Poetry

  —from A Gallery of Ethopaths The world is filled with brainless brats Who all insist on having tats. These morons with their inked-up bods Walk about like savage gods Displaying, to the public’s view, A poisoned skin of garish hue. Their ugliness defies belief— Your mind’s been shipwrecked on...

  How I long for the days gone by, Such memories overtake me. I look back on my life and sigh, May the future not forsake me. All the fond thoughts of yesteryear, Coupled with the thoughts of regret; Love of life is ever so near, It captures my soul...

  Beyond the brimming ages Gabriel waits, his foremost message burning on his breath. Through time men slide, creeping through the gates of birth and out again the doors of death. He sees kings rise and kingdoms fall to dust; he sees unnumbered souls unfleshed; to some he gives slight...

  Translated by Ihar Kazak At the door it seems I hear The stomping of evil strangers. This has been my fear for many a year And my former anxiety’s dangers. It’s an apparition in the night Of times endured… Once again the ravens fly in sight To my garden...

(by the ancient lawgiver who threw himself on his blade to satisfy a legal technicality) 625 b.c.e. Yours is a hard but hardy justice: When __The Poets weighed their verses on the scale, Proud Homer saw the Verse of Peace prevail __Against his wars—But both sprang from one pen: You...

  Though all the world should grovel and bend To the minions of deepest hell, Our days of glory shall not end Where brave men fought and brave men fell! We’ll take a stand to save our land And march with the Lad of Luton! Let cowards crawl to the...

. The Black Children In China, until rather recently, each pair of parents was allowed one kid, according to the “one-child policy.” Some parents had another, which they hid. Unregistered, these kids are sometimes sold to traffickers who make them prostitutes. If they refuse, they're left out in the cold;...

  From the stations they sent out a call To their jillaroo friends - one and all; For an overnight camp, while the sky bore the stamp Of a cloudless day darkened from view. So they came in farm utes, with their dogs: Kitted out in their boots, working togs;...

  I am a captive of the wicked queen. My mind’s a blank; the temptress took my soul. I know too well  what this desire must mean. And oh! The evil beauty I have seen. Though loving her must take a dreadful toll, I am a captive of the wicked...

Note: Teaching classical poetry rather than other forms of poetry or modern literature makes a difference. Inherent in classical poetry is a respect for tradition, for order, for discipline, and for the uplifting heritage of our shared human civilization. The good values that are inherently fostered will improve classroom behavior...

Anonymous (12th Century), 'Du bist mein' ('You are mine') I am yours and you, mine are; Of this ought you be 'ware. You are a part of, prisoner in, my heart; The little key is gone afar. You must remain there, where you are.   The original (modernised): Du bist mein, ich bin dein; Des...

  He thinks in lines And vexing vertices. His shining mind always inclines To maths and magnitude, minute degrees Of formulae, and the impossibilities He has deciphered with those symbol-signs. The architect Perceives the things the rest Of us forget. He can erect The best and boldest buildings, which attest...

  Ere gloaming wanes, acceding sable night, As writhen mists conceal a pallid moon, From bastion vigil, thou descry a sight; To rumours, foul and fey, thine ears attune. Beyond the eaves of darkness lurks thy foe, Where craven men are loath to tread—and lag, Thou, heedless, don thy panoply...

William Ruleman: Profane and Sacred Love, Feather Books, 2002 and reprint 2014 by James Sale Having read some excellent poetry by William Ruleman on the pages of the SCP I determined to buy a collection so that I could take a bigger view of his work. I mention this because...

O how I long to hold thee in my arms, And taste again of nature’s sweet reprieve, To cast off masks, false affectations, charms; To savor all I had before you leave. For thee alone I lie awake at night, Tortured by the memories unmade, For that alone I scorn...

Room 402:  Gehenna Comes to New York (On Governor Andrew Cuomo’s Jan. 22,2019 repeal of New York’s Public Health Law § 4164)   Note:   “Room 402” does not refer to any specific event happening in a certain room, but  was chosen at random to represent any room in which a...

The Bad The first video of Hannah Silva instructs us on the abyss that poetry reading has found itself in today. The irrationality and baseness of slam poetry has given way to experimental poetry that doesn't even involve words at all (sent in my M. P. Lauretta). If you find...

Early Morning Winter Walk Footprints follow like a shadow as I walk Through early morning snow as white as powdered chalk. Dragon-steam appears with each expired breath Embraced by frigid-fingered air as cold as death. Crystal-laden dune grass bows beneath its load And ice-etched, frozen puddles line the frosty road....

  Three Thousand Years before Apple and Three Thousand Years after the iPad I carry in my knapsack poems by The ancient Greeks, the eldest ones, the best, The best of elders. They are still as spry As dolphins’ arcs beside Argosy’s quest. Lines wait within the safety of the...

apropos of 'The Threads' by E. Mantyk I fell into a radiant sleep; Thereon into dream and seeing: A paradise seemed me to keep; In its walls, the seeds of being. Thus thrown into this strange-sweet place, Sauntered I about, unknowing What ought I do with this rich grace Action...

. Though beauty also beckons there, Mt. Shasta’s peak projects severe, So from her panoramic view, Is cast a pall on me and you And everyone approaching here, Courage take but caution, fear -ing much to broach her topic light, On foot, on sled, by rail, or flight For space...

The Fate of Fine Art Too late to turn the clock back on fine art, Egregious oxymoron that it may Be called today, but where to find the start Of this, the slow beginnings of decay? For once we found our world inside the space That we saw bounded by...

Translation by Martin Hill Ortiz  Farewell to the Royal Gardens at Aranjuez by María Rosa Gálvez de Cabrera of Spain (1768-1806) Aranjuez: forest, rich with flowers, Through which the tangled Tajo glides, Within your thousand brilliant colors A meadow where my heart resides. And how your songbirds flattered me! I'd swear...

Mother of Falun Gong They said my mother would be back tomorrow, They said her smile would still shine proudly here, Her hand brush off the dreadful, bitter sorrow That manifests itself within a tear, But twenty years had faded like wan mists That glide and winnow on a brackish...

by Edward C. "Ted" Hayes   A Prefatory Poem (or a Gaggle of Goosefeathers) Some will judge this essai the exact thing it’s not – Distilled, unvarnished, contemned tommyrot For asserting mod poets’ sad lack of discernment And non-Sense of Craft – for expressing concern, meant To blow a loud...

  I like it, though it’s very dark; The firelight a fading arc Along the tree, whose ageing bark Shows day is near. I like it, but have questions yet: I do not know where this is set, And are they strangers? Have they met? Why are they here? The...

  Before the Darkness  a rondeau Before the darkness brings about the night and steals the world’s colors from your sight, paint all your memories in vivid hues. Let not the darkness be the path you choose. Nay! In your dreams, keep every color bright! You cannot halt the fading...

Let none dare call it beauty that commands Feigned praise from those whom fashion deems refined But deep revulsion from an honest mind Derided for the truth it understands: Inhuman, formless smears of artless hands; Cacophonies that screech, burp, rasp, and grind; Steel, glass, and concrete tortuously designed; And crude...

Today the Wind for Elizabeth Today the wind through winter’s unclad bones Drowns in its woeful howl my soul’s discant; Beyond, a distant hunter’s oliphant Salutes the dead beneath their frost-bound stones. Today the wind sweet music’s loss bemoans, No more to laud, beneath this canopy Of slate-grey clouds, thy...

Who Needs QU? It’s time to retire Q-U. K-W’s logical choice. What’s Q do that K cannot do? And U’s vowel that has its own voice. Inkwire why bother with this, A kwest to our language refine? It skweeze’s down alphabet’s list And generates kwaint little rhyme.   Purple Reign*...

  Of unknown age, the great oak tree, initialed with past loves’ decree; Now stands alone on village green, a witness to life’s daily scene. It was in spring, some years ago, when verdant leaves began to grow; Two lovers walking hand in hand, delighting in their newfound land; High...

Salesman of Salesmen Infectious spirit, everybody’s friend,Hypnotic and fascinating, a forceOf pushy power, broiling to transcendObjections fully, only to endorsePositions he defends until the end. A dragon slayer (real or fancy free),Dynamic challenge underfoot emblazed,Through every turn of life’s calliope,Perfecting imperfections freshly glazed. Impulsive danger feeds charisma’s fire—Creative vision sold...

  “Jingle Bells, jingle all the way” I sang to her to break the spell of what appeared to be her fell demeanor. Neither would she bray ‘in a one horse open sleigh’ “Hey!” but droned as if to undersell the joyous sense that all was well. She seemed more...

by Evan Mantyk As the border wall with Mexico that President Trump is building gains greater and greater attention, so too has the early 20th century poem, “Mending Wall,” by American poet Robert Frost. The poem takes issue with the old proverb “good fences make good neighbors,” which happens to...

    When I was young, I’d disassemble clocks So I could understand what made them go. With tools in hand, and pieces in a box, I’d wonder, and I’d look, and then I’d know. But lacking tools to take myself apart, I understand myself through what I’m told, And...

I start to age ten minutes out of bed, More fragile now but not yet dead. My son-in-law hovers round me when I walk In case I stumble as we talk. My daughter’s gift to me: a three-pronged cane Concealed within the quiche Lorraine. A stranger volunteers his seat to...

  Reinigeadal, Harris So many years ago it was, a child Tramped up from East Loch Tarbert’s rocky shore Across the peat hags underneath the wild And dismal sky that overhung the moor. No road could lead him thence, a mere track Between the heather clumps, it weaved its way...

Star Needles A star is just a bauble stuck on what We view as sky.  Lest it let winter in, We join sky fabric back together. When It makes a split, a slice of light slips through The center of each constellation, but The weave behind the moon where stars...

. The Preface to the Poems Composed at the Orchid Pavilion ( 蘭亭集序; Lántíngjí Xu), from the 4th century AD, is generally regarded as the greatest work of Chinese calligraphy. Although the Preface itself is not poetry, it introduces a set of poems and the Chinese language itself is especially poetic because...

  The Music of the Earth In walking home from church one winter's eve, I paused to hear the echoes down the street; The dead leaves rattled dryly on the branch And scraped along the sidewalk at my feet. But far beyond, another, sweeter sound Ran deeply, like a river...