Author The Society

  Unbridled Change O tempora! O mores!... Fuit ista quondam in hac re publica virtus... ---Cicero, First Catiline Oration These days of changing values can be hard: What once was just, today's...

  The Author He portrays a lonely figure In his cottage by the sea With his pencil and his paper and his dog. Gone his youthful verve and vigour But remaining in its lee Is the gift that soon will...

  A Soliloquy on Modern Poetry  I write this, a soliloquy Regarding modern poetry. I don’t appreciate the terse Disheveled nature of free verse. So much of it just seems contrived And of true...

  Waters of Irvine and Annock, flow with my tears, West to the Firth of Clyde and Arran: Soon, soon, Ayr will be mute and barren. Flow, waters, flow, like the passing of long, lost...

  "Save daylight!" spoke the powers-that-be, and everyone supined, except for Arizona, see, which steadfastly declined. Hawaii, too, and certain parts of Indiana judged that darkness suited more...

  Now breaking through the crust of snow, pale messengers appear To herald with celestial glow the springtime of the year; With gentle boldness, bursting forth, They beckon warming winds...

  NOTE: This event has been canceled due to the CCP virus (COVID-19) pandemic. A new online SCP Symposium has been planned. The details of the online symposium will be available here on May...

  My Coat---a Haiku God pays no heed to disguises He can see through--- I've worn myself out.   The Old Poet's Tree I'm bent with age and the cold, empty page has a lesson it can...

This isn’t so much an essay as it is an opinion piece where I shoot off a few words in praise of narrative poetry or, in other words, poetry that tells a story. From Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey, to...

  Who is this finger-waving man--- this millionaire, this communist? Let’s think about him while we can, this grandpa with the Marxist twist. Our wealth, I fear, he’ll commandeer “to help the...

  Orchards Let Light In “Oh to be like ‘The Man who Planted Trees’” There is a grove that in the meadow grows Where stately fruit-filled stanchions bloom And in the fruit there is a juice...

  A not infrequent problem that a poetry editor must face is a contributor’s intransigence. Sometimes this resistance is on metrical issues or diction, but there are a few poets who dig in their...

Psalm CIV: Benedic, Anima Mea O praise the Lord, my soul. The aspens sigh As high above Mount Axtell in blue sky The hawk cries out God’s glory, and the clouds Grow to a thunderhead that blots and...

Wake-Up Call "Shoulda," "coulda," "woulda" and "whatever" Are telltales that evince velleity In speakers who most probably will never Instantiate authentic seity. For every post-millenial young...

On a Bereavement I Mourning Sickness Can anybody say how long it lasts, This numbness that deceives while it relieves The harrowed brain? My senseless state contrasts So markedly with that of he who...

  20 January 2020 My father died, just yesterday, and mom About a year ago; I’m filled with grief For things that were not, might have been, and now Will never be. I’d felt that death would...

  From Some Nightmarish Vial a villanelle by Evan Mantyk Did it emerge from some nightmarish vial? Is it a weapon meant for killing us, Like marching microscopic rank and file? If so, it’d sweep...

  On TV, I saw them kneeling __Before their golden cow; Mere worshippers of a flimsy feeling __Desecrating a vow. They’ve never knelt in battle’s fire __Nor bowed in a foxhole; Yet, proudly...

  The days we choked on rage and fed on tears, that lit my guts with deep and purple flame— but when they go, I wish they still were here. Standing in line for bread, I feel it sheer: the hunger,...

  In a time long ago, where the high myrtles grow, Lived a tribe of the Bellenden Range. While below, on the plain, in their tropic domain Lived a tribe known for hostile exchange; They had...

  Icy, biting breezes cut like knives; Sea-spray wave crests crash upon the shore; Silent, unseen clam and crab life writhes, Buried neath the surf’s incessant roar. Winter beach grass, windblown,...

  Through barren fields, beside the ruins of man, The sunlight hardens stains of blood and gore; Macabre deeds that years ago began, Their horror still would haunt forevermore. This open graveyard...

  I have been bid into the House of Song To merry-make at Inspiration’s fest Alas! I fear my raiment would but wrong The stately host and every lofty gest! See there the orphrey wrought with...

                                      Amy Foreman...

translated by Leo Zoutewelle To you my word will be reproached as lie, Maliciously: “who left you so maligned, In vain are all the days in which you pined For him who cheated you and made you...

  The 50¢ Army by Lu "Reed ABCs" Wei The Chinese Communist regime, has recently dispatched some 1600 online trolls to stifle and to catch. The censors want to stop all sensitive...

Natural-Born Jeremiah 17.19 I am a liar, natural-born. I find it more convenient to equivocate or stretch the truth, than to accept the fate truth might impose. What’s more, I am the kind of person...

  A Truly Perfect Love My fingertips caress your hair and I no longer have a care about what happens in this mortal plane. I lay you down upon the bed and then I gently touch your head and you...

...

Aranjuez (ar-ON-wess) has been one of the estates of the royal family of Spain. It is near Madrid and the Tajo (TAW-hoe) River flows through it. The Fountain of the Thorn includes, as its centerpiece, a...

  Five Rivers to Cross I sat down by the river Styx to wait upon Phlegyas, ferryman of old, among the uninterred who congregate and those who do not have a coin of gold. The boat arrived—I did not...

  By lamplight through the long night hours, he kept his vigil by her side, His love still fresh, though wilting flowers adorned the room on every side; He would not give her up for dead, but tended...

  Poland Brave nation, strong and proud you stand, a Boulder in the stream One nation, people hand in hand, who’ll rob you of your Dream? Though much withstood, still more to stand you’ll see in...

translations by Alan Steinle Translator's Note: This poem (“Tres cosas”) was originally written in Spanish by Baltasar del Alcázar (1525-1606). I have translated the poem into English and have retained...

  To Whom It May Concern Who writes letters anymore, and in verse? I don't care whether you like it or not. I suppose I could have phoned you, or worse— dropped in. I'd be putting you on the...

O, Where Is Love? by James A. Tweedie O, where is love? You’ll find it in the pain _That binds a mother to her newborn child; _In bitter-broken friendships reconciled; _And in the kiss of lovers in...

  I thought and thought of pride and pride began to grow and over-ride my common sense until I thought the thought itself was what I sought— nor could I sense the meaningful sense that I, a...

by Michael Curtis | excerpted from Occasional Poetry Tradition grows from wisdom, from the accumulated experience of millennia; in poetic practice, our classic tradition grows from the craft of Ages. Change...

  a rubaiyat Step gently O' my boy, this 's your first day... light-footed sweet and slow... on sinking clay. A farmer's school, this paddy field O' son, this's where you read and learn a yeoman's...

  a villanelle The mortal eyes in time shall wilt away, as fast as breath retreats its kiss from glass, but delight they will on the endless light of day. We never had enough of dawn’s array, of...