Poetry

Mycenae Passing through the lion-headed gate, years fall from her shoulders like heaps of old rags. Even in the innocent daylight, she clearly hears gory echoes reflected in time's murky mirrors and,...

Argument from Design God’s antelopes have eyes placed far to side And horizontal pupils, features they Employ to see wide spans and speed away From lurking predators they’ve easily spied. But...

Sonnet If I could choose to quietly slip away and make my exit while your backs are turned I'd do it now, why waste another day, after my time is up and all my books are burned? And yet the sun beats...

The purple snail (Purpura patula pansa) is found in the Mixtec villages of the Oaxacan Coast in Mexico. The inhabitants carefully bleed the snails and then return them to the rocks. But due to illegal dyeing...

The Playground The playground stands beside itself In grey, and waits upon the hill. The books are stones upon the shelf, Their spines are sealed against the chill. Still, the forgotten souls might...

Ballade for Trains They are no more, the whistles’ longing wails, Retreating like a stately, mournful queen. Where are the smokestacks that left fading trails, The blackened engine with its oiled...

At Rainbow's End At rainbow’s end, I looked for gold; And still I search, Alone and cold: The rainbow’s gone And now I’m old.   The Hooves that Thundered The hooves that thundered...

She swings huge plates and spins colliders, Shoots particles at stars to drown, (Slides coins from ears and tax providers Which wane and wax from head to gown.) She juggles charms, scales fractal...

Tipping Point In our millenium's first dozen years, they say we’re headed for a tipping point -- a disastrous sum of many fears when Nature herself will crash and disjoint. It’s not the Mayan...

By Julie Catherine Vigna Sonnet III:  Beginnings In bare and dusty feet she wields her broom With none save cat, and creatures of the light To break the days spent work-worn in the gloom Or...

Carrying a Torch for Rhyme Rhyming is out, some poets say You can’t express yourself that way For when you try for perfect rhyme With metered words and rhythmic time It’s writing to a metronome You...

By Loetta Meister   Virginity Tender petals Tightly curled Make a rosebud Not unfurled Tender hearted Little girl Petals waiting To uncurl Lovely woman Perfect rose Given to the Man...

Enough There is a God sized hole within the innermost regions of every soul. Its dark, and it is deep, its shadows are weeping with the gnashing of teeth. We try our vain restraints to fill its...

Chasing the Devil I’m losing sight of what I want. I’ve lost the things I need. Danger one step ahead of me, I can’t help but proceed. Why am I drawn to such a life that brings me to my...

By Neal Whitman The reckoning at end of day. Upon a bench two minstrels meet to split the payment equally. The reckoning at end of day. Some beef and stout for each in play. (The old guitar is known to...

A Cold Truth If Love can move mountains I could move the Earth My Heart as a fountain We would never thirst If your Heart were the Sun I'd never be cold Away, I would not run With you I'd grow...

Seed Pot Seed corn, broodmare, hen: Half the earth is green, half brown. Man must plan for planting in spring to live    off the land, must harvest the rain to nurture his young, must save...

Postcard Gallery Thumbing through glossies gleaned from countless trips – Old Master paintings, drawings, and prints reduced to four-by-six impressions – we’re induced to walk through pictures....

Below is an excerpt of the last ten stanzas of Lord Byron's ‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage,’ published originally in the 1810s. It may be read as an ode to the ocean, or perhaps an environmental...

Dawn Drums They march again to war, Sniffling, shuffling, voices muffled, Through dawn's uncertain door Youth and man, rich and poor, Through campfires' smothered smokes They march again to...

Villanelle Vows All that is in this delightful garden grows, Should happy be, and have immortal bliss.       Edmund Spenser, Faerie Queene, st. 41 Have immortal bliss. Bride and Groom:...

Street Idyll Calm is she who sits in white Because the source of her delight, Wherein the street relucts to sound Its violence, is so profound. Her subtle philosophic sense Of something new and near...

Poetry For The Common Man No wonder poetry won’t sell, Since authors write it for themselves; And most of it would fare as well On dark and dusty warehouse shelves. Such work is crammed with...

Into The Mist This shadow life passing away, mute requiem of falling snow, a prayer to end the mortal day; then to a far sweet place I go: to beating wings of startled heart, not mansions grand or...

By A. Michaelle Yarbrough The music of the crescendo plays so sweet As she moves across the floor so gracefully To a soothing gentle blossoming beat Her motion paints pictures of love lost...

By Damian Robin In view, he made a start. Filling up his cart, He flogged his horse apart And made a mess-age: "art." With few horse hairs of doubt He fanned his ego out, Used skills of nearly...

HEAR the sledges with the bells -- Silver bells ! What a world of merriment their melody foretells ! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night ! While the stars that oversprinkle All the...

By Xuanzang (Translated by Lan Hua) After unstinting effort Of the human frame To reach this mountain shelter Where a few words Suddenly discovered Exceed the poetic realm In a holy...

By Billy Cosby Tonight, whoever watered your fresh sky set the nozzle wide and the evening’s cheeks wear a dark blush with glimmering shoe-flies needling clouds away I hope for weeks because yours are...

(Epoch Times) - Torkom Demirjian is the president and founder of Ariadne Galleries on the Upper East Side. He has been a dealer of ancient art since 1972. Demirjian is known in his field for his sense of...

NEW YORK—News broke this week that Damien Hirst killed 9,000 butterflies to create his latest piece of warped modern art at the Tate Modern in London. Animal rights advocate PETA bashed the work saying:...

By Billy Cosby The Good Earth is frozen over, dogs, but you two are scalding kilns with glassy stares that beam out in stripes, striking Earth’s white cup: a mug glossy now with silver, icy cares. Um,...

By Damian Robin On a night-lit street, an empty pizza box Staggers against a wall like thrown-off knickers. Its flat and grey insides have darker shapes of grey, Tagged serrated cheese, and snagged...

By Catherine Tufariello Their shrieks careening dizzily between Delight and outrage, the students in the yard Are playing hard, Though they have little room and nothing green In their asphalt pen. ...

By Evan Mantyk Gov. Mitt Romney was absolutely correct when he declared that government subsidies to PBS should be cut. But he wasn’t right because he was paying lip service to some small-government...

By Aubrey Henderson The sweet silence evades me these long days, When I can close my eyes and hear God speak, Without words, He dissipates the dark haze, Occupying my being with the grand mystique. I...

By Michael T. Young Ice is the past tense of water, is verb condensed to noun, pure speed contracted to a stasis of glitter, a brief foam frozen in marble beads, the memories that can’t recede. It...

By Dan Skorbach The tired eyes have earned their time for resting The mind won't think and feet will move no more, And when the smallest pillow seems a blessing That's when the night is almost at your...

Poetry should be metered, because metered poetry is, quite simply, better than free verse.  This is for the same reason that realist art trumps impressionist art and that Baroque music trumps rock and roll...

By Chen Z'iang (Translated by Lan Hua) The orchids birthed Through spring And summer both Such luxuriant growth How can leaf Be so green Hidden and alone In the forest remote The vermillion...