Beauty

. Five Poems for My Mother by James A. Tweedie Poet’s Note: My mother, Marjorie Schlatter Tweedie, passed away on June 18 at the age of 101. She was still mentally alert, moving about with her walker and attending church until she fell ill six weeks before she breathed her...

. There Is No God? “There is no God,” Some men do say. This doubt, some voice, And claim this day. If God is myth Who gave us eyes? Who gave us joy? Who paints blue skies? Have they no dog, Have they no wife, Have they no child So...

. A Stranger in Your Land after Dimash Qudaibergen’s song “Stranger”  A lonely stranger in your land__where you are strange to me,underfoot, your rock and sand__enfold your land, your sea. I haul my ancient heritage__from an inland lakewhere I have walked a fragile bridge__I pray you will not break. I...

. Mightier Than the Sword?   His Eighties searing splash of fiery ink Scorched the skin of those who won’t allow The flare of feisty words. His weren’t in sync With those of kowtow howls. He wouldn’t bow To Ayatollahs raging overseas, Forcing thought upon its buckled knees. A fatwa didn’t...

. As Day Transitions to Night for "JD" and Margaret Coats There is none of the daylight’s verve— __no ripples of the sun in the brook streaming ‘round the curve. __The day will come undone, splitting at the seams, for nothing will stop the pale moon from weaving stars into...

. Lament of the Little White Horse by Paul Fort (1872-1960) Translated by Joshua C. Frank The little horse in the weather so dread, What courage he had inside! A little horse as white as white bread, All behind and him ahead. Of nice weather it never was said In...

. Lullaby of New Mexico Duerme mijo---sleep my weary child As we drive south upon the interstate. My side-eye checks on you, my tired you. My calloused hand caresses your wheat hair. The radio sings dreams, strumming guitars, The soulful voices of the mariachis Who sing about the feathers of...

. Byrd in Flight The surplice-vested, five-part choir, Like sparrows on a five-tiered wire, Gives flight to canticles of Byrd. The flocks of lightweight, living notes Ascend to where celestial thoughts Send back their echo, and are heard On earth because of William Byrd. The varied voices that compose The...

. . Non Existent One day my body disappeared, __nor could I touch or taste, but I could feel the flood of tears __that filled my missing face. My presence was by no-one known. __Not felt, nor seen, nor heard, imprisoned in a realm alone, __dissevered from the herd. Back...

. Tapestry My grandfather Evangelos did trading with the Turks Of pipes and hookahs, hash, and cloths, and skillful carpet-works. A tapestry he gave his wife in Main in nineteen-ten, A secular non-Muslim piece, showed animals and men. In foreground, street-scene, shops and people, harnessed camel clear, A palm, a...

. Poems by Théodore de Banville (1823-1891) translated by Margaret Coats The Velocipede Half brain, and half a pair of wheels, Transcending anthropology, Calf poised on manufactured heels, Half brain, and half a pair of wheels, This novel animal reveals Darwinian zoology: Half brain, and half a pair of wheels,...

. Some Mornings Some mornings it’s just tough to find that place, That slippery perspective where I view The world as not entirely unbraced From all that’s good and beautiful and true. I can’t quite find my footing, all askew Within a landscape sadly out of line With all my...

. Byron Swims the Hellespont On May 9, 1810, Lord Byron swam across the Hellespont from Sestos to Abydos to duplicate the legendary back-and-forth trips made by the mythical Leander on visits to his lover Hero. This was a distance of about one nautical mile, in very cold water with...

. Deschutes River Reverie The river, swift and shallow, roils its way Beneath the outstretched arms of old-growth pines, Past bank-side willows diamond-dewed with spray, And hillside ferns and thimbleberry vines. A fallen cedar, once a forest lord, Contributes to the nascent euphony As broken branches add a vocal chord...

. Don't Laugh at a Christian God looked down on Noah And said "Construct an ark Bigger than a boat, More like a zoo or park." Friends said he was crazy Until the rain came down. That is when we learned The first fact checkers drowned. . . Some Men...

. . A Happy 80th Birthday Wish for the Poet's Father I wish for you the golden years Odysseus had Retired from life’s long strife, a sort of Trojan War: The births and deaths were bloody fights, some good, some bad; And there were far-flung journeys bringing more Adventures than...

. . To Winter for John Keats Where are the songs of spring? Now moving west All of us are into winter finally: Threadbare, lackluster, shorn-sheer, and with a limp Stepping down to die flatly, not climb. Ay, where are they? Not only songs for asking But every living composition...

. The Photograph The snowflakes tumble down like frozen tears, Which fall from every eye this winter day; They heard the call and answered without fear, Their country to defend without delay. A couple stands away from all the rest: Her head is bent, her shoulders hunched in grief, His...

. Cordelia's Choice Ye gods, what should I do with such ill news? My father, once the king, is now insane And stripped of dignity. What must I choose To set things right? Yet, pray, why should I fain Raise up this man who banished me from sight And left...

. Elegy for the Child Never Conceived His would-be parents had but days; The procreative ship sat docked, And with the passengers’ delays, That ship is gone, forever locked, But if, instead, he’d been conceived And been allowed to live and die, His soul could one day be received In...

. On the Anniversary of My Father's Death These rainy mornings have a subtle saltTo them that even in the city canBring back the pier, its rugged paint-chipped spanStill wet with early rain, where by default(Too risky for the boat) our soft assaultWas launched: the war of fishes versus man,A...

. Self Defense When he pulled out his knife I thought I had No choice so I pulled out my gun and shot Him twice, then ran the streets for miles, too glad That he lay there dead and that I did not. I got discovery in jail and read...

. Mistress Within those sheets, my mistress lay, her flawless form with perfect feet. One last embrace; I cannot stay! I hear her heart in metered beat. Her voice, a ballad siren song with lyrics begging my delay. But I’ve already been too long! Within those sheets, my mistress lay....

. Sumo's Winning Ways Fierce frontal impact clenches victory In less time than an untrained eye can blink, But connoisseurs of sumo’s treasury Prefer discriminating knack. They wink When force through fine technique shows mastery. Drive into the opponent, pull him close, Then push him, force him, thrust him, crush...

. The Angelus, Jean-François Millet (Musée d’Orsay) How soft across the field the muted peal Has caromed off the setting sun, the air September-ripe, the earth upturned, a pair Preoccupied with what it might reveal, And calls them to a place of mute appeal. He stabs his pitchfork in the...

. For Then by Manuel Gutiérrez Nájera (Mexico, 1859-1895) translated by Cheryl Corey O, to die upon the open sea At sunset, facing heaven, where agony Is but a dream; and soul, the essence of me, Is like a bird in flight that’s soaring free. To be already one with...

. While Pondering Alexander Pope’s "Ode to Solitude" Grateful am I in solitude while reading Pope’s inspiring ode, a time for pause---an interlude ____________in my abode. I’m whisked into the distant past that once again becomes all new; his words, his lines like shadows cast ____________as poets do. His quill,...

. The Drive to Reconcile __We never wish to eat a bug __Or force an unexpected hug, But intimacy doesn’t come without A cost, and those who disagree, no doubt, Are lost.  But nonetheless we cannot see Why we can’t love the ones who disagree __With everything that we believe,...

. Free Verse Let us free verse from "free verse" while we can;A pile of branches does not make a tree,And fruit squashed on a plate does not make jam.While words strung down a page can never be,As eloquent as structured poetry.Let us free verse from "free verse" while we...

. . Introduction Percy Bysshe Shelley was born August 4, 1792 and died in a boating accident on July 8, 1822. To mark the 200th anniversary of his death, Guntbert “Gunny” Markefka and the Powerpoets Project (© 2022) have put Shelley's poem "Line to an Indian Air" to music. Set...

. The Pigeon Once upon a workday morning, sleepy-eyed and loudly yawning, I was splattered without warning by a pigeon from the shore. At my half unconscious stupor, this unpardonable pooper, Took his aim just like a trooper from a raging bloody war, And he peppered me with pigeon poop...

. O Say, Can You See?   Let’s think as we sink into star-spangled wonder, Intolerable acts were the reason to fight Each pillaging bully who’d brazenly plunder The treasures of those who were drawn to the light. Let’s ponder the journey, the valiant history Of pilgrims in search of the...

. Anew Whisk me away to the mountainside. __Spirit me far to the glen. For I long to find that secret place __Where I can begin again. All of us long at least once in our lives __To flee from all that is known. But most of us die with...

. A Ballade on Being Commissioned  Twixt Florence and the Holy See Of every artist you could hire You thought it meet to torture me. You gave no weight to my desire But quick to wield the Church’s ire Commissioned me to paint for you And mount a scaffold ever...

. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NHUuaA8DKiQ . On Palestrina's Music Sicut cervus desiderat ad fontes aquarum, Ita desiderat anima mea ad te, Deus. Psalmus 41:2 As the deer desires springs of water, So my soul desires you, O God. Psalm 42:1 __Like the deer who longs for water ____And finds a living source, Listeners...

. Gleam by Any Means The poem that I seek to write, the piece with flair and form, Which raises spirits high as clouds on zephyr breezes warm, Or states a truth in such a way that brings a tear to the eye Remains, for now, elusive as a mist...

. Life Is a Dream by Pedro Calderón de la Barca (1600-1681) Translated by Elwin Wirkala The king dreams he is king, and lives with this deception ordering, disposing of and governing, and all the applauses he receives are but a loan writ on the wind and burnt to ashes...

. The Requisite I may have made a great mistake In my pursuit of solitude and grace; Perhaps have stumbled unaware Into an all-too-human ache I don’t know I’ve the fortitude to face Or honesty its source to bare. The emptying I thought I sought Has as indeed I’d planned...

. “Upon These Boughs that Shake Against the Cold” ---Shakespeare, Sonnet 73 Her script was always lovely and unique, And still unique when it began to wobble, Along with spoken words. Increasing trouble With memory made her less inclined to speak. But still, she wrote her letters. Before we’d started...

. There Is a Quiet Place There is a quiet place Where we can go to hide. A place where no one sees us, That cannot be denied. There is a quiet place Where we can go to think. A place to solve our problems And get our life in...