Poetry

Translation by Michael Coy The Lake Thus, ever driven onward to new shores, borne constantly away, Can we never, in the Ocean of the Ages, drop anchor for a day? Oh, this beautiful lake!  The year has hardly flown, yet here am I, beside these so-beloved waves of hers. Here,...

Dedicated to far too many of my contemporaries, and they know who the hell they are. I. I am the perfect poet— I strike a dainty pose. I sniff the air for floral scent And elevate my nose. I’m not a coarse and graceless type Who spouts obscene derision. Instead...

  The fire waits with tiger paws on silent haunches by the hill, then mounts the rock with clinging claws, and contemplates the moment it will pounce—on sagebrush dry as bones, under a ghostly quiet moon, slink through tinder, stalking homes, and spring atop a shingled roof. In blazing orange...

Common Language I hear the music of the artist's brush Bruise with color the canvas' white, Feel the composers' fingers rush Across the keyboard into night To lodge clear notes in the blackest sky, Stars for some poor poet to ponder, For some sculptor to absorb and sigh While letting...

Transhumanism Somewhere about there’s a slithering sound of man’s enmity, causing excitement and casting the seeds of calamity, claiming enlightened revision of old postmodernity. Oh! But the thought is as novel as man in eternity. Lewis and Ransom have shown us to view the transhumanists in the same light as...

The Catholic Work Ethic I'll do as much as I am able __Before the sun has set. I doubt that I will run the table __Because I haven't yet __Achieved my full potential. There will be time to lie in bed When doctors have pronounced me dead, __And what is...

The Afternoon of Man Fourteen or so, one autumn afternoon, my homework done and supper hours away, I scuffed along on sodden paths bestrewn with yellowed leaves in woods where I’d once played. Perhaps it was the setting sun that grayed the air, perhaps a sudden chill just then, but...

  This evening of your festive day I pray _Oh Agnes, little model of the pure, _Oh girl with smiling eyes, and faith so sure: They won for you the martyr's palm this day. For neither threat nor coaxing in the fray _Of that heroic battle was to lure _You...

Moscow Zoo We saw the mass grave at the Moscow Zoo. A sullen man dug up a human skull Then held it high for journalists to view. Forensic specialists arrived to cull Remains and clues from this forgotten plot On which the zoo still plans to cage a bear. The...

. Sonnet II: Liu Xitong Liu Xitong (pronounced Leo She-tong) recently spoke on Capitol Hill about the persecution he faced in communist China for his practice of Falun Gong. Read about the event and his story here.  They strip him down, but cannot strip his soul. They splash on salty...

after the style of Petrarch The aching of your leave clings sadly, still And pangs of emptiness I lone endure But slowly I ascend towards love pure; The path of life lies stretched – a long steep hill. Becalmed, my spirit self its fears fulfil, And panic seeks to strengthen...

  These twain ephem’ral lives were fraught with woes When they, a boy and girl in morn of life, Defied their due inheritance as foes And chased a star-crossed love as man and wife. Belovéd by their family, kin and friends, To honest, faithful vow of love they swore; Walked...

On Ralph Vaughan Williams’ The Lark Ascending, a romance for violin and orchestra inspired by George Meredith’s poem of the same title (see both below). Past years of smoke and pain, a tune in ether flows Untouched, while spreading forth from inspiration’s spring: Swift crystal tones unite in winding flight...

Author's Note: This Sonnet, formatted as both prose and poetry, is written as a parody of James Joyce; specifically, his final two novels, Ulysses and Finnegans Wake. For the record, I number myself among the vast horde of readers who once made a sincere and determined attempt to read Finnegans...

A Poet's Prayer My words are lying, cold and still; reproaching me, their silence shrill. With emptiness, my heart they fill. Inspire me, Lord, if You will. Should You decide I'm past my prime I'm still so grateful for the time when, like a bell, my words did chime -...

(1976-1978) In Soviet Georgia, I feel linguistic shock. At first assuming residents speak Russian, I say Nyet, not Ara, igniting discussion of Moscow’s nagging, Russifying clock alarms, as predictable as tick and tock. Zviad says that now the constitution requires Russian for higher education— His dissident friends shout Ara! Ara!...

To Old Friends Around the bonfire, we were brothers who sang Of joys that are gone, and the flame turned to ash And blew on the wind to where endless stars hang In search of past embers that flicker and flash. How strange is the feeling of mortal life’s dance...

  Rosettes When seasons pause in moments cast, By visions of each flower’s past, The rose amongst all florae kissed, Appears within my dreams of bliss, As natures’ love for splendours lesson, Unveils a shape, with scents of heaven. Garden landscapes dressed in green, Hold rustic treasured scenes, serene, In...

The Odyssey, 21.388-22.125, translated with an eye on Homer's instinctively cinematic style. by Mike Solot The cowherd, Philoetius, quickly but quietly slipped out To fasten the gates of the courtyard. He picked up a rope He had seen on the porch—a ship’s cable made of papyrus— And used it to...

a sequel to “Let’s Take the Other Bus” Welcome, young friends, to this great university. I am your counselor, Dr. Diversity, here to advise you on all of your classes and campus life, brimming with fun and perversity. Visit our Safe Spaces in every lecture hall: personal havens from real...

Armed with Imagination Imagination armed this youthful knight— a plywood shield and sword of sapling wood created echoes in the neighborhood of backyard battles fought in fading light. Envision how we must have been a sight to see—a panorama understood by only we who fought each chance we could while...

  Poetry Today If elevated thought had ever beenThe least criterion of excellenceIn poetry, why should it then be seenToday as simply of no consequence?If rhyme was good enough for Shakespeare’s timeAnd rhythm beats in Keats and Chaucer, BlakeAnd Dryden why then, why is rhyme a crimeAnd rhythm a mistake...

Dirty Hands on Communism’s evil specter The evil specter’s dirty hands Have soiled the windows to the world. It’s smeared them with the blood and tears Of millions killed throughout the years. The evil specter’s vicious lies Have spoiled the children of the world. It’s pierced their brains, destroying faiths...

Shattered Prospects Pursued by every shadow,He rode the winding wayTo where his love lay waiting:Trunk packed for ocean stay.An owl looked on in silence;A wombat backed away -It seemed, no-one had noticedThe saddle-bag’s low sway. He wore a conscience heavy;More weighty than the goldRemoved beneath the nosesOf troopers bullet-holed.But one...

  You Poor, Unfortunate Woman Last Monday was a special day for me. You got that big promotion and the raise! I pity you, for now your life will be a rat race through a long, nightmarish maze. You’re doomed to spend that extra salary on nerve pills and work...

Arise, You Bones “Come, spirit, from the four winds, and blow upon these slain, and let them live again.” –Ezechiel 37:9 Arise, you bones of millions, scattered far, Half-buried, all forgotten, that remain From the red dragon and its blood-stained star, That crushed near half the world beneath its reign,...

Written on Two Tree Island The golden fingers of the setting sun bestow their last caresses for the day. Although this present day may be undone, the sun will rise tomorrow come what may. Now Fauna’s rich diurnal paradigm enjoys a frolic just before bedtime: A rowdy choir of geese...

Old Glory It’s just another job—another day At work in dismal districts of this world. She sorts out shapes and strips of cloth unfurled; Enduring cruel hours for paltry pay. And having fitly threaded her machine, She swiftly stitches stars upon the field; Then stripes, by color and specific yield;...

. . The Demosthenian Literary Society The nobler and loftier days, gone by, The auld lang syne of the decades that fly, The vast contemplation of time and of space, The fast moving spirits of truth and of grace, The panes in the windows were wavy and old, But mainly,...

Letters We Wrote dedicated to Diane Fournier Across the months of summer and the states, We wrote our lengthy letters, wrote our lives – Descriptions of our summer days and dates, Each to our mailbox drawn like bees to hives. We wrote our girlish gossip so that we Might keep...

  Allow for growth; dig wide—but not too deep. Add soil amender to the raw red clay. Remove the rope. Take burlap bag away. Surround the root ball, mulch and go to sleep. And as the roots unfold and slowly creep, you’ll dream of branches long that lean and sway....

The Great War The world abruptly shattered Colossal was the war And of it’s better victims The gentler arts of yore. Such shards of glass, well scattered, Across the global floor As rhyming verse in meter To coalesce no more. Yet now and then a fragment May briefly glint and...

Sancta Dei Genetrix by Joseph Charles MacKenzie Pure Mother of divine Simplicity, Being-in-Himself now slumbers in thy creche, For, thou hast tightly wrapped Infinity In swaddling clothes and thine untainted flesh; Perfection’s Prince, the self-subsistent One, Is rocked within the cradle of thine arms; In Him we see God’s Word,...

Happy Holidaze Our holidays we sanitize. They don’t offend or stigmatize. In fact we made them squeaky clean, but what, by jingle, do they mean?   The Nutcracker: Waltz of the Flowers * A dewdrop sparkles on the rose __but for a moment, this she knows. Breathtaking poise transcending time—...

  They look at you with contempt and sneer, A haughty air permeating there. "Equality" is their pernicious cheer; Floating up high on corrupted air. To battle for the poor, a masquerade, Feigning to forge and dig the ditch. Media to bolster their charade, They scheme to materially enrich. And...

The angler knows the stream, exactly where to cast the line. The fish in turn suspects what offers food disguises danger though it's urged to search the spot. The two engage in grueling fights, dead baits don’t care who dies. The eagle soars above the peaks, from there the glen...

  I read that Christ said: “Turn the other cheek,” And told good friends I held that notion, but Still wondered if that turning made me weak. The answer didn’t seem to be clear cut. “I’ll show you weakness,” said His voice, “Just see What blood Red China’s done to...

Heart Bleeding heart, a kindly soul Drives demand, you give your gold, Not for the cause they imbue, Guilt sequestered deep in you. Heavy, heavy, heavy heart: A joyous life's counterpart You’re undone by whispered words Hearing darkness over heard. Faint of heart you’ll always be Overwhelmed, harsh tyranny, Cautious...

Translated by Jarek Zawadzki Upon the New Year's Day no fragrant flowers came out, Not till the second month did buds begin to sprout. The snow humiliates the spring for being late, And sprays white petals in the garden all about.   Original Chinese 韩愈 《春雪》 新年都未有芳华，二月初惊见草芽。 白雪却嫌春色晚，故穿庭树作飞花。   Jarek...

  The Chinese Bill of Rights In China, laws regarding human rights May keep a simple man awake at nights, Suspecting that a Mand'rin guten Morgen Might mean the harvest of a vital organ. Old Adolf Hitler would have found his equal With what's played out in this Far-Eastern sequel....