Poetry

Lamenting our Complicity in the Installation of Suicide Nets I met a “bum” outside an Apple store holding a sign which read: “I’m taking bets.” “On what?” I said. “On something that’d...

  "Breathes there a man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself has said, This is my own, my native land." —Walter Scott I saw this stolid man stand tall, and obviously proud. He wore a bit of...

A counter to a Walt Whitman poem When I first heard the learn'd astronomer explain his proofs and figures, and arrange the particles of this vast universe, I was excited; I was not estranged. I truly...

Chinese Cameo 1 Here’s a tale of friends and family— Near the founding of the CCP, Zhou Enlai and Sun Bingwen were friends, both Party members seeking sim’lar ends. Both heaved and puffed up...

  I hope your life will offer you new opportunities, that you will find contentment in the choices that you seize. Remember family's important. You can count on us, especially when the way of life...

  When snow arrives As long forecast, It sets a scene That does not last; But for the while Snow sits around, All else remains Transfixed, spellbound.   Jane Blanchard lives and...

For the Mid-Autumn, or Moon, Festival My Ford Explorer would ascend no higher: Stuck half-way up that driveway's first steep hill. 'Twas a December night so cold and dire, The truck, that old machine,...

  The Truth James Foley Stood For, a Ten-nos* James Foley, searching for the truth, a photo journalist, was murdered in cold blood by a masked IS jihadist, beheaded on a video in deserts of...

Untitled Savants like to arrange their stars and push their poets into piles: marble-misers who assign the jars according to the artists’ styles. They line them in their fusty den when they deem an...

There’s a wonder about it, the fragile beauty of lace. Many kinds for centuries have been important to own; one can go to Ireland, Flanders, from place to place— they’re in catalogs: Irish, Mechlin,...

There are a number of reasons for writing poetry, and alas they are not all good; for not all poetry is good, and indeed some ‘poetry’ is not poetry at all. This is not to denigrate anyone’s effort, but...

The Commissars Oppose Falun Gong They were old, had lost their youth, So, like the old, repressed the Truth. They fumbled, rigid in expression, So stiff – they lacked Compassion. Their purpose was...

In Rembrandt's scene of 1653, Aristotle Contemplating a Bust of Homer, there is much that we can see amidst that musty sett(l)ing of gold dust that balances upon the old and new, upon the dark and light,...

The Bored Knight A tired knight rode to his castle After a long day of hassle. He bowed to the land’s king, his lord, “My liege, I’m incredibly bored, I’m more like a stupid monkey Than...

The allegory of The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne isn't flawless; yet it is, in places, good. The A itself does signify adultery, able, and angel, as well as in the hornbook phrase, "in Adam's...

  Spring Haiku I’m optimistic; like a brand new tennis ball, everything’s chartreuse. The brook trout’s belly is like a sunset I saw; its stipples the stars. Papa bear’s...

I. The Tin Shant on the hill in Martinique is stoutly situated, unique in design, and built half a century ago.  Though stucco and cinderblock, we call it the Tin Shant due to a fine-sounding tap on the tin...

  A miracle, how else to say it then? At first, but ground, absolutely nothing there, A river meandering by, some cattle, gorse, Nettle and herbs whose use proved no sure cure. Then, as if by...

  The Glass Bottle Tree When the wind blows through, the tree shakes. The glass bottles tip their sunlight Over a stiff hearth of twilight; Sealing its glow as night awakes. Two silhouettes do...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tJQTF0bkq8s   The Funeral March of a Marionette is by Charles Gounod. The marionette's broken—dead— right off. The funeral procession starts off; it's D-minor....

  Currency of Compassion Throughout the history of humanity conscious coveting with eyes, insanity anxious and eager to grasp with empty hands a void in the beating heart, deviant plans rash,...

When the last candles smoldered on the funeral eve, And no echo of condolence rippled midnight silence, I rose in scented darkness and took my leave. December met me at the church’s door and raised my...

. . Fathers and Grandfathers When we see our Brethren bold, Reach the age called Growing old, Men grow thoughtful, mind afire, With the echoes of a Sire. Working, eating, drinking, they, Striding through...

I walked around the garden, and did think. If I had my own how would I create? With enclosed space I’d make myself here sit. Comfortably, and I could have tea and cake. From broad leaved plants a...

True to Nature Men take up arms to battle in the sun, anticipating minor victories won o'er valiant, steadfast foes who, if they could, would laugh and say our blades do little good as far as cutting...

The aspens are turning, my neighbor said. I went to see. Mostly gold, some red, They stood and whirled, their white trunks bare. A bright sheen (spun gold) filled the air. The whole big hill was turning,...

Originally published in The Epoch Times. LinkedIn's Censorship in China LinkedIn connects people the world over, Crafting a cozy café oceans wide Where people can sip with each other, Do business...

Poems from the Hungarian Poetry Reading 9/19/2013   Twenty Years Later By János Vajda (1827–1897) / Translation by Zsuzsanna Ozsváth and Frederick Turner Like snow on Mont Blanc's distant...

I left my gloves at the analyst's He called to say he'd found them Black, he said, lined with cotton Green, I said, lined with satin He saw them right, confound him Not the leather, a fine dark...

“Hello, again!” the sun does say when rising on a morn in May. “Thanks for the break,” replies the moon. “I need to go to bed quite soon.” The sun then bids, “Don’t fade so...

That distant bellow is merely a case Of west wind rushing through the tamarack In a race with itself to cliff and back, Far from the lake's quiet undisturbed face But for the waxwings' endless mayfly...

Imagine that you were lost in a wilderness and had to find your way out. Fortunately, you have with you a number of things, or tools if you will. In the first instance you have a kitbag, which is itself...

Some People Say Some people say that giraffes were petite and they grew their necks out to properly eat, or they were once dinosaurs who lost their wings. But I know God makes serendipitous...

Seasong I heard the wreathéd coral horn That Triton blew, and less forlorn Did suddenly I feel: I heard the sirensong afar I launched a ship and tracked a star How soon my heart did heal! I saw the...

On the painting "Le berges d'Arcadie" by Nicolas Poussin The rugged mountains in the distance stand beyond, above the three, young shepherds and the shepherdess, who gather round a tomb that they have...

At the Moment of Our Death At the moment of our death As we draw our final breath Should we not project a fear Of the prospect of not being here? The moment that closes tight The door of time, turns...

  Held on May 26, 2014, at Da Tang, in New York, participants read Tang Dynasty poetry, translated poetry previously written by attendees, and wrote poetry. Here are some of the...

Blue and Yellow Barn-Swallows She made a note to note when they arrived. It’s obvious whenev’r they fin’lly do. Over the cows they dipped and ducked and dived. “They have two houses; shouldn’t...

  Our ends and deaths sit with us all the time defining executioners and crime; and though we try to keep them from our door, many killings lie within the Law— are even processed as a human...

Coastal Shingle There, totem-stacked in paratactic charm, The words cascade: Hay.Shavings.Piglets.Straw. I had not sought a sign from Salt Marsh Farm, But since this was the only one I saw, I turned...