Poetry

  The Mirror True When all at once I seem to see you there I find I never knew you from the first When all that I once thought you seems reversed I wonder what my mind could so ensnare. How could I so mistake your every mood Give words...

By James Sale Poetry is a delicate balance of language that is prone to either too much yin or too much yang; or put another way, as the poet steers his or her course like Odysseus towards his true soul, Penelope, waiting at home, he must venture through the double...

  Spring O hallow tulip, flower of the spring, I cannot wait until the sun may bring, From out the earth your amethystine grace, Your smell, your pinkish shade, your tender face. For of your musky scent does bringeth glee, So come! My lovely spring, come gladden me!   The...

By Wilbur Dee Case | Edited by Kent Van May Now I can see why T.S. Eliot disliked Edgar Allan Poe's verse; Eliot was trying to write a different kind of poetry; and it is no surprise that, for Eliot, Poe was no kindred spirit. Yet it was unwise for Eliot...

  1.  The Man There’s a little village up north,     yet untouched by modern strains, Where plain folk in stilted thatched huts,     lived midst fields of yellow grains, Now the best known of this poor lot     was an aged but gentle souse, Who was hired to tend the five rooms...

In the Lotus Pose By Uwe Carl Diebes At first, he was uncomfortable in the lotus pose, but as he sat down carefully, his upper spine arose. Though startled where he found himself, he gradu'lly became relaxed, content, at peace, alert, like as a spirit flame. His inner being danced...

Unripe Deceived are we by the state of the skin, when overly reliant on our eyes. Of greater concern is what lies within, under the surface we find the true prize. A gentle squeeze applied to test the fruit, we learned the skill at a tender young age. In relationships...

William Shakespeare is believed to have died on April 23, 1616. Post your commemorative poems in the comments section or email to [email protected]. Remembering Shakespeare By Dusty Grein The Bard of Avon gave us many gifts. An actor, true, but he was so much more; A poet of renown and...

A Riverside Sonnet Under a tree and upon roots I sit, Drinking a forlorn draught of love’s sweet rhyme. Leaves fall and birds fly to distract my wit, For I’ve seen her not in so long a time! Days beyond counting are measured in years, Stretched out by feelings so...

By Damian Robin Quick, pick a good book of poems and let your soul soar. Or clip in your ear buds and listen to words by the score. Or rack up some speakers and loudly let rhetoric roar — it’s April, it’s Poetry Month, let poems take the floor. The...

. . Tahoe Plane On the above photo by M. Kirson Far above the lake I soared, Above the dock, above the shore, Above the rock, above the pine, Mid snowy cloud and engine whine. Below, the cafe - orange duck - Amid the forest, doe and buck, Composed in...

The Society of Classical Poets is pleased to announce the release of its 2016 Journal! Click here to purchase a copy. It is also available on Amazon. This year's journal is bigger and better than ever! In addition to the best poetry being written today in the English-speaking world, it...

Dear George, If only you were living at this hour, Day, week, month, year. These times are newly strange— Hilarious, but not. You had prime power To forge a nation, though within the range Of law. Good whisky and false teeth might help Us muddle through an age without decorum,...

Born at Constantinople in 1762 of a French father and Greek mother, André Chénier grew up in pre-revolutionary France and studied at Paris. Well-read, and enamored with ancient Greece, he is considered one of the last classicists in verse, and for his sentiment, a precursor to the romantics. He was executed...

A gray mid-March day: the bare branches lean across the blank sky. All colors moved indoors where my daughter and I play with her toys laid out on the rug: rattles, dolls, and trucks, nesting plastic bowls, a flock of yellow ducks. Shakily she stands, her tongue darting like a...

Storyteller We sit around the fire. The storyteller drones, until his words expire in silence like the stones. Primeval darkness frames the flower-yellow flames enlightening our faces. Like breeze-blown blossoms, we shift mutely in our places within the ring while he, as yellow flowers fail, resumes again his tale, which...

  The Clockwork Butterfly When I was a child, and my dreams were of gold I always believed everything I was told, My faith was implicit, my innocence pure And magic existed, of that I was sure. My old uncle Arthur was always in bed His twinkling eyes sunken into...

By Dusty Grein and Evan Mantyk “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe remains one of the English language’s most popular and influential poems since it was written in 1845. Much of this was Poe’s own doing, as he performed it quite frequently, and wrote many essays and commentaries on it...

 After Phoebe Cary, after Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.      Tell me not, in scolding shouts,     Education is an empty dream, For the brain is dead that doubts,     And things are not what they seem. Married life is real, earnest ;     Though one must not forget to learn ; Taken from love,...

The Rock Climbers By Cal Wes Ubideer I saw them climbing up the gray-white, rocky mountain hills, like any mountain goats, where over all the sunlight spills, so beautiful, so free, o, nature's booty draped in green, and up above a little pool of water, splashing, seen. What were they...

August 13, 2012 I dreamt last night of singing with Li Po. (Or is he now sleeping, dreaming of me?) How much we drank… The world all vertigo… He brought his ch’in.  It was life’s apogee. Yet thinking back, if he dreamt me before I went to sleep, what would...

Sonnet II The spark which lights my innermost desire,     whose flame burns fierce in Spirit and in vein, your blinding glory makes my heart aspire     to grasp the highest good one can attain. Of all the worthy joys that I could gain     from all the ecstasies of earth’s delights, I’d...

. Dunblane Cathedral On the massacre of sixteen children and their teacher at the Dunblane Primary School near Stirling, Scotland, March 13, 1996 LOVE’s light lost the bleak night breathes a black breeze of loss. The dread dawn dons dusk’s vale. “Is death dead?” the bells Ask across the mourning...

Roly-Poly Talking on the telephone, a mother missed her baby Wait a sec, I’ll go and check And call you back, Jack, Maybe? Walking down the passageway, she thought she heard a noise She slid a paw around the door And looked in on Her boys. She saw Bubs first,...

. . Metaphysical Mortar Between the cobalt and the blueGlean gestalt and sum of trueAll and each be more than sixWall and reach be more than bricks .   Photo by A Sclamberg & H Hall . . Tahoe Navy, cobalt, slate of blue,Bright and white and cold of hue,Bold...

Inspired by real events in China   Not that long ago in China, in a labor camp confined a Year or longer, I was sitting, making for a U.S. store Christmas tree lights meant for hanging, when there came an awful banging Like a phantom’s chains’ loud clanging—angling through the...

  A Fifteen-Year-Old's Response to Frost "This 'pome' don't make NO sense! What junk!" the scowling students muttered. "Two roads in the woods!" one hissed. "Such bunk"-- opinions rudely uttered. I quelled the urge to hurl my book. I said, "Can't you surmise what they might mean? Let's take a...

Transient I lingered along the sandy runway Hearing the winds blowing about; A tender voice from far, faraway, “Hurry, or we’ll be late,” calls out. I cannot tear myself from it all. “Wait,” I say, “Let me be a while For the seagulls call, the waves call And the call...

1.) The prankster's favorite home decor, Clockwise or counter, the choice is yours. Never eaten, found in bowls. Around I go, I'm on a roll. What am I? ANSWER   2.) A flightless bird, born in the east. I do not chirp, molt or feast. Stationery, at peace, unmoving if...

Horses Tell me what power hits the ground, heard a mile away, ear to mound? Earth’s tympanic membrane resounds; like kettle drums, the hoof beat pounds! Or what, when they run together, frightens every flight from feather? Deer run sideways and leave their young; minnows from shallow creeks are flung....

Shall I compare the CCP To a tragic Shakespeare play? For all the lies of history Unfold in China today. Good and evil set the stage, The last and final scene. But those who ‘gainst heaven rage Know not of the unseen. Greater forces are at play, Watching this tragedy,...

Apes or Angels Humans, some say, aren’t much more than an ape— A reasoning beast, quintessence of dust. Others believe we’re of angelic shape. Hungry for morsels, we scrabble and scrape, Leaving the tree to indulge termite lust. Humans, some say, aren’t much more than an ape. Yet not all...

  They tweet like a bird, have books of your face, and Kindle who? I can hardly remember which TV button to touch. I simply don’t understand how to google or text you, or send instant telegrams in seconds; it’s just too much! So, it’s better if I keep to...

  In China now are shadows forged from fire, a DNA pre-history. They cloud troubled villages, rice fields, goldfish ponds. Stones form, creating outlines with moving corners of such mild movements of peace. Finest threads link, form love that birth-screams, sucks air from smoke. This China has two hues, crimson...

  The journey back to your own true self Is not paved by comfort and untold wealth, But by finding the universe’s Great Law, Looking inside, and clearing what you saw!   Eddie Aitken is a director and trustee of Zhen Shan Ren Arts (UK), a UK registered charity showing the...

The Great The great are often shunned by their own age, While even the noble dead are sometimes mocked, And eras are damned when none who sees is shocked By scads of scorn spat on a sacred page. Today the sneering cynic’s deemed a sage. The door to love and...

Ode to a Soldier’s Wife I can see your tears are streaming, in the lamp light they are gleaming; How I wish that I were dreaming, and that duty hadn’t called. Through the wretched bars we’re kissing, as the steam train begins hissing And of all the things worth missing,...

Igor at the Kitchen Sink By Alecsei Durbew I saw him washing dishes at the sink. He stood against the smooth, white countertop, and tan, wood cabinet below his pink thick, stalwart legs—bull in a china shop. O, he was not Prince Hamlet at the court, but rather more Prince...

Counterfeit Martyrdom Evil terrorists 'round the world Reject God's law, "Thou shalt not kill." Minds indoctrinated, furled up in a cold and savage will! Real martyrs are the brave who die adhering to their faith and creed. Suicide is murder high in cowardice, which marks this breed. Vile murders indiscriminate...

Choice Now to change; rise to rearrange; fix buckled tracks; iron out the cracked strange. Time to take off the human make- up, look within and see beyond the fake: catch and count seeds in the air; mount heaven’s stairs; stay aware; stay calm; pipe fount- ains from seas; drop...