Poetry

  A Great Divide "...to form a more perfect union" I walk to the edge of a great divide and I try to talk with the other side but they do not reciprocate they tell me that I'm filled with hate I stand at the point of no return and...

  I have been here before, when heaven cried, All my love and longing locked up inside, Where the green grass glowed in the falling rain, So why have I come to this place again? To the place where I laid that marble stone, Where I knelt and prayed and...

(All poetry by Bruce Dale Wise) The Filtering of English in Iran by Delir Ecwabeus "...nor did anything terrify the people so much as those encomiums on his Majesty's mercy..." -Jonathan Swift, Gulliver's Travels "To teach the English language is against the government," said Medhi Navid-Adham, head of state enlightenment....

  Beauties sashay across the sand Norma Jean look-a-likes hand in hand Times before bikinis and thongs Transistor radios blaring songs Sunny shoreline lush and palmy Simpler times when thoughts were balmy Marching bands roar oom-pa-pas Splashing kids chased by their Mas Black sedans line mile-wide beach Scores float by...

Whenever Terror Strikes Whenever terror strikes, wherever death enshrouds the land, its people live in fright of crowded places. Masses hold their breath. Perhaps another truck will crash tonight. We gather, hand in hand, for loss enshrined or hold aloft the candle's golden flame. The dripping wax upon our skin...

Where have the roses gone from my garden? Look how those left freeze in cold winter wind; Nothing I can do nor ask for pardon To save the lovely petals as they’re thinned. Here in the kitchen I gaze in dismay, Looking at the sky with kind entreaty; Hoping snowflakes...

Sonnet XLI - Gifts of the Magi A grander throne than Solomon’s of old, Though wrought of rough-hewn wood and winter hay, Received the royal deference of gold From one who watched a star, by night and day. A nobler incense, burning without end, Nor gathered from the bleeding of...

. . Winter Wore a Raiment White Winter wore a raiment white, Checkered blue as snow in shade, As he worked, amid the leaves, In the Autumn golden sheaves, Soon my season’s time will come, Ever cool and never glum, Winter wore his raiment white, Checkered blue he took delight,...

  Nature’s pillars, which have borne Earth’s breath for ages, Are now crumbling into dust... Still, more keep falling, Shattered by our storm of wants, as outer changes Echo those inside us, stirred by ‘progress’ calling. Man-made streams of poison look like serpents crawling Towards the oceans’ hidden realms of...

  The Exclusive Inclusive I heard about a tender troop, Whose commission was to give Love like a ministry serves soup; They seemed, oh, so inclusive. This sounded like the group for me; Yes, I wished to be aligned. To join, they said, would cost a fee, A small price...

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (born February 27, 1807 - died March 24, 1882) was an American poet of the Romantic period. He served as a professor at Harvard University and was an adept linguist, traveling throughout Europe and immersing himself in European culture and poetry, which he emulated in his poetry. Before...

  Lights The shining Santas smile in silver sleighs, With dazzling reindeer poised on roofs, midair; The phosphorescent elves stare in a daze, While shim’ring tinsel hangs from angels’ hair. The flashing lights, the lamps and laser beams Illuminate the buildings everyplace— The lights so bright they blind us in...

  Bemused “Polyhymnia would not lift her veil, All my attempts at sacred poetry failed, Calliope did not lend me her tablet, Epic poetry left me desolate, Terpsichore was sure, I could never dance, Curtly did she say, ‘not a blighted chance’ Her scroll's secret code, Clio wouldn't reveal, History...

  Listen to the voice that speaks within your heart, a whisper set against the roaring tide; softly calls the voice that’s set apart. The world calls loud and clear and smart. But what the world shouts is but a din; listen to the voice that speaks within your heart....

What chilly breeze creates a shudder and crimson leaves begin to flutter down, down like butterflies 'till barren branches reach the skies and herald lonely autumn cries amidst decaying clutter, then winter wends its weary way on through the festive holidays around, round the endless nights in search of precious...

A Rondeau The big corn field was gone today: A machine crouched amid the fray Like a locust after a feast Near the side road facing southeast— Likely to be gone by Sunday. The corn had turned from day to day Yellow-green to deep green array Then the pallor of...

. Vermont A white wood house defines the slope.  The trees Have gone to red and flame.  A field beyond Is spread with grass and granite rocks at ease. This stonewall pattern thinks it holds a pond, But it is free beneath October's sun, At least as free as anything...

  The First Funeral It is with wonder when I think Of Adam, Eve, no childhood grown, Standing before the living God, Alive with language, all words known. It is with wonder, then, to think They could – not taught by human tongue – Speak out and all the world...

  A Christmas Card A distant clang; here comes the heat To chase the chill from hands and feet! A steady hiss and many pings; The song our radiator sings To celebrate this Christmas morn The day that Jesus Christ was born! The windows now we see are dressed With...

  Snow’s candid praise bedecks St. Florian’s Gate As Sobieski passes on his horse. It is the Eve of Christmas, when men wait The changing of the world’s malignant course… Back in the octave of Our Lady’s birth, Whilst he prayed kneeling at Fray Marco’s Mass, The Ottomans yet held...

  https://youtu.be/dVnGlUaitiY   You hear the sound of carols from afar. Bright bulbs and tinsel, cinnamon and cloves. Beyond a hill of snow you see a star. Here you can look at stacks of Christmas trees, buy nuts and raisins, fruit from nearby groves, cards inscribed in gold: "joy, love...

by Annabelle Fuller John Keats (born October 31, 1795 - died February 23, 1821) began life as the son of a stable-owner, and ended it as an unmarried, poor and tuberculosis-ridden young man. Somewhere along the way, he managed to become one of the most beloved poets of the English...

  I should be asleep! But try as I might, I can’t help but keep Wanting to write. Not only deep Into the night, But till birds cheep . . And it’s all but light.   Monty Med is a 54 year-old driver who grew up in England, but he’s been...

  Sharp lightning stabbed the clouds and pierced a hole that scorched the greening branches down below. Sun, much aggrieved, beamed fingers through, and stole the sparking ashes’ phosphorescent glow. The clouds, distressed at what the lightning did, and wanting to conceal the dreadful sight, built thunderheads to form a...

In Fall I Set a Stone In fall I set a stone upon a stone, As autumn rain dripped tears upon the grave That marks the spot where lie my lover's bones; And wind tossed fallen leaves like rolling waves. A mourning dove atop a nearby tree, Alone in grief,...

  An Ode to the Indian Soldiers ottava rima Be choking chill or burning heat; be rain or sleet; thou're there O soldier brave to save thy brethren sleeping sound inland, sans pain. Thy eyes surveying every crest and cave; the crooked snowy paths and frozen plain; forgot a wink,...

for Robert Conquest I. Each day Naftaly greets a prison train. Two days ago: spies and reactionaries, yesterday: kulaks from Ukraine, this morning: counter-revolutionaries. Snug in his fur behind militia guards who hold thick water hoses in the snow, he looks at blue-lipped prisoners in cars, exposed to frost of...

Paperboys lack actual colleagues, but I was a part-time paper boy, and my mother, a part-time colleague. When I’d oversleep, or in bad weather, she’d rescue me from the steep daily grind. “Leave the bike home. I’ll drive, to save time.” That was all; guilt trips were not her way....

By Sam Gilliland The Poisoned Chalice Let he who lips me then beware, My potion’s more than honeyed mead, One sip, I shall your soul ensnare, Death conquers all, so take you heed! It is a foolhardy enterprise to embark upon a venture so obviously doomed to failure that the...

I Keep A Different List My neighbor counts his losses and his gains, but I keep track of raindrops when it rains; he makes note of coins and dollar bills while I am watching ants upon their hills; while he is in the office making money, I go out among...

The Great Living Hell On Communism Under the radar I fly Thru' an ever more darkening sky Thru' the smoke from the volumes that burned Thru' the silence of lessons unlearned Thru' the sound of the shattering glass Thru' the thoughts of the mindless I pass Thru' the dust of the statues that...

By Con Chapman Boston may no longer be the Hub of the Universe, but its Standard Metropolitan Statistical Area remains the undisputed capital of America in at least one respect—home of suicidal poetesses. The western suburbs, where I live, form American poetry’s Bermuda Triangle. Sylvia Plath, raised in Wellesley, took...

When Santa’s sleigh took to the sky, He saw a wonder by him fly: A Chinese Fairy dance on clouds And point to where there gathered crowds; A theater’s lights shone dazzling bright And beckoned him to veer his flight To see the face of those who’d seen The Shen Yun show’s...

  The Buds of Life On Nightly News I saw a sight obscene: A seahorse in embrace with cotton bud, Soon causing me to ask, ‘What does this mean?’ The answer came most clear, with numbing thud - Our oceans have become a rubbish tip For detritus abandoned in the...

  For Bishop Berkeley & for Madman Blake First, the wind; then, the waves; then the shore —but the Mind—yes, the Mind—long before. First, darkness; then, ignition; then the light —but Vision—yes, Vision—long before sight. First, nowhere; then, somewhere; then everywhere —each here—each there—like a visual prayer. First, the past;...

Any treatise claiming critical review of verse, whether in the widest sense, or, as in this case, the result of compressed choice, purely down to the author’s own consideration, I hasten to add, is probably deigned to fail as an intelligent summation of poetry penned by John Keats. That said,...

  Slowly yet steadily the heat starts to soar as the sun’s first rays glimmer in the east sky. With no breeze to cool down the forest floor the temperature reached an all-new high. Nothing stirred in the dry heat of the day and lions lay panting in the shade...

  Justice Rendered by Cal Wes Ubideer "Sanctuary cities help protect undocumented aliens." —"Weird" Ace Blues July 1st, 2015, Miss Kate Steinle had been shot. A single bullet struck her in the back, as there she walked upon Pier 14 with her father, San Francisco Bay. She died, killed by...

The silver masses rising in huge numbers, The ship alone upon the sprawling sea, The snores of men found tossing in their slumbers, And salt-tinged breezes shivering with me, The solitary voice of man to man, Confiding of their former selves, their wives, The things they learned, the businesses they...

The Morning Muse This time of day the Muses pass As rolling clouds and dewy grass, To see their handouts properly bestowed. How much I’ve felt and ever feel That writhing impulse in me reel When dawn's first grayer hues begin to glow. And if I had the craft to...