Poetry

On a Bereavement I Mourning Sickness Can anybody say how long it lasts, This numbness that deceives while it relieves The harrowed brain? My senseless state contrasts So markedly with that of he who grieves In honest but conventional display, In typecast manner, equally sincere, But may I say, the...

  20 January 2020 My father died, just yesterday, and mom About a year ago; I’m filled with grief For things that were not, might have been, and now Will never be. I’d felt that death would spare My heart—at most I’d shed some tears—but oh! The pain of what...

  From Some Nightmarish Vial a villanelle by Evan Mantyk Did it emerge from some nightmarish vial? Is it a weapon meant for killing us, Like marching microscopic rank and file? If so, it’d sweep a nation mile by mile; The source is hard to trace, that’d be a plus....

  On TV, I saw them kneeling __Before their golden cow; Mere worshippers of a flimsy feeling __Desecrating a vow. They’ve never knelt in battle’s fire __Nor bowed in a foxhole; Yet, proudly they display their ire __Spitting on the flagpole. True, you can’t offend an object, __But symbols get...

  The days we choked on rage and fed on tears, that lit my guts with deep and purple flame— but when they go, I wish they still were here. Standing in line for bread, I feel it sheer: the hunger, without eating, eats my frame. Days that choked my...

  In a time long ago, where the high myrtles grow, Lived a tribe of the Bellenden Range. While below, on the plain, in their tropic domain Lived a tribe known for hostile exchange; They had hatchets and spears, paint from eyebrows to ears, And a sliver of bone through...

  Icy, biting breezes cut like knives; Sea-spray wave crests crash upon the shore; Silent, unseen clam and crab life writhes, Buried neath the surf’s incessant roar. Winter beach grass, windblown, stiff and dead, Flagellates the backs of dune and rill; Scratch of sackcloth, ashes on each head; Penance for...

  Through barren fields, beside the ruins of man, The sunlight hardens stains of blood and gore; Macabre deeds that years ago began, Their horror still would haunt forevermore. This open graveyard 'round whose ghastly dread, The trembling air is scared and scarcely moves; A mother somewhere weeps for children...

  I have been bid into the House of Song To merry-make at Inspiration’s fest Alas! I fear my raiment would but wrong The stately host and every lofty gest! See there the orphrey wrought with glinting rhyme! The ragmas* styled with metaphors of gold! Here flows the baudekin of...

                                      Amy Foreman hails from the southern Arizona desert, where she homesteads with her husband and seven children.  She has enjoyed teaching both English and Music at the college level, but is...

translated by Leo Zoutewelle To you my word will be reproached as lie, Maliciously: “who left you so maligned, In vain are all the days in which you pined For him who cheated you and made you cry.” But I have weighed your virgin heart before And know your strength...

  The 50¢ Army by Lu "Reed ABCs" Wei The Chinese Communist regime, has recently dispatched some 1600 online trolls to stifle and to catch. The censors want to stop all sensitive materials, especi'lly those relating to coronavirus tales. The Chinese Communist regime does not want bloggers to blog stories...

Natural-Born Jeremiah 17.19 I am a liar, natural-born. I find it more convenient to equivocate or stretch the truth, than to accept the fate truth might impose. What’s more, I am the kind of person who will take the credit due to others, tarnish your good name, or steal as...

  A Truly Perfect Love My fingertips caress your hair and I no longer have a care about what happens in this mortal plane. I lay you down upon the bed and then I gently touch your head and you surrender love to me again. I feel your tongue from...

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TQ6QuvFS068    

Aranjuez (ar-ON-wess) has been one of the estates of the royal family of Spain. It is near Madrid and the Tajo (TAW-hoe) River flows through it. The Fountain of the Thorn includes, as its centerpiece, a bronze statue of a young boy removing a thorn from his foot. This is...

  Five Rivers to Cross I sat down by the river Styx to wait upon Phlegyas, ferryman of old, among the uninterred who congregate and those who do not have a coin of gold. The boat arrived—I did not hesitate, but climbed quickly aboard, and acted bold. Traversing this River...

  By lamplight through the long night hours, he kept his vigil by her side, His love still fresh, though wilting flowers adorned the room on every side; He would not give her up for dead, but tended her with loving care And would not leave, though many said it...

  Poland Brave nation, strong and proud you stand, a Boulder in the stream One nation, people hand in hand, who’ll rob you of your Dream? Though much withstood, still more to stand you’ll see in coming days; Yet you will match this new malaise with brilliant new displays. Once...

translations by Alan Steinle Translator's Note: This poem (“Tres cosas”) was originally written in Spanish by Baltasar del Alcázar (1525-1606). I have translated the poem into English and have retained the abba rhyme and the eight-syllable lines.   Three Things I’m a prisoner to all these, and I’m as happy...

  To Whom It May Concern Who writes letters anymore, and in verse? I don't care whether you like it or not. I suppose I could have phoned you, or worse— dropped in. I'd be putting you on the spot. You're just like everyone else nowadays, no face to face,...

O, Where Is Love? by James A. Tweedie O, where is love? You’ll find it in the pain _That binds a mother to her newborn child; _In bitter-broken friendships reconciled; _And in the kiss of lovers in the rain; In being kind and offering a smile _To hardened hearts too...

  I thought and thought of pride and pride began to grow and over-ride my common sense until I thought the thought itself was what I sought— nor could I sense the meaningful sense that I, a common fool were trapped in blindness of the self (it's not a road...

by Michael Curtis | excerpted from Occasional Poetry Tradition grows from wisdom, from the accumulated experience of millennia; in poetic practice, our classic tradition grows from the craft of Ages. Change is slow, development slower; five-hundred, six-hundred, a thousand years might pass before language, our language, Shakespeare’s language becomes to...

  a rubaiyat Step gently O' my boy, this 's your first day... light-footed sweet and slow... on sinking clay. A farmer's school, this paddy field O' son, this's where you read and learn a yeoman's way. Ye bow to the earth and take her benison. Here she's the text...

  a villanelle The mortal eyes in time shall wilt away, as fast as breath retreats its kiss from glass, but delight they will on the endless light of day. We never had enough of dawn’s array, of green of grass and blue of sky which pass. The mortal eyes...

. Uncle Joe's Last Stand “Lying, dog-faced pony soldier!” Blurts out Biden, as he scolds her. Eyes unfocused, can’t walk upright; Goes not gentle into that night. Mind adrift, his brain a rebel. Voice reverts to childish treble. Conduct strange and unbecoming. Dentures loose---he’s always gumming! Barely holding on to...

  Bongo, bongo, bongo, I don’t wanna leave the Congo, Oh no, no, no, no, no! Bingle, bangle, bungle, I’m so happy in the jungle I just don’t wanna go! —Danny Kaye and The Andrews Sisters, 1947 The Vatican is dull and dreary— It leaves me out of sorts and...

  The Absolute and Relative Argue with repartee: Ultimate One or Ground or Truth, Or relativity? Through the Hubble’s stupendous view, Ancient galaxies flee— The Relative accelerates Into infinity. But science cannot form the lens For Relative to see. The Absolute stands fixed in place And holds the master key....

  The Park Northern pintails brushing blue, the crescendo of their wings, weaving windsong into words some say that, “Up jumped spring.” The rising sun, through veils of dun, atop a pool of glass with flitting beams, does bend the streams to cast a liquid brass. Children fashion cradles, and...

  Ilaria Del Carretto was the second wife of Paolo Guinigi of Lucca. Her sepulchre lies in Lucca’s Duomo San Martino and the tall Guinigi tower has a garden in the sky and is crowned with holm oak trees. Her image wears a mantle and pelisse. Many have come to...

  The Problem with Socialism Upon Reading Charles Murray's Coming Apart Some sit on clouds and moonburn as they dream, Skin blistered pale by light of mirrored beams, And snuggle with the shadows where they loom, Unmindful that the waking hour brings doom. High minds cement high parapets with mud,...

Li Wenliang (1985 - 2020) by Dr. Weslie Ubeca Li Wenliang, an ophthalmologist, worked in Wuhan; and when he saw the new coronavirus coming on, attempted to alert the public to the dread disease; but he was quickly silenced by the Wuhan thought police. Li Wenliang, December 30, on WeChat,...

  Part 1 I wished I’d had a shotgun as I looked out of me window To level at the woman and the lad. They’re strolling up the dirt track of me driveway, jumpin’ Nora, A Sunday morning. God, it made me mad. God-botherers, I’m thinking, or tourists who’ve got...

A Child’s Winter Inventory Winter ‘87-’88 Twittering birds; Chattering teeth; Snow coats the trees In an icy sheath. Glittering snow, Bone-chilling breeze; The frost seeps in; Things begin to freeze. Fluttering scarves; Skaters on ice; I think that winter Is really quite nice.     To Winter December 16, 1994...

  While walking through the Grand Bazaar In Istanbul, I came upon A man whose name was Al-Jafar. His friendly face was thin and drawn, A misbaha* was in one hand. And in the other, a Qur’an. He stood within his vendor’s stand Surrounded by Venetian glass And pottery from...

  Two Mistakes is a drama-length poem in metered verse for which I won second place in the Tom Howard / Margaret Reid Poetry Prize. The full work is posted here. It is based on Shakespeare's A Comedy of Errors. I transplanted the location, beginning it in the 1820s in...

Bring On the Leeches A condition called aspergillosis, And a touch of marasmus as well, Was the surgeon’s succinct diagnosis. All my innards were hurting like hell, And he told me that nothing he did Stood a chance of improving my grave Situation. I slipped him a quid Then requested...

The Best Poems of 2019: Winners of 8th Annual International SCP Poetry Competition Thank you to everyone who participated! It was an epic year with an incredible number of exceptional poets contributing their talents. As we've said before, everyone who takes part in this competition, which is reviving the precious...

Thank you to every one who participated! The quality of the high school poems submitted this year was stunning.    First Place ($100 Prize): Luke Hahn, twelfth grade, homeschooled in Waupun, Wisconsin "Victus" "To a Murdered World" Second Place: Erin Jeon, tenth grade, University High School, Irvine, California "Twilight" Second...