Beauty

. Making All Things Orderly Stare at grey clapboards in unbroken rows That seem to follow the unceasing sound Of thrumming traffic, with no vibrant red Or swaying leaves to soften sunlight’s blows. Poems of...

. Heliotrope Phaeton, son of the god Helios, attempted to drive his father’s celestial chariot. His inexperience caused him to burn up part of the earth and the heavens, so he was killed by a thunderbolt...

. With How Sad Steps from a Philip Sidney sonnet With how sad steps, O Moon, you climb the skies! How silently, and with how wan a face! What see you? Humankind’s excessive pace Getting from here to there?...

. Nest Egg The things for which I hoped have come and gone: The power to express a cogent thought; Ability to wake at break of dawn; Approval from a nearly perfect wife; And will to execute what I’ve been...

. —like his saddle, hat, and spurs No silver on this cowboy’s working saddle; borne bedrolls, stray calves, and dry canteens, carried beside lame mounts home to the stable, baptized in thunderstorms and...

. Am I, am I beautiful? Surely my face qualifies: Forehead pearly bright to rise Over sweetest lips cerise. Tell me if I’m beautiful! Cupid’s brows I have, green eyes, Rounded chin, nose small in...

. https://youtu.be/9VRUjxFxQ2A?list=PLfUp4UiBMcEZC4Hgnr33FpijP5W5mRNo6&t=102 “A star!” the wise man shouted, “Look, a star!” forgetting the hour and his solitude, or else too overjoyed to heed...

. O Say Can It Be? "How long you been suckin’ up oxygen, friend? For seventy years? Well now that’s gonna end! And moochin’ off Social Security too? The Great People’s Zoo is the next stop for...

. Brimstone I sniff a whiff of brimstone in the tone Of smooth effusions oozing from his tongue. A lick of sulfur clings like stale cologne To slickest syntax eloquently strung Like lustrous pearls...

. Birds in Flight by David Whippman “Free as a bird,” that's what we always say, "It's time to spread my wings and fly away, I have to find myself, fly high and free!" Birds are the metaphors of...

. Dirge for a Dying Diva Who’s alive now who ever heard the voice That once adorned La Scala and The Met, A native of this land where we forget Artists quicker than books or melted ice? The wonder of her...

. This poem is inspired by a column in The Epoch Times written by John Falce, entitled “The Experience of Freedom” The rugged beauty of our land’s terrain Is varied, airy, beautiful, and wide, Reflecting...

. She is not a she in the Silver State. Never shall be. In the bones of her heart He will ever be he, unwombed by fate, Crafted by lies, makeup, the surgeon's art... __A petal falls, a stem is cut, a...

. From the Bay of Naples To Titus Caesar and the Senate, Hail! Gaius Pliny brings you news most dire From Naples where your frightened people quail; Vesuvius has turned to molten fire! Pompeii is buried....

. Amber Song I come from amber, Baltic gold, A gem but not a stone, And not a thousand ages old, A girl from pine sap grown, When fully cured, of warm physique And vibrant to the touch, A little sunshine...

. June in memory of Johnny Cash (1932--2003) Johnny was no average guy, __The troubled man in black. His life, by evil, went awry, __And loving brought it back. The radio and Mama’s hymns __Filled up his...

. The roar of battle rends the moonlit skyWith distant thunder as of cannons booming.And bursting, crashing, popping salvos flyAbove the roar, the whirr of rockets zooming. The din deceives, for when it yields...

. The Future's Illumined by the Deeds of the Past inspired by a quote from Alexis de Tocqueville The future’s illumined by deeds of the past. Without history into darkness we’re cast To walk aimlessly, to...

. Nothing’s had by show of fear, When another way is clear: Courage to pursue the best When one’s met with Nature’s test. Can one sell a good or skill Fighting hard and oft uphill? Does one have the...

. On Death and Life not by John Milton Ere Death’s foul fetters drag me to my tombAs fodder for the very maw of hell,Should not my weary, failing soul rebelAnd seek release from sin’s eternal doom? For...

. The Carnelian Ring: A Still-Life Footfalls echo in the memoryDown the passage which we did not takeTowards the door we never openedInto the rose-garden. —T.S. Eliot, Burnt Norton I think of a walled...

. A teardrop's such a little thing, __and yet its burden varies depending on the weight of the __emotions that it carries. One's tears of joy are very light, __yet tears of grief are heavy. And tears of love...

. Ill Wind The wind, no friend, assaults us so unkindly And suffers nothing to abate its force, Though boys who fly their kites adore it blindly, As if it were a deity from Norse Mythology.  For those of us...

. Listen to "Arrow Song" by Gunny Markefka, with lyrics from Longfellow. "Arrow Song" is from his album Arrow Songs, which features songs with lyrics from Shakespeare, Blake, Cowper, Milton, Byron, and...

. The Hanging Tree The story of these bones is clear--- More than one deer was butchered here, Hung from this limb then skinned and bled By him the hunter, long since dead. Look yonder as the crow does...

. . The Blackbird So what can make this joyous songbird sing That cannot but proclaim its blackbirdhood? In fairest weather and in foul it could Convey nought but the utmost joys of spring. So fling right...

. Contemplating Aristotle Contemplating a Bust of Homer He stands enwrapped in luminous shadowed light, A woven cord of gold across his chest, Voluminous silk sleeves of purest white Contrast the deep-black...

. “Daddy! There’s the big yellow ‘M’!” “May I take your order ple---?” “One Big Mac, Coke and fries!” Dad  yells, “and---” “Happy Meal for me!” “Coach” Dad would bus our...

. Our Father loves us, one and all. He lifts us when our spirits fall. He knows the song of heart and mind; He hears the fears of humankind In every earnest, earthly call. He guides us through the grind and...

  Raison Du Jour Reason is like tea.It’s best at four o’clock,Which is an hour before cocktailsAnd two hours before dark. . . Finding at the Door a Disheveled Man Late on a Sunday Afternoon You don’t...

  Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, cameTo bless new student housing on The Mound.Despite his title and his royal name,Despite the Lord Mayor following around, The Scottish students studying nearby,Did not...

. No Letters "An odd thought strikes me: we shall receive no letters in the grave." ---Dr. Johnson, from Boswell’s Life Of all the things which I enjoy and have To lose them, then, in death, which soon I...

. Francesco, is it you? Be confident. Sorgue vineyard pathways never were too dusty __For you—plump face and figure lusty. Come nearer; focus my astonishment. The monks and nuns sleep early after...

. When soldiers die,They give two lives.The one they had, And one denied: The spouse not met,The child unknown,The life unsaved,The welcome home, The hill unclimbed,The beach unseen,The books unread,The...

. The mystic steed gave chase to red-eyed day, His forelock flying in the morn’s raw gust. Providence, my constant mount with whom I, On hills and shores, through lofty steeps and crags Had foolhardily...

. Storage and Retrieval In the dank cellar of the human mind Are stored a lifetime’s worth of rusted tools And strands of uttered words, both cruel and kind, That molder in the moil of golden rules. There,...

. “I want answers. I want all the words the poem whispers to be made flesh, to sit opposite me, and to shout out the reason for our existence…” ---Susan Jarvis Bryant on Daniel Kemper’s poem He who is,...

. Fostering Faith Will you slip through the system’s wide cracks Like a ball down a driveway’s storm drain? Will you bounce between homes, leaving tracks That they’ll only retrace if you’re slain? See,...

. Hardship and Destiny to the Class of 2021 The time is now at hand; the bow is bent To shoot you forth across the open sky. And as you think on what these years have meant, You may know where you wish to...

. Will this reclaim the long-lost Muse perched on the tree of I.O.U.’s? Can I now join Miss E. B. Browning as she proclaimed her love---its counting? Her art’s not mine; I know that much. The years sped...