Culture

for Robert Conquest I. Each day Naftaly greets a prison train. Two days ago: spies and reactionaries, yesterday: kulaks from Ukraine, this morning: counter-revolutionaries. Snug in his fur behind militia guards who hold thick water hoses in the snow, he looks at blue-lipped prisoners in cars, exposed to frost of...

Paperboys lack actual colleagues, but I was a part-time paper boy, and my mother, a part-time colleague. When I’d oversleep, or in bad weather, she’d rescue me from the steep daily grind. “Leave the bike home. I’ll drive, to save time.” That was all; guilt trips were not her way....

By Sam Gilliland The Poisoned Chalice Let he who lips me then beware, My potion’s more than honeyed mead, One sip, I shall your soul ensnare, Death conquers all, so take you heed! It is a foolhardy enterprise to embark upon a venture so obviously doomed to failure that the...

I Keep A Different List My neighbor counts his losses and his gains, but I keep track of raindrops when it rains; he makes note of coins and dollar bills while I am watching ants upon their hills; while he is in the office making money, I go out among...

The Great Living Hell On Communism Under the radar I fly Thru' an ever more darkening sky Thru' the smoke from the volumes that burned Thru' the silence of lessons unlearned Thru' the sound of the shattering glass Thru' the thoughts of the mindless I pass Thru' the dust of the statues that...

By Con Chapman Boston may no longer be the Hub of the Universe, but its Standard Metropolitan Statistical Area remains the undisputed capital of America in at least one respect—home of suicidal poetesses. The western suburbs, where I live, form American poetry’s Bermuda Triangle. Sylvia Plath, raised in Wellesley, took...

  For Bishop Berkeley & for Madman Blake First, the wind; then, the waves; then the shore —but the Mind—yes, the Mind—long before. First, darkness; then, ignition; then the light —but Vision—yes, Vision—long before sight. First, nowhere; then, somewhere; then everywhere —each here—each there—like a visual prayer. First, the past;...

Any treatise claiming critical review of verse, whether in the widest sense, or, as in this case, the result of compressed choice, purely down to the author’s own consideration, I hasten to add, is probably deigned to fail as an intelligent summation of poetry penned by John Keats. That said,...

The Morning Muse This time of day the Muses pass As rolling clouds and dewy grass, To see their handouts properly bestowed. How much I’ve felt and ever feel That writhing impulse in me reel When dawn's first grayer hues begin to glow. And if I had the craft to...

The poetry of Fray Angelico Chavez can be read here. By Joseph Charles MacKenzie Fray Angélico Chávez, O.F.M. (1910-1996) remains the most important poet of New Mexico’s modern history. It is precisely by virtue of this gifted priest, polymath, historian, author, and painter, that we in New Mexico are able...

A Slice of Eden A mango tart broke my heart dark one stormy day because it said I'd be dead if I touched its glaze, & lotus cake made me ache late one luckless night because it cried when I tried taking one small bite, & once when I slyly...

  Another Cakewalk Mark Twain may not be safe to read, at least in public places, Because he gawks with foolish words at human folly's faces; But take a moment to digest (puts iron in your belly) His words of outrage in defence of outraged Mrs. Shelley: "The slave of...

  For honor! For valor! The battle stole and won Where up the soul arises down the barrel of a gun The courses set and forces met with destined blood and bones But I, I fear, am fated here to never journey home Tell my wife I love her Send...

by Dusty Grein The Man The American poet Robert Frost was born on March 26, 1874, in San Francisco, CA. He spent his first 40 years mostly unknown, and it wasn’t until after returning to the United States from England—where he had his first two books of poetry published—near the...

  Narcissus Saw Himself Only Once “Due to the poor quality, high cost, and small size of these ancient glass mirrors, solid metal-mirrors primarily of steel were usually preferred until the late nineteenth century.” ~Wikipedia, “Mirror” I wonder if improvements in the way That mirrors show us beauty in our...

When I speak of history I speak well; I leave behind the past where broken bones Lay scattered on blistering sands to tell Of atrocities that are mostly groans. While you may feel the pain lurking inside With hurt failing any impunity; And browse pages upon pages to ride This...

The Function of the Poet Tanslation by David Bellemare Gosselin God summons him in times gone awry When each can’t will, but serves his duty. For pity to him who to all his brothers Declares his future in the desert wanders. Pity to him who wears his sandals And treads...

  Tikkun Olam*  His mouth agape, as though still asking questions, the Tsar lies at the end of his long reign. (Blue lips almost struggle to explain, caught in the halfway realm of last expressions.) The Empress sprawls, hands crossing her stained bodice. Behind her rest the bayoneted heirs, blood...

  A Country Song (for my wife's birthday) I'm no longer young and strong and things take me twice as long Might not hear you when you call and I don't stand quite so tall Seasons change and so do we as most any fool can see Pride can blind us to...

  Kudzu* Yes, I creep to cover, smother, choking greenery like no other. I am Kudzu taking over places once filled deep in clover, trees and bushes, vines entwining; each within my path declining. Little fazed by drought or drenching; thirst for space there is no quenching. In the brightness...

John Milton (Born December 9, 1608 – died November 8, 1674) was an English poet of the late Renaissance period. He is most noted for his epic poem on the fall of Satan and Adam and Eve’s ejection from the Garden of Eden, Paradise Lost, which he composed after having gone...

(All poems by Bruce Dale Wise) Another Mass Murder in the News by Bilee Wad Curse He was an atheist who called churchgoers "stupid" on his Facebook pages where he posted "She's a bad bitch" gun, an AR-15 semiautomatic that he used to murder at least twenty-six in bloody-hell diffused....

  A Hardcover Book Carrying a hardcover book instead of a small electronic tool I get polite, benevolent smiles seemingly reserved for the old; people ask, “How old’s your Bible?” as if following some rule. I’m asked it so often I’m disappointed if not asked—you’ll find it easy to believe...

  Inscription on the Golden Gate, Constantinople (Translation) Commemorating Emperor Theodosius' Victory over the usurper, Maximus, at the Battle of the Save in 388 AD. Theodosius was the last emperor to rule over both the Eastern and Western Roman Empire.  These acres Theodosius gilded on the Tyrant's fate; He brought...

  Just west of old Ben Lomond, high and gray, a downy-heathered island on a loch did soak our feet before we rowed away for western shores, to find a little dock in Luss. A pot of tea to warm our bones, and meat pies, piping hot, our stomachs fill....

Sweet Recollections an awdl gywydd Tea time, just my mom and me… ___memories so sweet and dear, knowing I was her first choice; ___still her voice is crystal clear. Some of my favorite hours. ___fresh cut flowers in a vase, aroma drifting after, ___her bright laughter giving chase. Drinks poured...

  Canzone 4 For Bob Hunter I am your eyes now, imaging memories, Amiens, Ypres, Flanders and the Somme; And in my secret world the pale dawn holds Out her hand bearing gifts that sight unfolds; But you have seen men in the sacred rites Of death, limbs twisted, bones...

  End Rhyme Send in a poem they pretentiously beckon But they will not read any rhyming of rhymes There's no place now for creative wordsmithing Prose is the darling, full of self absorbed whines The obtuse, the indulgent, the prosaic, they'll read And heap platitudes endlessly, on genius they'll...

  Rioja is a land of wine. It’s famous in both fact and fable. It’s really not okay to dine Without a bottle of that fine Rioja beverage on your table! Now, it is red, full-bodied, sweet, A wine that’s either old or young. For young, the price cannot be...

  Scorn “Enargeîs is the technical term ‘for divine epiphany: a word that contains the dazzle of “white,” argós, which comes to designate a pure, unquestionable “conspicuous-ness” ’ ”.  ~ Michael Schmidt, The First Poets, 19 I wonder if perhaps we moderns know This brilliant whiteness much more clearly than...

An Introduction to Poetry and Its Place in an Integral Human Formation Introduction  It is well known to most sensible educators that one of the fundamental goals of their profession is the so-called “integral formation” of their students.  The enthusiastic educator strives to propose this formation, for he knows that to...

  Let My Footstep Strike the Ground Like a Spear A Villanelle Let my footstep strike the ground like a spear Hear me bound through the groves of Sicily Drawing power from an Earth soaked in fear. With father, I run from thicket to clear Mt Etna rising to the...

  The Pilgrimage to Heaven Beneath the shadows whence no light embarks On paths renounced by most intrepid men; There, gypsies seldom find enchanting larks Or songs which overflow the silent glen. Circuitous routes aplenty lead to plains Where neither sweet repose nor respite wait; Some haunted bowers bear the...

Of course, I like to see rainbows, But my heart hasn’t leapt for one; I’ve not wandered like a cloud blows, Though I’ve been lonely in the sun. Oh, I like Nature, that’s for sure— I just can’t feel Wordsworth’s amour. I’m sometimes in a pensive mood (And, yes, my...

Meritocracy When the Left tries to cow us and trammel our prowess ____We resort to a stiff upper lip, Well aware that their winning will spell the beginning ____Of our comeback the moment they slip. If the Government makes us repeat old mistakes, ____Then our indolent selves are to blame,...

The Mausoleum, Dumfries His crypt sealed by stones made by mother earth, A soft voice: This is where Robert Burns lies, Yon granite gaol is unmoved, unchanged, Tourists trek on through the graveyard, a dearth Of sound until they leave his hallowed cries Behind, written in black and well arranged;...

  ~ Dedicated to Falun Gong practitioners facing persecution in China Brutality meets decency and then What happens?  Hardness softens, or it cracks A little.  Craquelure might happen when The decency is struck.  Unless an axe Completely shatters bright compassion, right Can still survive, strong, beautiful, and calm. If brutal...

On Formal Slavery (to a Nation of Free Verse) For there are those that call us slaves.  How poor and simple we must be to cling to ties that stretch us, bend our purpled backs before some ruthless lash and ask for more.  A slight psychotic tendency, a dream of...

  What is my body that was never mine, That, fevered, it should waste below the deck? I rise, instead, to face the ocean’s brine, The Muslim’s wrath, the ending of my trek. What is the ball that penetrates my chest, If not the lead that tipped the Roman’s scourge...

  Basics Tonight I paint flowers on my tablet. I wanted to write about deeper things like God and love and time and death which brings me again to the compulsive habit of pursuing the truth. On this planet it is probably one of our failings to overlook truth in...