Beauty

. This Brave American, Ashli Babbitt “It is the dead, not the living, who make the longest demands.” —Sophocles, “Antigone” by Usa W Celebride The Democrats stole the election—Ashli Babbitt...

. Lenin It’s late. He walks the lonely corridor in this part of the Kremlin with his cat hammocked in his arm. He stops before the door of every commissariat that’s still aglow and enters into...

. Borealis Where Ursa Minor spins about its tail The cold-chill, sabled void of arctic nights Bestirs to life as unseen hands unveil The shifting silence of the Northern Lights. Chameleonesque, the colored...

. Lives There the Man after “Breathes There a Man with Soul so Dead” by Sir Walter Scott* by Roy E. Peterson Lives there the man who won’t defendHis hearth and home from whom intendTo quench his fire and...

. I watched as the convening mist rose twisting through the trees; It changed gray shapes and silhouettes, and shattered inner ease. I closed my eyes and bowed my head at shadows dark and gaunt. Poor choices...

. . Kismet If I'd been younger, or you not so old, Or we'd met at a different time and place, Would there have been within your heart a space For me, for love to reach and grab ahold? Might there have been...

. "He has made everything beautiful in its time. . ."  (Ecclesiastes 3:11) The sun shines so brightly on this verdant hill Where I sit in silence so peaceful and still; I've come here alone to survey the fair...

. The poet has now escaped Hell, and has arrived in Purgatory or what he calls the StairWell. But he seems to have been abandoned by Dante, and has a fresh set of problems to confront. In this first section of...

. Do they still dance on old walkwayswith lowered shoulders, mastered breathand almost martial, measured gazethough one that's bent on life, not death?Will men with class step up and raisean arm and pause: a...

. I've battled beside Gilgamesh, the Bull Of Heaven slain by us. I've fought beside Achilles, hot beside a burning hull, And watched as Agamemnon, captured, died. With Oedipus I've lost my vital eyes With...

. . Who Knew How often I crushed autumn leaves Until I saw a robin drink From one that cupped the fallen rain, And many times too, I did break Icicles dripping from a roof. How often in the spring I plucked A...

Reviewed Book: Mostly Sonnets: Formal Poetry in an Informal World by James A. Tweedie, Dunecrest Press, July 2019 by Theresa Rodriguez As a fellow sonneteer, I felt like I was reading the words of a kindred...

. The Magpie’s Chorus With sunlight at full power And silence in the air, I sought a shaded bower, A cool drink, and a chair. But then, I heard the trilling Of magpies in the trees Pour out like liquid...

. 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...