Culture

. Appeal to the Muse O Saint Cecilia, more than just a muse— The very author by this pen and ink— I plead thy help, and never wish to lose Assistance at the quill, or in the rink. For Art is cutthroat; those who try may sink, And much of...

  Gather round everyone, come near! My story is for all to hear. A song for you I now shall sing, A song about Murry the King. Murry was the King of the West And ruled till he was laid to rest. Godhild was his beautiful Queen And none more...

X No tengo más que darte —Inscription on a Spanish sailor's gold ring, in the shape of a hand holding out a heart, found off the western coast of Ireland. Their splintered hulls well-raked with cannon fire, Great sails shot ragged by hot English grape, The rigging singed or severed...

_ Our Bishops, on Nov. 4, 2020 Our bishops hail the president-elect.Do they suppose the election is decided?Or are they anxious that we all move onAnd welcome policies that won’t excludeThe illegal alien from such benefitsAs she may gain through legislative act? Our bishops seem oblivious to the factThat charges that...

2 November 2020 Two weeks and counting here I be In clutches of the CCP I don’t delight as I once did In birthday presents, cards, and quid, But my two darling angel-girls Served me with functionary pearls That bode delightful memories Unlike what came from overseas And self-opened in...

  They mix together here waiting for the trim black and gold gondolas heading into side canals that drain and brim with refuse and will bear souls that wait to ride. The tourist's straying finger stutters taking photos of shadows as they linger--- chiaroscuro, light and dark---along the rows of...

  Famine de l'âme The soul, deprived of one essential thing, Cannot rely on dusty stores of hope; Seeking to mitigate starvation's sting, Finds worthless every erstwhile way to cope: Profound malaise, la grande douleur exquise, Mere denegation cannot obviate; Frantic pursuit of new activities The pang of loss will...

  The turkey that we blithely ate Had little cause to celebrate The final Thursday in November. It's customary to dismember A hapless bird that's plucked and trussed To satisfy our boundless lust For juicy chunks of roasted meat. The friends and relatives we seat Are thankful for the now...

  Thanksgiving 1984 2020 Wear a mask until you eat and never touch your face. Muzzle up between each bite and when you’re saying grace. No more guests than four to eight at six full feet apart. To cough is reprehensible but do feel free to fart.* Though family dos...

  Pandemic epidemic, fever, chills; As viral spiral sickens, quickens, kills. We’re tasked and masked with no place left to go. A lockdown, knockdown, drag-on TKO. The churches, schools, and pubs once quintessential Are now defined as being nonessential. While travel, holidays, and short vacations Are put on hold in...

  The Shisendō is a hideaway villa in the eastern hills of Kyoto, Japan, created by poet and calligrapher Jōzan Ishikawa (1583–1672) as a place where he could read and write classical Chinese poetry in retirement. He chose 36 immortal poets, whose portraits (with their finest verses) appear around the...

  Cricket The game of Cricket, I’ll relate, Goes back to fifteen fifty-eight, Upon a field in Guildford way, In Surrey, many miles away. The game was played by many more, Up to the English Civil War. The village game was in the swing, With many people gambling. By sixteen...

Mozart on His Kegelstatt Trio Quite recently I wrote a little trio While wasting time at skittles with some friends. We needed something for the clarinet, Something not dolorous, but not con brio— A trifle which, their being at loose ends, Would keep my buddies occupied and set Them on...

Heart of Darkness a rondeau redoublé A heart of darkness mocks and flouts the rules. It robs our orb of honesty and light. It tempts then toys with sycophantic fools--- Duped souls that sate the dark heart’s appetite. Its syrup-drizzled spin masks acrid spite That festers at its core then...

. Vulture Culture Above the clouds, a vulture soars, the leader of a culture war. The bird of prey is wide awake, ready to punish grave mistakes. A rooster crows with all his might, and fast, the vulture drops in flight. This cock upset some hens in jest, his crowing...

. The Violence in Philadelphia “Par le regne des maleureux chetis“ —Eustache Deschamps by Urbawel Cidese Say first what caused the violence in Philadelphia; a man named Walter Wallace, Junior, with a knife in hand, advanced upon police, who ordered him to drop the knife. But he would not, and...

All Divinity Is Love or Wonder* New Harbor October 2020 All Divinity is love or wonder. The moon pulls up the sea, while rocks plunge deeply underneath; ragged, cracked asunder, synclined metamorphic panoply. Moonlight fractures on the night-black surface, embers dancing over dying coals. A Fresnel beam each fifteen seconds...

Originally Published by the SCP on November 24, 2019   dedicated to my wife, who was mobbed and defamed for political gains They've come before with pitchforks high, With torches beaming off their knives. This time they come instead with phones To kill my queen and steal her throne. No...

  Truthfulness I walked through our lovely suburban downtown, Which always is ranked as the best. But everywhere windows and doors had gone down, The triumph of peaceful protest. I heard a most credible ex-Navy man, Describe the corruption he knew. Which MSM buried per usual plan, Big Tech rushed...

_ Pope Urban II Sonnet-Speech, Clermont, 1095 Oh Noblemen, I’m charged by God to warn that Christendom is threatened by the Turk. Torched churches and our pilgrim dead we mourn, whilst in Jerusalem’s bounds brute pagans lurk. At home your greed and thuggish acts have placed your souls in peril,...

  Introductory Note These paraphrased translations represent three short poems composed by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, a person so well-known that I will pass on offering a biography and only note that he lived 1749-1832. The first poem, "Der du von dem Himmel bist" ("You Who Are from Heaven") was...

A Wheelchair They kept their car-doors shut and windows closed, Nor left their house but stayed inside, disposed To hide if D were waiting wheelchair-bound Outside. Attendant crew, no siren sound, The ambulance would call and she would stay Away all day in hospital and they Would never know the...

  On Marriage I married a girl named Sue And alas! She married me too!     As Then, So Now When years ago and many ages since My flaming ardor flared (now fondness thrives For you, most wondrous of all wondrous wives), You turned this mortal pittance to a...

  On a Turtle of Broken Jade The tiny turtle made of milky jade Was smuggled by Jun’s parents from afar Evoking memories that flame and fade--- Confucian virtue rescued from the war. The treasured heirloom tucked into a bag But dropped amidst the panic at the pier. “Revolution comes!...

  She was the one who approached me and spoke, Saying my lectures had swept her away. Maybe we could have occasional chats After class ended, with coffee or drinks? Cued and emboldened, I made an advance— Shyly receptive, she moistened her lips Whispering that she would love an amour....

  Thoughts following a visit to the World War 2 National Cemetery at Colleville-sur-Mer, Normandy, France. Eugene Ovid Lambert was my name, U.S. Army Airborne casualty. Died on D-Day, that’s my claim to fame: June 6, ’44 in Normandy. How I died the records do not say, Probably while jumping...

  On Voter Fraud after Li Hongzhi’s poem "On the General Election" by Evan Mantyk Is chivalry dead in the hearts of the people? I knew it was lacking but this is pure evil. The stars of the night are all seeing what’s happening, Extending a noose that has just...

  Mary had a little lamb His fleece was white as snow. This little lamb, we’ll call him Stan, Starred at a livestock show. Stan followed her to cooking school Her class was on white sauce, It’s made with butter, dredge and milk--- Without sauce, meals are lost. Poor Mary...

  Remember, Remember… by Susan Jarvis Bryant No thankful foot falls on the London street In honour of our brave and voiceless dead. Remembrance Sunday’s rendered incomplete Without the steadfast march and sombre tread Of those who know the bullet-ridden cost Borne in blood and bone in barbarous wars For...

The complete new translation can found from Hackett Publishing here. My poem sings of one man forced from Troy by war. Fate harried him to find a home on Latium’s shore— On some Lavinian littoral. By land and sea, Driven by loss, by gods who would not let him be,...

originally published on November 2, 2020 on MacKenzie Lyric Poetry Where shall they hide now, the merchants of death, Who cloaked our eyes and robbed our throats of voice, Who muzzled minds and sought to gag our breath, Who in the blood of innocents rejoice? To whom shall they turn,...

  Perfectionist Inclined Maligned by self-encasing brine, defined By certainty's demise, self-image lies Within a shrine. Perfectionist inclined, I crouch transfixed in infinite surmise: Confined by shell, by husk, cocoon intact, Unshattered yet, afraid to fall, afraid To try to fall, while each and every act Desires a release from...

  “The world will not be destroyed by those who do evil, but by those who watch them without doing anything.” ---Albert Einstein The issue isn’t black or white. It isn’t left, it isn’t right. The issue isn’t someone’s sex Or robust speech that’s apt to vex. It isn’t gay,...

  Yearning for Castles and Gargoyles Among the towers never made of ivory, protruding lewdly over walls of mottled stone, misshapen forms, insatiably unsavory look down on us. Who takes such agony to hone these brash, extended, fixed grotesques of form and function meant to stop the rotting from within?...

  Over 100,00 people were killed at Babi Yar between September 29, 1941 and November 6, 1943. Oh, come and gather round to hear This story from afar, As I unfold the tragedy, The tale of Babi Yar. It happened in the time of war, And not to be outdone,...

  Red Skies by Usa W. Celebride Along th’ Atlantic Ocean and around the grand Great Lakes, on the horizon one can see the bright, blue water quakes. It’s after the election, looking east, one sees red skies; the Democrats are working overtime before our eyes. One-sided ballots have been...

  A Verse for the Morning After As thieves and pirates count our votes And set us at each other’s throats And fiddle while our cities burn, I wonder, will we ever learn?     November 4th November 3rd has come and gone And so for some, a dismal dawn....

  Retired I’ve lost the ship I banked upon to shield me from this stormy world. For I’ve since crossed the Rubicon and sails no longer loom unfurled that marked my navigating days. My schooner scarcely can escort me from my maritime malaise. The stalwart craft I’d bring to port,...

Post your Election Day poem in the comments section below.    Quatrains They “battle for the soul of the nation” And have their voting registration As Democrats—it’s true, at least They’re spiritual, for they’re deceased!   The news is in, Joe Biden’s got The perfect pick for a key spot:...

  Context Is Everything When you attempt to cut some string A hammer doesn’t do a thing— Jackknives matter. When life has gotten back to normal, And dining out means dressing formal, Black ties matter. When you are carted off to jail And wish that you were back at Yale,...