Poetry

  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...

I could but of thy outward parts compose A symphony of sensuality, Thy subtler habits then to serve as notes, Thy carvéd edges dictating the key. Then would I (perhaps) hold means tangible To prove thy beauty, past all shadowed doubt. Unlike base glass, that offers but one angle, Pure...

  The swollen hill is pregnant with the Spring, A promise of a resurrection day, A warm renewal, life in everything Is bursting forth like perfumed blooms of May And now it will be constant joy to pray To smiling God and look to a pale blue sky And dance...

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...

  She remembers the first time his hand closed around her fingers, the smooth skin of youth and a slight dampness like when he proposed. He loved her fragrant hand lotion, in truth, and he would inhale the scent off his hands hours later.  Years pass and dry wrinkles form as...

  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...

  The birch, the elm, the aging spruce Cannot restrain the restless roots Of saplings drawn to the silent sound Of brother’s heading skyward bound Youthful trees spreading their wings Dropping away childish things Until what was there is no more Like climbing marks on a young lads door  ...

Note: Years ago I read an essay by R.P. Blackmur entitled “Lord Tennyson’s Scissors” which cited Tennyson for saying that “he knew the quantity of evey English vowel except those in the word scissors—where each vowel is enclosed and made of uncertain quantity by two consonants.” I got to thinking...

  Progress We fill our landfills That we build sky high With electronic gadgets That we must all buy ... All in the name of Progress We cut down the forest And industrialize the farm We poison our food And do the land harm ... All in the name of...

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...

Haunted, by a recurring memory, Suffocating, where gladioli grow, Gaunt, with grief, heart stilled, ever passionless, Those dream-filled nights, devoid of charity, Make of slumber a fierce, eternal foe, With you, my love, a bride of bitterness. Thus, spectral songs echo after last light, Where hurtful remembrance always occurs, Oft...

  With sun seductive, blinding, thoughts of open rail reminding Of adventures held in albums, slightly faded, fondly worn; I departed with a vision magnified through time’s revision, Of idyllic destinations, perfect sunsets, youth reborn. But the way ahead, ‘though long, found no wonders quite as strong As those seen...

  To do no harm, no deeds with base intent, To this end we must teach the little ones The way of safe passage.  In lieu, so spent Time on a hateful road,  the train brakeman And teary conductor make the announcement. Ill-aimed conveyance fueled by malcontent, Some misfiring heart with broken cadence, Or sealed, shut mind.  Profoundly...

  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...

  Upon a winter’s evening, The sun sits out of sight, While all the stars are dreaming, I peer into the night. My footsteps slowly falling, The silence they do break. I hear a soft voice calling, A voice, a voice opaque. I bend my ear to listen. What do...

  Today I saw a little nest fashioned neat and trim, with plastic wrap, and grass and leaves entwined in feathered rim. What bird had labored to create a home so snug and warm and placed it hidden in a bush safe from wind and storm?   Kathleen Farrell lives...

  Row after row, steps rising from the river, Row after row, steps falling to the same, Rising, going westward, falling, coming – a game Words play on life; and life, a little later Shells the words all down, and leaves Just the strong impressions, firmly etched, Deeply carved, with...

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...

  The golden days of late October fade As bleak November’s iron skies descend. When tresses, like the leaden clouds, have grayed, We see our fruitful time’s approaching end. The sunlight that besieged us with its heat Now leans against the south walls, cold and tired. There is no empire...

  on a Maine mountain Here, my mind can cross the thoughts of birds; ___land on a summit’s fingertip or drift into clear blue until it's out of words. Nerves flutter in a teasing gust so soft ___I fall into the arms of starry spaces, my heart takes in the...

  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....

  The Morning after the Parade On the terrorist attack on October 31, 2017 Most cowardly violence No moment of silence Let’s pretend that all is well All that once mattered Now fallen and shattered Here in the Great Living Hell The bicycle path The parade of wrath Chilling the...

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...

Sonnet XXV: Ode to Autumn Of shadows long and light of rarest gold, Abundant bringer, harvester of land, Receive, O Autumn, as in days of old, This wreath of olive from a poet’s hand! I sing the praises of your crimson hue With purple lips that kissed your blushing wines;...

By David Gosselin The answer to the above question is of course no. Shakespeare and Dante are not dead because every true poet is immortal. However, much of our contemporary thinkers seem to be under the impression that they are dead, and that they are not as relevant and talented...

. “Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.” -Norman Maclean Ask not the earth, ask not the sky, Drain not the firth nor pester, pry, Strain not the stone, nor probe the airs, To gain what’s known, amid what’s theirs. Beneath the stuff, below...

  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...

Autumn Haiku The red squirrel flits From brown bark to golden leaf He is not gone yet   Winter Acrostic When cold winds blow and rain comes from the north In time, you see the days are growing short Now frost appears and creeps across the pane The crust of...

To Dawn by I. Warble Seduce I. Warble Seduce is a poet of Romantic leanings. Dawn is his paramour. 1. It's evening. An aroma of roses arises in the garden. Sunlit rays of gold enfold the myrrh and frankincense, a carpet under you, the best of days. Night lies down...

  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...