Beauty

The Fate of Fine Art Too late to turn the clock back on fine art, Egregious oxymoron that it may Be called today, but where to find the start Of this, the slow beginnings of decay? For once we found our world inside the space That we saw bounded by...

Translation by Martin Hill Ortiz  Farewell to the Royal Gardens at Aranjuez by María Rosa Gálvez de Cabrera of Spain (1768-1806) Aranjuez: forest, rich with flowers, Through which the tangled Tajo glides, Within your thousand brilliant colors A meadow where my heart resides. And how your songbirds flattered me! I'd swear...

Mother of Falun Gong They said my mother would be back tomorrow, They said her smile would still shine proudly here, Her hand brush off the dreadful, bitter sorrow That manifests itself within a tear, But twenty years had faded like wan mists That glide and winnow on a brackish...

by Edward C. "Ted" Hayes   A Prefatory Poem (or a Gaggle of Goosefeathers) Some will judge this essai the exact thing it’s not – Distilled, unvarnished, contemned tommyrot For asserting mod poets’ sad lack of discernment And non-Sense of Craft – for expressing concern, meant To blow a loud...

  I like it, though it’s very dark; The firelight a fading arc Along the tree, whose ageing bark Shows day is near. I like it, but have questions yet: I do not know where this is set, And are they strangers? Have they met? Why are they here? The...

  Before the Darkness  a rondeau Before the darkness brings about the night and steals the world’s colors from your sight, paint all your memories in vivid hues. Let not the darkness be the path you choose. Nay! In your dreams, keep every color bright! You cannot halt the fading...

Let none dare call it beauty that commands Feigned praise from those whom fashion deems refined But deep revulsion from an honest mind Derided for the truth it understands: Inhuman, formless smears of artless hands; Cacophonies that screech, burp, rasp, and grind; Steel, glass, and concrete tortuously designed; And crude...

Today the Wind for Elizabeth Today the wind through winter’s unclad bones Drowns in its woeful howl my soul’s discant; Beyond, a distant hunter’s oliphant Salutes the dead beneath their frost-bound stones. Today the wind sweet music’s loss bemoans, No more to laud, beneath this canopy Of slate-grey clouds, thy...

Who Needs QU? It’s time to retire Q-U. K-W’s logical choice. What’s Q do that K cannot do? And U’s vowel that has its own voice. Inkwire why bother with this, A kwest to our language refine? It skweeze’s down alphabet’s list And generates kwaint little rhyme.   Purple Reign*...

  Of unknown age, the great oak tree, initialed with past loves’ decree; Now stands alone on village green, a witness to life’s daily scene. It was in spring, some years ago, when verdant leaves began to grow; Two lovers walking hand in hand, delighting in their newfound land; High...

Salesman of Salesmen Infectious spirit, everybody’s friend,Hypnotic and fascinating, a forceOf pushy power, broiling to transcendObjections fully, only to endorsePositions he defends until the end. A dragon slayer (real or fancy free),Dynamic challenge underfoot emblazed,Through every turn of life’s calliope,Perfecting imperfections freshly glazed. Impulsive danger feeds charisma’s fire—Creative vision sold...

  “Jingle Bells, jingle all the way” I sang to her to break the spell of what appeared to be her fell demeanor. Neither would she bray ‘in a one horse open sleigh’ “Hey!” but droned as if to undersell the joyous sense that all was well. She seemed more...

    When I was young, I’d disassemble clocks So I could understand what made them go. With tools in hand, and pieces in a box, I’d wonder, and I’d look, and then I’d know. But lacking tools to take myself apart, I understand myself through what I’m told, And...

  Reinigeadal, Harris So many years ago it was, a child Tramped up from East Loch Tarbert’s rocky shore Across the peat hags underneath the wild And dismal sky that overhung the moor. No road could lead him thence, a mere track Between the heather clumps, it weaved its way...

Star Needles A star is just a bauble stuck on what We view as sky.  Lest it let winter in, We join sky fabric back together. When It makes a split, a slice of light slips through The center of each constellation, but The weave behind the moon where stars...

The Preface to the Poems Composed at the Orchid Pavilion ( 蘭亭集序; Lántíngjí Xu), from the 4th century AD, is generally regarded as the greatest work of Chinese calligraphy. Although the Preface itself is not poetry, it introduces a set of poems and the Chinese language itself is especially poetic because of...

  The Music of the Earth In walking home from church one winter's eve, I paused to hear the echoes down the street; The dead leaves rattled dryly on the branch And scraped along the sidewalk at my feet. But far beyond, another, sweeter sound Ran deeply, like a river...

It... It plays upon the glowing, sunset boughs, When shadows have enveloped all below, And distant, other-worldly thoughts arouse A passion in the poet’s soul to go Beyond the earth, beyond the dark’ning sky, Where only unembodied spirits fly. It beckons coyly in that certain look The woodland flower wears...

February  February froze the skating pond, Beauty gone, still this we won’t deny, She was thoughtful with her airy wand, Thankful, think, a rink beneath the sky! Sons and daughters make their skate blades ring, Hurry, we can catch them if we try! Bird-less boughs, but hockey pucks can sing,...

Translation by Michael Coy The Lake Thus, ever driven onward to new shores, borne constantly away, Can we never, in the Ocean of the Ages, drop anchor for a day? Oh, this beautiful lake!  The year has hardly flown, yet here am I, beside these so-beloved waves of hers. Here,...

  The fire waits with tiger paws on silent haunches by the hill, then mounts the rock with clinging claws, and contemplates the moment it will pounce—on sagebrush dry as bones, under a ghostly quiet moon, slink through tinder, stalking homes, and spring atop a shingled roof. In blazing orange...

Common Language I hear the music of the artist's brush Bruise with color the canvas' white, Feel the composers' fingers rush Across the keyboard into night To lodge clear notes in the blackest sky, Stars for some poor poet to ponder, For some sculptor to absorb and sigh While letting...

Transhumanism Somewhere about there’s a slithering sound of man’s enmity, causing excitement and casting the seeds of calamity, claiming enlightened revision of old postmodernity. Oh! But the thought is as novel as man in eternity. Lewis and Ransom have shown us to view the transhumanists in the same light as...

The Catholic Work Ethic I'll do as much as I am able __Before the sun has set. I doubt that I will run the table __Because I haven't yet __Achieved my full potential. There will be time to lie in bed When doctors have pronounced me dead, __And what is...

The Afternoon of Man Fourteen or so, one autumn afternoon, my homework done and supper hours away, I scuffed along on sodden paths bestrewn with yellowed leaves in woods where I’d once played. Perhaps it was the setting sun that grayed the air, perhaps a sudden chill just then, but...

  This evening of your festive day I pray _Oh Agnes, little model of the pure, _Oh girl with smiling eyes, and faith so sure: They won for you the martyr's palm this day. For neither threat nor coaxing in the fray _Of that heroic battle was to lure _You...

. Sonnet II: Liu Xitong Liu Xitong (pronounced Leo She-tong) recently spoke on Capitol Hill about the persecution he faced in communist China for his practice of Falun Gong. Read about the event and his story here.  They strip him down, but cannot strip his soul. They splash on salty...

after the style of Petrarch The aching of your leave clings sadly, still And pangs of emptiness I lone endure But slowly I ascend towards love pure; The path of life lies stretched – a long steep hill. Becalmed, my spirit self its fears fulfil, And panic seeks to strengthen...

  These twain ephem’ral lives were fraught with woes When they, a boy and girl in morn of life, Defied their due inheritance as foes And chased a star-crossed love as man and wife. Belovéd by their family, kin and friends, To honest, faithful vow of love they swore; Walked...

On Ralph Vaughan Williams’ The Lark Ascending, a romance for violin and orchestra inspired by George Meredith’s poem of the same title (see both below). Past years of smoke and pain, a tune in ether flows Untouched, while spreading forth from inspiration’s spring: Swift crystal tones unite in winding flight...

A Poet's Prayer My words are lying, cold and still; reproaching me, their silence shrill. With emptiness, my heart they fill. Inspire me, Lord, if You will. Should You decide I'm past my prime I'm still so grateful for the time when, like a bell, my words did chime -...

To Old Friends Around the bonfire, we were brothers who sang Of joys that are gone, and the flame turned to ash And blew on the wind to where endless stars hang In search of past embers that flicker and flash. How strange is the feeling of mortal life’s dance...

  Rosettes When seasons pause in moments cast, By visions of each flower’s past, The rose amongst all florae kissed, Appears within my dreams of bliss, As natures’ love for splendours lesson, Unveils a shape, with scents of heaven. Garden landscapes dressed in green, Hold rustic treasured scenes, serene, In...

Armed with Imagination Imagination armed this youthful knight— a plywood shield and sword of sapling wood created echoes in the neighborhood of backyard battles fought in fading light. Envision how we must have been a sight to see—a panorama understood by only we who fought each chance we could while...

  Poetry Today If elevated thought had ever beenThe least criterion of excellenceIn poetry, why should it then be seenToday as simply of no consequence?If rhyme was good enough for Shakespeare’s timeAnd rhythm beats in Keats and Chaucer, BlakeAnd Dryden why then, why is rhyme a crimeAnd rhythm a mistake...

Dirty Hands on Communism’s evil specter The evil specter’s dirty hands Have soiled the windows to the world. It’s smeared them with the blood and tears Of millions killed throughout the years. The evil specter’s vicious lies Have spoiled the children of the world. It’s pierced their brains, destroying faiths...

  You Poor, Unfortunate Woman Last Monday was a special day for me. You got that big promotion and the raise! I pity you, for now your life will be a rat race through a long, nightmarish maze. You’re doomed to spend that extra salary on nerve pills and work...

Written on Two Tree Island The golden fingers of the setting sun bestow their last caresses for the day. Although this present day may be undone, the sun will rise tomorrow come what may. Now Fauna’s rich diurnal paradigm enjoys a frolic just before bedtime: A rowdy choir of geese...

. . The Demosthenian Literary Society The nobler and loftier days, gone by, The auld lang syne of the decades that fly, The vast contemplation of time and of space, The fast moving spirits of truth and of grace, The panes in the windows were wavy and old, But mainly,...

Letters We Wrote dedicated to Diane Fournier Across the months of summer and the states, We wrote our lengthy letters, wrote our lives – Descriptions of our summer days and dates, Each to our mailbox drawn like bees to hives. We wrote our girlish gossip so that we Might keep...