Culture

  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,...

The American Revolution: An Epic Poem Chapter I Chapter II by Andrew Benson Brown   Chapter III: The New-World Mercury The historical source material for the below installment is Paul Revere’s Ride, by David Hackett Fischer   “Listen up stupid, or you’ll mishear Of the midnight ride of—someone dear… I...

Let's Do It! The surgeon does it in a snip within a stitch of time. The comic does it with a quip, the actor with a line. Morticians do it clad in black with grave and stiff demeanor. The lawyer on the legal track while clutching his subpoena. The padre...

A Fragmentary Introduction to the Geo-Political America of the Progressive Left Exuding virtue-signaling savoir-faire, "The Vanguard of the Proletariat,” Like Lenin, Xi, Marat, or Robespierre, Assumes the role of Commissariat. With self-appointed righteousness and power The autocrats declare what’s best for all, And crush dissent and regulate each hour While...

  Twelve-year old Maxwell Schollenberger was found dead in a home in Annville, Pennsylvania, in May 2020, where he had been starved, imprisoned in a dark room, and beaten for years. A child was deprived of everything; He spent his life in darkness, all alone; Without the love that from...

In British folklore, the Beast of Bodmin Moor is a phantom feral cat. Bodmin Moor (Cornwall, England) is a hub of horror, with regular sightings and reports of savagely slain livestock. I’ve sensed the sickening lick of fear __At eyes that flicker on the fringe Of felid fierceness—Luna’s leer __Has...

Is this a werewolf’s trick, or witch’s treat? A devil’s joke? Humanity’s defeat? Who would have thought we’d live to see the day When people would freak out to see a face--- A friendly human face---in public places? Mouths and noses never seemed risque Till now: they’re monstrous---threatening---a disgrace. What’s...

  Nothing Ventured an office romance "What more do you want?" he inquired without guile. ---Can it really be true that my feelings don't show?--- She marveled within, and, suppressing a smile, Inventoried the things he appeared not to know: I want more than greetings on alternate Mondays And occasional...

  A family that I read about Lost everything acquired. Their house, collections, photographs, All vanished in a fire. Thank God no one was injured, But this fact can’t be erased--- Although the losses were just things, Some cannot be replaced: A child’s letter to his mom When he was...

  The constant growl of battles down the ways, The daily angst that never seems to stall, The hate of feelings hurt that always stays, The pain and shame of living in a thrall! Today the tense unknown disturbs no more The weary soul exhausted from it all. The cruel...

  Renowned but wayward Troy, vain Babylon, Harsh Nineveh, and languid Rome were felled; Long ago they exercised dominion, But since from their own lands have been expelled, Or kept small plots, where they disgruntled dwelled. Their sovereignty was lost when, hearts athrob With false ideals, they let themselves be...

  You’ve grown up in the public school system, and it shows. You are sensitive to the world around you, and in touch with your “feelings”—a perfect little guilt-ridden example of a twenty-first-century castrato or an overbearing feminist airhead. You hardly know the alphabet or how to count, or even...

Post your answers in the comments section below. I. A place that never is in its own place And where it is is where it’s made to be; Not that it’s made from scratch within that space Where traces of the feet one’s bound to see. Oh no, it comes...

  On voting day, we hope the nation’s __red---a bright vermilion. Let’s count the reasons to choose Trump. __There are a half a zillion! Trump speaks his mind, with filters down. __He’s not a politician. A businessman, he gets things done. __His plans come to fruition. His policies on taxes,...

  Vocations Always there are things we should be doing; Others, though, are better left unfinished. Also, there are ends well worth pursuing; Likewise, goals that leave a wight diminished. Everybody wants to be successful Launching some sublunary endeavor, Or to be a mild receptive vessel Filled with God’s amazing...

All poetry by Bruce Dale Wise. Originally published by the SCP 9/26/18 Consumer Rights by Cal Wes Ubideer Accountability, transparency, and search control, consumer advocates are fighting Big-Tech's data hold. For far too long consumers have been powerless to fight the Goolag Commie-Tsars and Facebook Social-Fascist might. We have the...

  The Immigrant As his ship now departs to cross over the sea, He looks back as he fondly remembers The dear family he leaves, the quaint house by the lea, And two eyes that once sparkled like embers. For the passion he saw in those eyes, like his own,...

  after Chesterton's "Lepanto" Note: Cahaba Run is a river in Alabama Dogs dash in black and tan through clouds of briar and bush, All sprinting, unrelenting, such no city man could hush. They cast a shadow long, a gait that’s wide, a bellow deep, And stir awake all creatures...

Ego Feci Hoc A man, I was, of flesh and blood and bone, Nine-hundred years ago, I lived and died; A Norman mason skilled at cutting stone, An honored trade in which I took great pride. Eleven-Hundred Anno Domini Was when I was appointed to depart From home and family...

  There are smiles that we will never see. There are kisses that will never be. There are songs that we will never hear For this thing that stretches, ear to ear, Will be with us till our dying day And I hate it more than I can say. I...

  The Reindeer The reindeer winter-cries in vain for his lost mate His cry turns brittle frosty-mist, ascends the clouds. His hooves make run, his antlers gouge the whited shrouds That veil the trees. He stops. The land is desolate: A savagery rests still and wild---the trees are stark The...

Newspeak During a hearing held on October 13, Senator Hirono informed Supreme Court nominee Judge Amy Coney Barrett that the term “sexual preference” is now offensive even though Hirono herself and the late Justice Ginsberg have used the term extensively. Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary has now labeled the term “offensive.” Senator Hirono...

  On the PBS TV Series 'Bob Ross, the Joy of Painting' I float, as happy as the clouds, Upon a sea of liquid white. Whilst cherishing this time allowed, This interval of pure delight. He speaks to me, as if I’m there. I answer back, I don’t know why,...

  “Censorship is to art, as lynching is to justice.” —Henry Louis Gates, Jr. by Caud Sewer Bile Joe’s never spoken to his son about Burisma—No! The New York Post was not supposed to show that it was so. That treasure trove of laptop data wasn’t for our eyes. That...