There He Was   I. And there he was! Great Socrates who knew That I knew nothing, at least that’s what he said In perfect English, never mind just how (Perhaps it’s just a dream inside my head?). He stumbled on my poorly...

  A Perfect Match is Found _Some people love the valleys. _Some people love the mountains. _Some people love the oceans. _I love the flowing fountains. _Some people love the forests, _While some people love the glens. _Some love the mountain meadows, _While I love writing pens. _Some people love...

  The Seven Crossings When I was a child, my mother sung Of verdant plains where bright light hung, Of halcyon hills in distant lands, Beyond seven rivers and silver sands. "One day we’ll cross them all," she crooned, "By boat or bridge, by sun or moon, Until we reach...

  An Open Book I pray that I may be an open book, A simple person on a simple path, Where all my words flow seamless as a brook, To find a sea of love unswayed by wrath. For to pursue You is the path that’s pure, The honest way...

Poet and painter Paul Erlandson reads his work at the Society of Classical Poets' in-person Poetry Symposium held in Naperville, Illinois on September 5-6, 2025: https://youtu.be/BzMxUMKXKyE Video created by Andrew Benson Brown.

  Otto and Octavius at Christmas Mother and Father Octopus, And Otto and Octavius, A cephalopodic family, Live in the Sargasso Sea. It’s an ordinary place With a routine, steady pace. Dad said, when came winter break, “A vacation we should take! It would be a doldrum-cure. I looked into...

  Darkness and Dawn   I. Christmas Whispers A brood of vipers slithers in the sun With darkest hearts and airs of starkest white. These snakes of robe and ring and tricky tongue Bedazzle with a bright, misguiding light. They swirl a smoky trail---a spicy spell That leads the lured...

  Nativity In midnight fields we eating, bleating sheep (and some asleep) pursued our ovine way as shepherds rudely passed the time till day its shining rays above the hills should peep. When of a sudden in the sky so steep a thing with wings all shiny silver-grey so frightened...

  Still, Still, Still A Translation and Musical Arrangement of a German Carol   "Still, Still, Still" is a German-language Austrian Christmas carol and lullaby. The melody is a folk tune from the district of Salzburg. The tune appeared in print for the first time in 1865 in a folksong...

  Ishtoka There’s a lake on the way to Ishtoka Bay whose name I won’t recite. It’s the kind of mere where things disappear in the middle of the night at a time in your life when some wretched strife that you scarcely can explain has you pulling oars between...

  Krampus Traces, Tracks and Rounds ’em up   The Prologue St. Nicholas compiles a list each year Of children who’ve been good and who appear Deserving of the presents on his sleigh, Who treat their fellows nicely, come what may. But what of youths who roam about the streets...

  The Final Cricket The August cricket-choir’s crescendo, In percussive stereo, Extends its forte clamor, frantic For its final chance to show The speed and skill of such tympanic, Constantly increasing tempo--- Energetic and incessant, All through summer omnipresent In its rhythmic virtuoso. Mid-September’s incremental Ritard is hardly heard; its...

  Emotional Ocean We sail or putt a tiny skiff, When tidal waves force us adrift _Over white caps of fear, Or love or strife, or grief or hate... When storms of life do saturate _And waves swell dark and drear. Emotions surge and drench our lives— Gasping for air,...

  Virgo Too late, too late, the summertime has gone. Alone, I wander in the bleakening That creeps across the fields before the dawn And beg my heart to not feel anything. The leaves come down in rusting drifts of gold, Set free by winds flown south on silver wings....

  Arga’il’s Epistle to the Priests of Moloch Hail, Brethren of the Sacrificial Rite, Ye priests of Moloch, pride of Rabbath-Amon! Accept this humble missive which is sent From your most abject servant, Arga’il, Who details visions borne of second sight. I write of priest-craft (partly gleaned from Mammon) On...

  Fog of Confusion I claim these rolling hills _Of age-old granite, And the shadow of their bulk _Upon my wall. With sunlight on these hills, _I sense a Wonder, But more I feel when fog _Creates the pall. O' swaths of drifting fog _Will lift and lower, Expose the...

    https://youtu.be/lt_M2Lf99mE The book is available on Amazon here.     Leslie Lippincott Hidley is retired from the safety business and lives in a small town in southern California. She has published poetry in Sparks of Calliope and other writing in the Ojai Quarterly and Ojai Monthly. She has...

  Christmas Stockings   I Nigh ev’ry sock I’ve ever worn Was gift to me on Christmas morn– A fact the mind should quick embrace Since stockings hang from fireplace __On Christmas morn.   II A naked sole in summer’s heat Gives easing breeze to fevered feet. But, in the...

  Dirty White Dwight’s Plight Finally, the rains return, And Dwight the snowman’s taciturn Sad features are yet sadder still, For him it seems it’s all downhill. And as we watch his slow demise, To our dismay we realise, That though we cursed him day and night, We think we’ll...

  Safer? My photos were safer in boxes My words were secure in my books. They say that the cloud’s the solution For worry o’er fire and crooks. But woe! I’ve forgotten my password. My storage is now on the brink. Marked safe from the physical hazards, My stuff is...

  Up-up-up with a Fish A scowl crossed the face of the Cat in the Hat, on hearing the Fish in the Bowl was a rat. The goldfish had threatened to snitch on his scheme, to thwart fun, fun, fun, or so it did seem. He suggested a game called:...

  PTSD in Ilium Come, Lethe, draw me down into your dreamy deep, That I might clear my mind before I go to sleep. And bear me to the cave of Hypnos, where, it’s said, Nepenthe can be purchased from the thriving dead. You are the fairest daughter of your...

Poet Adam Sedia reads his work at the Society of Classical Poets' in-person Poetry Symposium held in Naperville, Illinois on September 5-6, 2025: https://youtu.be/xlJsc5jKN_g Video created by Andrew Benson Brown.