Beauty

. Poetry Is Warfare A poem is the writer’s battle pleaAgainst asceticism’s barren call.Truth and beauty (air that poets breathe)Needn’t acquiesce to Adam’s fall.A poem with its structure, verse and rhyme,Artistic language and clandestine senseIs no old-fashioned claustrophobic crime.Formal verse is part of the advanceOf a culture that will grow...

. Today My Brown Sedan Is Two Today, my brown sedan is two, But I behave as if it's twenty, So freezing by a showroom's door, I scan the models—new; aplenty. And busy with an old dollop Of mud, there goes my niece of seven. I wonder how she finds...

. To a Cicada So, welcome back, you ancient thing! Some time ago, your tribe took wing; But here you are again, my friend, These summer nights with me to spend. Some may have thought you'd left for good, But you've come back---I knew you would!--- To comfort aching hearts...

. The Harmonies of Holst While doing errands, driving roundabout, I listen to the classic music station. An orchestra plays a courtly lyric song. What can it be? I know it well, but how? Perhaps a ballad handed down through ages? I miss the tranquil host’s informed announcement, but hear...

. . They Say Somebody Said This; It Must Be True! Some people love to share with you news they’ve been told, but may not know all juicy details. They’ll ask, “Do you know more stuff? What have you heard?” You’ll say, “Now don’t repeat a word. Here’s what I...

. The Figure Skater Across the frozen way, stamping, sprinting, faster as hurried steps display something that she'll master her body starts to sway faster, ever faster. Wind and its turbulence eddying over her shoulders, she's steadying only the gesture she's readying with a final glissando away. . . Missa...

. Before Checkmate “Tis all a Checker board of nights and days Where Destiny with men for Pieces plays: Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays, And one by one back in the closet lays.” ― Omar Khayyam We pawns, bishops, castles, and leaping knights Assume we have free will,...

. At Dorr Point Our far too brief excursion about to cease,We walked the woods to Dorr Point—one last partingImmersion in resuscitating peace.But what we witnessed at trail’s end was startling:Jangling restless roiling commotion, wildJostling spit wave chops smacking granite blocks(Compass Harbor’s usual calm beguiled).Delighted, you danced across perilous rocks.Evidently,...

. Selling Short The winter wind’s a shot across your brow, An addend to the sense of deficit You wrestle with inside the here and now. You’re happy only in the preterit Or future tense—because you hate the cold And you believe a sleight of handy grammar Can save you. ...

. Out Walking I hear the heath alive to free A heart from hearthside reverie, _And with my rambling feet __Start out in stealth, Intent on sunnyside-up health _And daybreak flurry fleet. Let’s shake suburban dust from skirts, Stride gently when a sore knee hurts, _And circling our domain __Of...

. He Who Was Omnipotence, omniscience __and there’s omnipresence too. If you possess those qualities, __there’s nothing you can’t do. Be here and there, both now and then, __while acing each exam. And when you introduce yourself, __you’d say call me “I Am.” You’d be in tune with everything, __regardless...

. I Never Do a Happy Dance I never do a happy dance, Or look online to find romance, Speak my sentences upended, Or keep saying I’m offended, Check my email every hour, Never seeing tree or flower, Drink my coffee on the run, Keep myself out of the sun....

. View from the Beach after Robert Frost’s "A Cliff Dwelling" Here hazy seems the azure sky and azure seems the hazy sea. One lone gull lends an echoed cry somewhere out there, a longing call. A faint mirage that has a sail, a speck of white, a floating plea...

. Eulogy to the First Ms. Brown or a Divine Comedy of Educators . To my aunt—the second daughter of three, And first to leave us just two years ago: I picture you once sitting on Grandpa's knee And asking him, where do our spirits go When they leave earth? I'm sure...

. Newman, Alone Newman, thirty, alone, asleep in bed, Groans, yearning for his mother, years now, dead--- Alive, her vivid female acts above Had served as lodestar for his childish love. The women he’d seduced, while far from God, were back to haunt his dreams, with sneers, eyes hard (He’d...

. The Cleft There’s danger for the harmless dove; she swoops Into the cleft of the great mountainside. Her heartbeat calms as she keeps still and mute Surrounded by the rock where she abides. If from her hollow she looks to the vast Skies she sees her predator remains, But...

. Dandelions “...all the days of his vain life, which he passes like a shadow....” ---Ecclesiastes 6: 12 . ____As I stepped out one morning, ____I saw across the lawn ____A yellow audience watching ____The spreading light of dawn ____As last night’s black was turning ____To purple-pink.  The sun ____Was...

. Chelsea a true story from I Kissed Dating Goodbye by Joshua Harris “Behold not everybody's beauty: and tarry not among women.” ---Ecclesiasticus (Sirach) 42:12 That long-skirt, apple-pie brunette from Kansas Whose wholesomeness shone bright like Moses’ face… I could go on with praise for forty stanzas About her femininity...

. Miss Crespo’s Halloween Give me the daggers. The sleeping and the dead Are but as pictures; ‘tis the eye of childhood That fears a painted devil. —Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act II, Scene 2 Silhouettes in window panes, The flickering of a bluish light And paper demons in danse macabre: A...

. He Lied About His Age 'Twas May of nineteen seventeen, our country now at war. Will had decided to enlist, this great world to explore. His lifetime numbered sixteen years, he'd lie about his age, His build appeared near twenty, their questions he'd assuage. He fed and milked the...

. An Incomplete Account of How Things Are __From where I drift, One hundred meters from the shore, The elemental thunderous roar __That’s falling swift __Is but a sigh That whispers thoughts into my ear: Who am I, and, Why am I here? __The Lord is nigh, __But I admit,...

. And Yet We Wash Our Hands When Pilate saw that he was getting nowhere, butthat instead an uproar was starting, he took waterand washed his hands in front of the crowd. “I aminnocent of this man’s blood,” he said. “It is yourresponsibility!” ---Matthew 27:24. We Christians must take action.We...

. Music by Jeff Eardley . Look Homeward, Sweet Afton after Robert Burns Look homeward, Sweet Afton, back to thy green braes, Recalling with pride Britain’s glorious days. Then forward flow strongly, I pray thou restore The gallantry needed to fight one more war. This island of Tennyson, Milton and...

. A Mother’s Day Sonnet I hope you have a happy Mother’s Day And take a moment out to feel the love I’m sending to you there, though faraway, Like kisses raining down from high above, Each one a memory of what you’ve done For me in years that passed...

. Hookerville School Built just before the Civil War, employed till twenty-nine, This one-room school that stands today withstood the test of time. Turn back the clocks to times long passed, so many years ago, Some children trudged a mile to school, through rain and sleet and snow. Upon the...

. Orpheus We want the heroes back so we can learn: Herakles smashed his way to hell and stormed By violence the ferryman and three-faced dog; Even yanked Theseus from his deep-rooted seat Without a by-your-leave to hell’s dark lord. Is that the way to go? Now is our turn?...

. To a Beet I sing the bristled hedgehog grainno horticulture can explain,with six sly seedlings in its brain:__the unborn beet.  That hook-and-hollow hydra seed, a spiny knell to nascent weeds;nor leaf nor rootlet can impede__those fuchsia feet. I sing the painted plum-wine sproutsthat spring aloft---as one, no doubt---outrageous rings that...

. When Less Is More An SCP Poetry Challenge by James A. Tweedie In a recent email exchange with a poet friend, I found myself typing the following sentence: “Poetic forms, such as sonnet, etc. force poets to trim their words down to the minimum for maximum effect.” This raised...

. The Cropland Though coins, good health, and victualsAre mortal man's essentials,I pray for great fertilityOf that arable land in me,Where crops of different names take birth:Love, Beauty, Humour, Grief, and Mirth.I reap them with the pen I hold,And this, in turn, makes lines unfold—The food on which my life...

. Truth Is Not Beauty “What is the worst mistake you ever made in bed?” Reply: “My son.”  (Actual dialogue on social media) I learn the truth; I’m more and more aggrieved. There’s nothing left, no gleam or glint of hope When parents wish their children weren’t conceived. What bitter...

. The Sultan’s Aging Son Recalls the Hippo Hunt “The Hippopotamus Hunt” by Peter Paul Rubens, c. 1615-1616 “The sultan sent three sons…” His voice is frail; the boys lean in. “On horseback, battle bound, we marched with two barbarians to the sound of barking curs at our feet and a distant...

. Reservoir Those who can still see through accreting years Are getting scarce, those who can lift such veil To remember when the Corps of Engineers Dammed a minor river to end its tale Of flood and misery among the local Communities of farmers and the like. The reservoir’s now...

. Easter Evening Appearance Luke 24 Sealed up within my upper room, Absorbed by morbid discontent And fear, I questioned everything I’ve done and wondered what it meant. Though slim perspective chided me And better angels gently mocked, When I’m alone there in that room, The door is pretty firmly...

. May Songs . I. Where does loyalty take its rest? Where is charity’s portraiture, Except in you, sweet virgin pure? Where has virginity possessed The honor due its high allure? Where does loyalty take its rest? Where is charity’s portraiture? Where can a creature find the best Retreat and...

. Some Can't See the Beauty Some can’t see the beauty in __A flower or a tree. I call them nature blind because __Their minds won’t let them see. Perhaps it’s biophobia— __A general fear of nature— Or hylophobia—a fear __Of forest nomenclature. Some fear the sand on beaches, __Or...

. Third-Degree Burns A young poet who came from Dundee Looked around him and then took a knee, __For the older he grew __The more surely he knew That accomplishment wasn’t to be. But another lad, whom we’ll call Angus, Who was wont to berate and harangue us, __Said, “They...

. Watching My Children at Play in a Graveyard Laughing, the children slip between the stones Laid out in rows like cracked and crooked teeth, And tread with little care upon the bones Of those who dream of better worlds beneath Grief’s gifts of plastic flowers, faded pale. But youth...

. Jerzy and Cyla Jerzy, a Polish teen in World War Two, Arrested for suspected membership Of the resistance, faced a one-way trip To Auschwitz. There, where womenfolk were few, Labouring in a storehouse used for grain He witnessed the arrival of a crowd Of girls. One, by extremity uncowed,...

. The Dance __'Tis springtime _And air is a-breezin', Wafting through fair winds that blow. __The blossoms _From flowering jasmine Are waltzing along with the flow. __As vines twist _And twine in a tango, A rhumba with bees fills the hive. __The warblers _Sashay in a frenzy--- 'Tis springtime, and...

. The Knight of Monticello Everywhere and always, Jefferson read. His library stocked a sage’s daily bread. Four volumes, leather-bound, well-thumbed, perused: Don Quixote, his most peculiar muse. He understood as written, Spanish words, no episodes obscured, no meanings blurred. Delighting in that knight’s befuddled thoughts, he seemed to mold...