Beauty

. Eyes on the Prize __What time it is Can be determined only by the Sun. __The choice is his, By whom all duties have been duly done, __To set the pace Whereby all useful progress shall be measured. __In such...

. A Song of Saint Francis Good friends, I wander vale and hill The Master’s words upon my lip; My only thought: to do His will And sing such Love as makes hearts skip! Rejecting wealth, prestige and sword...

. Midday Dreaming The raindrops fall like teardrops from a sad and sodden cloud; Their spattering the sound of some a- doring, cheerful crowd. I touch the cloud with outstretched fingers Lifted to the...

. Of all Creation, who am I Who sins against Thee, Lord Most High? Of all that crawl, of those who creep, No one has ever sunk so deep. Of those who swim and those who fly, Least of them all, this sinner,...

. As a child, they could not keep me from trees And craggy, tangled limbs and aching arms. I loved the camouflage, the filtered breeze, Nose-smacked tang of moss and far-off farms. Grandma's had a crook just...

. Owl ensconced on oaken branch, A wingèd spirit rare, His gaze is wisdom: calm, intent, Bewitching and aware. Soulful and implacable, His feathered stillness bright Is outlined by cerulean sky, A beacon...

.. Grauballe Man He lies exposed to view in this glass case Exactly as he lay three hundred years Before our Christ was born, between his ears Torn open with a savage force: his face, All blackened by the peat...

. Rush He was larger than life And it cut like a knife When his wife let us know That he died. From this kind of grief There can be no relief. Such a powerful blow Meant I cried. 12:06 comes around, I’m...

. Too long, too long, my love, Have we lain out here. Too long, too long, my love, Have our ease, our cheer Fixed us fast, sprawled in cool shade, With our arms and breasts clasped near, Too pleased to note...

. These stones that like huge sculpted figures lie __Amid the trunks of moss and fern-clad trees, Eons of creatures have seen born and die __And the land’s face carved by the shifting seas. ____All of...

  There is a scourge that permeates our midstWhich we cannot so easily dismiss.Elitists strive to elevate this curse;A type of art most poets call free verse. True poetry once rhymed and had some form,A...

. . Till rolling seas cease heaving high, The starry nights stop passing by, The universe is wrapped in flame, And there is no one left to blame. __Until then? ... You’re my loved one. Till sun no longer...

. L O V E... It’s not a dozen scentless hothouse roses. __It’s not a chocolate-box of sweet cliché. It’s not the scorching kiss that lust imposes __To lead the fired and fevered flesh astray. It’s not...

. Among the many flowers in the vase, ‘Tis I—the flower with the pretty face, Full humor, sound stamen, and skill in fun— Who is to say to you, Michele, “Well done.” As so the master charged.  Yet...

. . The Tale of the Rose (Excerpt) by Christine de Pisan (1364-1431), translated by Margaret Coats . This Tale comes from the Paris home of the Duke of Orleans, brother of the King of France, where on Saint...

. Fool’s Wisdom “I am fearfully and wonderfully made” ---Psalm 139:14 I am amazed at what some fools believe Who say I am a fool to have belief In a creative force. To preconceive Against this...

. All fruit is sweet as marzipan, and seraphs carol just for me, Each brook sings like a silver lyre, and finches trill in every tree. Life is a cloth embossed with gold, and even through the blackest...

. “The Gift of Life” is a formal epic poem of 600 original Shakespearean sonnets, a tale about a love that existed in life and art with equal force. The heroine of the tale goes to the great war of words...

.. . Slow Verse No need to rush: These lines have lots of time. They never face a hanging at first light. They can take pains to whittle a neat rhyme And years to get each subtle cadence right, But they can...

. You ask me “why?”---the question seems to burn like you were made to seek out novelty, to stimulate your mind, explore, and learn: exactly why your curiosity is not so curious at all, to me! Your brain...

. Charles Maurras (1868-1952) was a highly influential French poet, essayist, and political journalist. He edited the rightist paper Action Française, and was a member of the French Academy. He wrote that the...

. Blackwater River State Park A warm summer day. The kayak floats quietly. The cicadas sing. . . Nightfall at Pensacola Beach The sun has now set And not a light can be seen. What just made that...

. Beneath the starry firmament so dark There lies tonight an old, forgotten tree Whose bark is peeling, wretched, cold and stark And has not heard since auld youth’s melody. The crooked, blackened branches...

. Go, Fading Leaf __Go, fading leaf, Tell him who thought my heart to spurn __That life is brief (But briefer still his love did burn __I fool enough was to return). __Tell him who sold Our shaky venture for...

. Everything is gone, gone. ____No one’s ever stayed: the family and the friends I loved, ____the bread my mother made. Nothing’s ever gone the way ____I thought that it would go- springtime brought me...

. How To Be Like Byron Bright butterfly, why do you fade Into that duller, browner shade That strays into the flame at night? You’ve lost your nature’s vibrant light And seek it in another source. For you,...

. Ode to Spring Oh glory be to things that grow! That burgeon, blossom, bud and blow In Springtime’s light and airy breeze, Which ruffles softly new sprung leaves. What tongue there be to justly praise The...

. . Father And John: How It Once Was Before self-righteous rules, brash and insistent,There was a natural rhythm, quite unspoken.So when my father hired an assistantTraditionalist, he followed rules...

. The Verbum Dei Retreat Centre on the Isle of Wight aims to be a place of encounter with God We took the ferry; darkness closed; Warm lights ahead; who knew the way? Crowded in a car, pilgrims led For God...

. A coat of luminescent snow Descended on my patch of grass, And for a moment all its glow Inflamed my eyes like burnished brass. And in a moment it had gone, But not withdrawn; it nimbly turned Into a...

 . Long View Cottage The view is long and dark atop the mountain where I roam. Birds sing a little sweeter in a high and softer tone. The people gave it many names; I only call it home. The fog hangs thick...

.   Earth Song We longed to see Norway's Northern Lights,That great, magnetic, celestial balletOf colour, one of nature's majestic sights:'Not to be missed at any cost'. The clicheWas ironic; we'd...

. On Rembrandt's "Return of the Prodigal Son" Three centuries have passed since it was wrought--- A work of art transcendent yet humane. The tender play of feelings Rembrandt caught: A wastrel son disgraced,...

. The Death of Adam Excerpted from Musings on Piero della Francesca’s “History of the True Cross,” in the Church of San Francesco, Arezzo, Italy There’s always both: the sacred and profane. The right...

. Stream Above the bend, the water deep and clear, the current strong; seen from the Buckman Bridge, ten minutes walk for me, my cabin near, through pines down from a timeworn granite ridge —a lofty...

. Be good, my Sorrow. You may rest assured; The Evening whom you called descends; Behold; The fall of dusk leaves some in towns obscured With newfound peace, yet some with cares untold. Through gauntlet...

X Every Little Thing I. His Version She treasured every little thing that you                gave her: the sparrow necklace (hazel blueto match her eyes) the bracelet slipped insidethe box of...

“I look to a day when people will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.” ---Martin Luther King, Jr. “I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically...

. Rosarium a sestina A rose arises red from its green sheath Adorned with swords that prick and pierce: the thorn, Whose vigil kept ensures its life's not brief. Unmatched in charm though fresh from garden...

. My word will not survive a fire: the dust, the ash of paper singed by matches struck by fingers bent on silence. And it must rot here in summer heat in humid muck where mold will gnaw away at every page. My...