Beauty

. Berenice for my mother, Berenice Stone Cook Indebted to a simple spark of life, You missed your chance at Europe’s wondrous door. A conscientious mother and a wife, You danced your dance upon an inland...

. On Sighting a Marsupial "Serve with: Turnip greens" —Joy of Cooking Opossums are so ugly that it isn’t clear Another of their kind would find one good to look At.  Matted fur and hairless tails do not...

. Two Poems for White Day On White Day, March 14, men in Japan present white gifts to women, in return for the chocolates they receive from women on Valentine’s Day. White Day began in 1978 as a commercial...

. A White Knight a triolet With fires of hope and spirit bright, who will stand up for what is just thence set our country all alight with fires of hope and spirit bright? A hero true, a great white knight a...

. A North Indian Summer They ask of me to write a sonnet fine In praise of Summer and her pretty dress, But I hail from a place of different clime Where Summer’s heat knows best how to oppress. She raises...

. The Arch of Titus The Arch of Titus was constructed in 81 AD by the Emperor Domitian to commemorate the victory of Titus and Vespasian, over the Jewish rebellion in Judea. The arch depicts the triumphal...

. "I Heard Chapman Speak Out Loud and Bold" by Margaret Coats My title quotes “On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer,” a sonnet by John Keats. When Keats first read Homer, the voice he heard was not...

. Captured As Herbert writes in Love-joy there’s a view of grapes upon a vine.  But mine is this- the perfect blooms of summer that renew by our Creator’s hand.  Each one its own as you or I beneath a...

. Ex Nihilo Is a Joke “. . .it starts with an empty universe” ---Stephen Fry, Cosmos, vii An empty universe is paradox. In such a boundless space there’d be no time. Among all other blanks there’d be...

. Little to Regret When Time has stilled my body __Think of me now and then, Asleep beneath the wattle, __Which flowers yet again. And as the summer follows __With rays I cannot see, Let the warmth embrace...

. Pergola My vines entwined around your posts and beams of weathered wood the sun had silvered gray. My trunk extends its arms, your trellis teems with viridescent leaves throughout the day. The hungry...

. Memento, Homo… "There is no architecture in New Orleans, except in the cemeteries." —Mark Twain If we should go to New Orleans We’ll see our share of raucous scenes At Mardi Gras soirees and balls With...

. Beneath the Tide The tidal basin ebbs and flows each dayAs if it were a sentient, breathing thing—A pas de deux, a moon-dance interplay—As time and space, in silence, sway and swing. As like a fraying...

. Salieri on Mozart More wine, Signore... Should I say mein Herr? I know! French cognac. Spirits help me share Dark thoughts. Now listen. I take one full year To pen these operas Kaiser Josef lauds; Then you...

. Spring The Spring is coming and each day Earlier falls dawn’s curtain grey Before the star-enchanted world Where, in each other’s limbs fast curled, As Venus, our directrix, bade, In many acts our masque...

. From the Tower by Francisco de Quevedo (1580-1645) | translated from Spanish by Elwin Wirkala Retired to these deserts and at peace, and with but few, though learnèd, books beside, I live conversing now...

. Come Winter, Come Come Winter, come. Lay this body down to rest. A squalling wind is blowing, north by northwest; __And every tree a bower __In Nature’s darkest hour, __And every creature deep __In...

. When words are sharp, and clash like iron blades, I swallow swords. I grimace, turn away. You fear I wield a shield, that love will fade, That wordless I our promises betray. Yet iron sharpens iron, I have...

. Bluer Skies after Ogden Nash Spring ain’t sprung, the grass ain’t growed, The fields ain’t fit for man nor toad. They tell us that the world is warmin’, ‘Pears to me the world is stormin’. Snow...

. Music of the Contours part of "A Double Unfinished Symphony" sonnet sequence The way that curls sway lovelier than straight, ..And curving strands of gold set pearls in grace, ....That nuns' bow necks to...

. The Ugly Child Some poems “hit the spot” and please the crowd--- Relatable, well-crafted, poignant, funny--- They beg to be perused, reread aloud; They squeeze tears from the low, perk up the sunny. Some...

. Gift for the Living The life that he led is a memory now, Subjugated by settled existence, With old hunting grounds bearing the imprint of plough And a musket ball hail for resistance— Certain death the...

. Flying Home Alas, I missed My flight back Home, After all these years In life I've roamed. I had then raced To make my flight, I thought I had My timing right. But there before My startled eyes The clouds...

. You’re In Control In all, you’re in control; your imperious charms Have inspired a near-insatiable itch in my arms To reach and grasp and hold, in hopes to soothe, To bring our fire and ice together to...

. Tonight I Sail the Dreamy Sea Tonight I sail the dreamy sea Where we can find tranquility. The sails are set. The sea remote. Just you and I within the boat. I’ll sail to you and pick you up; Then we can...

. I’m Here __Your smile, it hypnotizes. It rises with the Inca doves and sun. __Sleep done, your love surprises And spices dawn with lush and precious fun. __Your widened eyes are fashioned In passion that...

.   https://youtu.be/3XWcnISYGSE . Rondel for Saint Valentine's Day by Geoffrey Chaucer (c.1340–1400) | modernized in the original lyric form by Margaret Coats Now welcome, springtime, with your gentle...

. An Oldie's Valentine Love Poem We met when she was seventeen, The fairest maid I’d ever seen. With eyes of blue and flaxen hair, My mouth agape, I had to stare, And wonder, if a girl like she, Would ever...

. To a Girl Named Olivia What shall I say to you of untold love In this more than empty space that lies between Our two selves wound in tongue-tied reticence? I have touched your hand in images and dreams, As...

. Road Trip I ride the countryside for you my friend. The white and yellow lines can’t separate The dots I will connect at this trip’s end. With spinning force that pushes on the bend Until the highway...

. No Going Back We feel our lives are slowly closing round Us when the nights grow longer than the days, When winter brings us sadness and malaise, And all around us is a chill profound. Across the moss the...

. The Agony and The Ecstasy I beg among the lonely hours__oblivious to time and spaceand pace beneath the Sistine towers__where pigments paint my puzzled face.Why call me to divine commission,as if I am the...

. A Winter Snow a rhupunt The white snow falls in swirling walls that so enthralls as in my youth. The wind is slight; flakes from great height a blissful sight--- whole life to sleuth. Each crystal flake a...

. Ode to Joy My final symphony---my best by far!--- Which crowns a challenged life of brilliant works. Vienna’s finest came! Some from afar: Nobility, musicians, Prussians, Turks. A triumph! Yet it made my...

. Great Lakes Weather Gaffe Beyond the equinox by thirty days, With trees and shrubs bedecked in glorious bloom, Onto the scene the weirdest weather strays And plunges all back into winter’s gloom. Snow...

. Those Who Go Down to the Sea in Ships a poetic paraphrase of Psalm 107:23-30 The men who go down to the sea in their ships, Who sail on the water and pursue their trade, The sound of the sea echoes back from...

. Missed Call O Muse, would you call back another time? My little boy, armed with a sharpened stick, winged with a blanket, sure that he can fly, is leaping off the countertop to try things unattempted yet in...

. Plum Blossom Blessings The pine, bamboo, and plum are winter’s friends, Yet plum trees bloom to overcome the chill And herald spring. Resilient health extends Throughout my struggling mind and body...

. The 10 Best Love Poems of 2021 What makes a great love poem? Love is such an emotionally charged topic that the answers to that question are going to vary tremendously depending on who you ask. But all the...

. Tel Shikmona Mosaics here surprise: you wouldn’t know, tramping on thistles, dry late-summer stubble and tripping over rubble, stumbling, slow, that this rough trail leads to the long-ago till...