Poetry

For Bill Horn Send up on wings of blood our fathers’ cry, Though the unhearing dead brook not your sound, And flesh yet binds us to the groaning ground, Release your paeans to the boundless sky, And let your vibratory voices fly Beyond the veils of earth, above, around! O...

At night I hear Prokofiev and Liszt and dream of playing baby grands as sly Euterpe lures me towards the melodies of pianists. My fingers cannot meet the demands of Mendelssohn’s complicated chords; they dance instead atop computer keys and feign the sleight of Mozart’s hands, fluttering like hummingbirds, composing...

Theological But there’s a God, white-knuckled, jealous, His heart an anvil, and his mind a bomb. Take the crew of The Indianapolis,* Torn limb from sculling limb inside a storm Of sharks. There is no sleep within that slick Of blood, only that gray mumbling that turns A prayer into...

Sonnet I: Liu Haixiao Mr. Liu Haixiao (pronounced Leo High-shaow) is serving a 16-year prison sentence in Jilin Province, China, where he was arrested for tapping into the local TV network to broadcast programs that debunk state propaganda demonizing Falun Gong. He has been given opportunities to walk free contingent...

A rhupunt A modern place that maintains grace a safer place for all who come The airplanes fly the city sky the mountains high you're never numb never alone away from home in temples roam to gods you'll hum No silenced love no eyes above a place free of dictators...

I. As clear blue symbols dance before my eyes, And I lie still, my head upon the ground, Each part of me, in dappled sunshine crowned, Wants formal shape in selfish compromise, And hides itself in Nature’s rich disguise – I watch my youthful fragments form a mound Of former...

  You Decide Some know me as Destiny, The weaver of the cloth of Time. Although my looms are never stilled, They say I choose how high you’ll climb, How fast you’ll fall, how great your name; I am the ruler of the game. Others think of me as Fate....

By Con Chapman It has been a little more than eight years since poet Rachel Wetzsteon committed suicide at the age of 42 following the end of a three-year romance. At the time of her death Wetzsteon (pronounced “whetstone”) was the poetry editor of The New Republic and a faculty...

12/03/17 Of all ye gods, that crown Olympus high, Who yet remains that man’s not brought to heel? When aircraft daily pierce great Zeus’s sky, And Neptune’s depths have long since been revealed. Alas, the greenhouse did Demeter in, And eBay showed poor Hermes to the door; Now Hestia runs...

  Within what hut, My woodland maid, May I remain awhile? Next what fire may my chills Be warmed? Be there A path that leads Past stony piles and tells Us not to walk alone? I do not think, My woodland maid, Deep sleep my dreams will find; Nor will...

  You caught me staring at you yesterday, or so it seemed, for you—you smiled and blushed and all your girlfriends giggled in the hushed and stilted silence of the lecture. They had to have seen me staring your way too, slackjawed (old love has always been a child), transfixed...

The Day the Poetry Died Wonder why poetry is in decline, While not ever writing one lyric line? There is no experience more perverse, Than self-indulgent poems in free verse. Your pain, your angst, and existential doubt, Pretension endured day in and day out. Deep thoughts, believed you’re the first...

After Joachim du Bellay’s "Les Regrets LXVIII" I hate the Florentines' foul avarice, I hate lewd Sienese profanity, I hate Geneva's glib duplicity, I hate malign Venetian artifice, I hate whate'er Ferrara does amiss, I hate the Lombards' infidelity And Neapolitan diversity, And lazy Rome's loquacious cowardice. I hate how...

The neologist bakes the cake, The iconoclast shreds the recipe Deems the structure all a fake, But powerless against euphony, Leaves empty gestures in his wake. Arthur Lamar Mitchell © 2017   Arthur Lamar Mitchell has a recently completed novel – ‘A Grotto in the Sea;’ Poetry set to music...

  The unchanging moor, but heeds season’s call To don her different well-coloured weeds, My heart is cold, left lonely; waterfall And bright babbling brook, pretend their proceeds Quell the vast sorrows of this tranquil scene, I feel unsure; their songs, certainly sweet, Are not for me alone, my wise...

The Cymbal Player As bows and fingers quiver strings, as lungs and lips whip up the air, as notes soar on great falcon wings, one player, seated in his chair like a finch hid in a maple tree, as if the creature wouldn’t dare trill out above the symphony (perhaps...

by Lew Icarus Bede "A sonnet is a coin: its face reveals The soul—its converse, to what Power 'tis due: Whether for tribute to the august appeals Of Life, or dower in Love's high retinue, It serve; or, 'mid the dark wharf's cavernous breath, In Charon's palm it pay the...

  Self-Love Some tenderhearted people claim We’re deficient self-esteem; Yes, a collective sense of shame Made despondency mainstream. While gloom and sadness are the rage, I suggest the torment of Depression in our present age Arises from self-love. Narcissus so adored his face It became his food and drink. Of...

Wordsworth’s Lament I wandered lonely as a cloud—Oh dear! I watched the dance of daffodils—Oh my! When on my couch in vacant mood I lie I feel their wealthy fluttering draw near. I see them toss their heads like twinkling stars; A sparkling, sprightly, jocund company. I gaze, I gaze,...

  The toys we buy at Christmastime (The decorations, too), Don’t come from elves in Santa’s shop, As we’ve been told they do. The “Made in China” label can Be found upon these wares, And points to one of modern man’s Most scandalous affairs. They’re made by Chinese workers in...

On the occasion of his birthday, 160 years ago, on February 27, 1848  At the Solitary Age of Twelve—Seven and Twelve Being Holy Numbers The first of seven early music books Reveals a boy methodical as Bach. He studies Bach’s first 48. He looks In detail, analyzing. “Let us talk,”...

  Budding darkness, in your starkness, void of noise and light, deliver me from what I see ’fore day turns into night. Guide me through the peaceful sea of dreamers far and wide, as welcome shores reopen doors to once-untarnished side. I yearn for trees and tranquil breeze; rich emerald...

  Living with Omnibenevolence Each one of us is furnished with an expiration date, And no one living has the power to elude his fate. There comes a time when every living creature has to die, But some will rest beneath the earth, and others in the sky. The latter...

Confucius Institute Workers (Excerpt) For Xinqun Note: Confucius Institutes are being or have been set up at major universities throughout America and the West. Their primary stated goal is educational, but they are also pushing a communist agenda from the Mainland. In cool grey shadows of the red brick walls...

gone the time for finding fault for finger-pointing and assault frantic now the SOS our ship of state is in distress taking water, sinking fast this call for help may be its' last mastered by a crew of fools as kids are slaughtered in our schools shamelessly the talking heads...

It’s a vicious process, sonnet writing. It seems as every time I near the goal a syllable or rhyme eludes me, rendering my poetry somewhat droll. I feel empathy for those who struggle and a growing sense of hate for masters, those who can weave such beautiful meaning into these...

He that hath ears to hear, let him hear. The misreporting of great Caesar’s death Errs by one gross omission. We’re not told That when conspirators bared blades to strike, Caesar’s well-practiced military eye Glimpsed the quick flash of metal. He reacted As any soldier would, and cried aloud “Why,...

This life—O, how much more of it remains? The night is brief. Toward those short trees, we saw a bird, descending with our grief. Chris Hixon, Aaron Feis, Scott Beigel vanished in the day. Luke Hoyer, Meadow Pollack, Carmen Schentrup went away. Helena Ramsey, Alex Schachter, Jaime Gutenberg: alas their...

Which Is the Grandest Name of All? Which is the grandest name of all? Churchill, Churchill, Churchill! Winter sere or crimson fall Churchill, Churchill, Churchill! Who held bold freedom’s flag so high Who gave brass tyrants all the lie Who forged in us the strength to die? Churchill, Churchill, Churchill!...

“But it was not pleasant to fire at the back of an unoffending individual…so I let him alone.” —Major Patrick Ferguson, British Expeditionary Force What if it had been a different man Scouting along the Brandywine that day Near Chad’s Ford, where the fleet-flowing creek ran Wide through the wooded...

Tonight, I saw the moon Stalking me, watching me Hiding surreptitiously. She knows I know she's there She knows I do not care Reasons for and reasons why Curious, bold, or wee bit shy, A game, perhaps she feels So silently she steals Tonight, I saw the moon.   Jordan...

There once was a girl named Shelly. who bought a pet fish by the deli. But to her surprise, with fear in her eyes, she saw the fish dead on its belly.   Annie Acho Tartoni is a student Mercy High School in Farmington Hills, Michigan.

Insomnia Many's the night I lie in bed with words to write that fill my head. They twist and turn and jump and shout. Oh how I yearn to get them out! So off I go into my den. With lights turned low I lift my pen. At last I'm...

She sits in thoughtful silence, chin in hand, That old blue skirt hem covers her thin knees. Gazing west, the sunset’s  silvery bands Lengthening shadows from the maple trees. The porch needs paint; its steps are all adroop, The lawn is overgrown with Queen Anne’s lace. The whole world passes...

Fenghan Gao was an outstanding artist of the Qing Dynasty (1644-1912 AD). He had profound wisdom and was multi-talented; he was good at writing poems and good at painting, especially landscapes and flowers. He was also good at seal carving. The famous painter Banqiao Zheng’s many seals were carved by...

  I fear no more the settling of the night Or mind its grey, evaporating shades; Mine ears are deaf to time’s lost serenades, Mine eyes content with thy soul’s loving light. Thy morning’s halo puts the stars to flight, And warms me in its luminous cascades; And though the...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rjc_6R0ang8&feature=youtu.be   It was once thought that swallows wintered on the moon, or morphed into field mice beneath the autumn swoon of clouds, or slept beneath wavelets on the floor of shadowy ponds and lakes until the sudden lure of springtime roused them from the kingdom of the dead. Early...

. by David Bellemare Gosselin Today, seldom is Edgar Allan Poe's voice heard as it's drowned out by the popular notions of Poe as some sort of deranged man whose stories and poetry are simply the product of his own sick mind. The myth of Poe as some sort of...

  Like feathered tip of swooping sparrow Our kinship cuts like that of arrows A brother’s love has weakened me I’ll take the slice, so brother be Shivered dreams of days that past Rivers gleam to drown mine fast Our friendship sank and swept to sea I’ll learn to swim,...

In another lifetime I was William Blake When I saw his work That was my take He wrote about love And the human heart I thought I was him Right from the start He wrote about London Tiger burning bright His influence looms In whatever I write He wrote about...