Poetry

Final Drip Sun’s broke through, it’s blinding. The crickets fade away, adjourn. The glowing, steaming mist falters; Creeps down to ground to burn. Silhouetted branches Well with tears of resignation As morning licks away With fiery-tongued elation. The clouds have weaned away. Orphaned droplets slide leaf to leaf; Surrender, failing...

  Duffy Sheridan has been painting since he was a child. His father, also an artist, encouraged him to learn to paint anything and everything. He has traveled the world and dedicated his artistic life to the discovery and expression of beauty as he sees it. Although he and his...

No Sweeter Spell Those things that I have told you, little things That no one else knows, things I’ve dared not share Fall out my mouth to you as if on wings - Cavorting swallows free upon the air. Then fearless do they fly and call aloft Whole flocks that...

Translated by Lan Hua The Yu Gong Valley - I Heading into a valley Quite simply traveling With nobody else But Master Li To accompany me Nothing is needed For either of us Except a place to sleep Empty and carefree Content without regard Whether it’s spring or summer Or...

(Featured Image: “Reraise, Douce!” by Timothy Reynolds. Charcoal and pastel, 10 by 11 inches.) NEW YORK—Imagine a place where a master will teach you to draw and paint like a god, bend light onto canvas, and give you the tools to create impossible worlds in charcoal and oils. What’s more,...

One Saturday in Boston, The Beacon of the Bay State. Many people went a'walkin' And came upon a mainstay: Disciples of a Zheng Fa, Falun Xiulian Da Fa. All gathered in a circle, Together for a Hong Fa. They moved in synch to music, And spoke a truthful lyric. The...

Steven J. Levin was born in Minneapolis MN in 1964.  His interest in art began early, when as a young boy, Levin would spend hours drawing alongside his father, a commercial artist.  Recognizing his talent and interest, Levin’s father gave Steven many impromptu drawing lessons and tips, as well as...

What He and Michelangelo Know "There on the scaffolding reclines Michael Angelo." -Yeats The Hudson’s sunk in this great vale of blue. The Catskill’s hackle bristles in the sky. The setting sun transforms the clouds into Earthlike layers that Time doth stratify. This is no Rome, nor would I wish...

Storage Let us lug in more stuff Storage man mumbles hi First year by in a huff Second year wonder why Save dad’s lured fishing hat Mom’s torn wedding picture Worn collar from Push cat Who slept till you pushed her Oily third baseman mitt Broken wooden snow sled Clothes...

I. The greatest writers are the teachers; The paper is their pupil; Each sheet defiantly stretches With a stark blank, diffused will. But, the teacher writes a story To fill minds, however plain, Crafting a rich tale of glory, Inspiring from the mundane. So their wills are all together Unified...

One Has To "quod idem in poematis, in picturis usu venit in aliisque complaribus, ut delectentur imperiti laudentque ea, quae landenda non sint" —Cicero One has to keep on striving even when no one believes in what one is doing, nobody cares what one has achieved—then! One must go on...

Momma says you can do it. Fly away, little bird. Momma’s watched over you, fussed And taught you every word. Momma doesn’t know it all; The dangers out there lurk. She taught you to be vigilant; Ever stay alert. Momma says it’s time to go; Your downy fluff is gone....

NEW YORK—On the day of Margaret Thatcher’s death, Nelson Shanks, founder of Philadelphia realist art atelier Studio Incamminati, took another look at his portrait of the British politician, and reminisced... Read the rest of the story on The Epoch Times.

Until He Dies With hollow bones a bird learns how to fly Not once despising frame all delicate, But pushed without the nest his wings to try, Fast finds the air till flight’s inveterate - And pauses not to ponder nor to care How fragile are his limbs amidst his...

Confection Connection The girls were bored and at a loss To find a treat that did not cost An arm, a leg, no more a dime They chose confectionary dross They pulled two nickels from the grime And gave them to the clerk part-time He took the coins, he let...

Hummingbirds How dramatic of thou hummingbird Glides like a cherub through airs curb Precious gems scatter across and fly To sparkle and gleam in our eye How the glistened hummer Unfolds an enchanted summer Soaring like magic rockets Landing on small branches pockets. On the summer’s sweet wing With a...

Oh sad age, how the years will pass us by, Pass us and then our last visions refuse, Refuse us to look on our childhood skies: Oh daughter I am a burden to you, And this vision of mine, oh cherished lake, Passes my mind and troubles me too late....

William Storck has painted professionally for over 30 years. His work is in private collections throughout the United States as well as public and corporate collections. The artist spends a great deal of time studying the elements first hand; from the front door of his studio to the middle of...

On the Beam At times when my roiled brain becomes serene, I may achieve a state of clarity In which intuitive insight grows keen, As if it were a beacon beckoning me, And then I sense the guidance of that beam Aiming to lead my wayward footsteps home While causing...

The water-birds too are fast asleep upon the Great Lakes of the North. Looking carefully, one finds shepherd's purse on a Vancouver sidewalk. The sound of water alerts a weasel to ducks upon the old pond.   Ibe Ware Desu LC is a poet living on the West Coast  

If I were dying, would you ask me to stay Until the Divine came to take me away From the Earthly protection of your arms, Ascending as energy, leaving your charms? Would you kiss me tender, say in my ear, Please go now with spirit, I love you dear, As...

By Damian Robin The intricately patterned Oxford Town Hall is the latest UK venue for the The Art of Zhen Shan Ren, a continuous international tour of prize-winning paintings, which opened on March 14. The title of the exhibition includes the Chinese words for Truth, Compassion, and Forbearance, which are...

As Icarus drowns in the deep-green, wine-dark sea, before the white, round fisher happily ensconced and th' extr'ordinary sailing ship embarking, a shepherd, standing near his flock and loyal dog, is gazing in the opposite direction tow'rd the sky. Above him, looking down, a plowman slogs along; he's turning up...

Unicorns on New Mown Lawns Quintessential qualities quite quickly quantified Each reason for the morning winds that oh so slowly died, Some things are inescapable, and never fade away And some things crumble slowly, like the bridges of the day, As tallow runs in silent streams down from the living...

People always offer opinions and advice, As to what you should or shouldn’t do, Though they can barely manage themselves, They seem to know what’s best for you. An old friend offers relationship advice, As he talks about his latest divorce, He always blames his latest ex-wife, And I just...

To the Society of Classical Poets, The website you have is great for starting poets. I don’t know what I would have done without your help. I can be called a poet because of your help. May your anthology be filled with great poems, And may you prosper for selecting...

In this new work by Li Jinyu, of New York City, an angel reads poetry by Li Bai of the Tang Dynasty.

Looking for Your Keys     While trapped between your life and soul. You look for keys to fit the hole, You struggle through your daily pace; In what we call "The Human Race." How much rain must you endure; Before you know the rules for sure? And how much trouble must...

‘On The Group Of The Three Angels Before The Tent Of Abraham, By Raphael, In The Vatican’ O, now I feel as though another sense, From heaven descending, had informed my soul; I feel the pleasurable, full control Of Grace, harmonious, boundless, and intense. In thee, celestial Group, embodied lives...

Zombie Dawning The zombies are coming; no one knows why – no time to ponder such things anyhow. Apocalypse gives us no time to cry. Survival is all we can think of now. They hunt for us in slow, relentless mobs and push past all our barricades by force. We...

The Society of Classical Poets is pleased to announce the publication of its First Annual Poetry Journal, available on Createspace and Amazon.  Below is a preview of the Featured Poets and Introduction. Featured Poets Andre, Kelly Ash, Deron Azriel, Yakov Braun, Graal Brugaletta, John J. Carrington, Enriqueta Covelli, Robert Chida,...

Gustave Jean Jacquet (1846–1909), is known among scholars as one of William Bouguereau’s top students. Although Jacquet’s subject matter was not of peasant girls or mythological scenes like Bouguereau himself or many of his other students, Jacquet quickly gained fame and notoriety for his technical virtuoso, his paintings of women,...

Verse Forms as Evokers of Poetry I wish to dispute the notion that a “poem” arrives in the formal poet’s mind as if it were a compressed computer file, which he or she then expands into the poem proper by versifying it.  Somewhat similar to this conception of versecrafting is...

The simple fruit the body once begot To please the supplicating year’s poor sky, Who pleaded tearful, nor did have a plot For bare escapes the heart could dignify, Lived and lost against the winter season The final nutrient from tastes divine; Lost and lived to seek a higher reason...

"Heavenly Hurt, it gives us—" —Emily Dickinson A sunlit chair by Michael John Hunt sits in light, inside a house with open door. It's at a foyer corner—shadowed bits upon the greenish wall and wooden floor. One almost could envision Emily Elizabeth, appearing, Dickinson, in white, a prisoner of family,...

The losses of this lifetime in retrospect I see Reflect a downward spiral of a flawed society: can we now recapture a mere morality? Erase euphoric rapture of the imperial ME? Delete from daily language a bold vulgarity? Will our world nevermore enjoy a true gentility? These are not rhetorical...

"How the Chimney-sweeper’s cry/ Every blackning Church appalls…” —William Blake, London “The Beijing Cough may not be as bad as the Hebei Hack." —Wu “Sacred Bee” Li   In Beijing, air pollution is so bad the smog is visible from outer space. The city’s in a hazy blanket clad. The...

Elegy for a Blush No more does she show her flower; No more does the maiden cower. Snow-white cheek has turned to tawny. All the lads are looking scrawny. On Her cheek she spread her plume: A roseate revealing bloom, A fire burning ’crossed a moon… Naïf innocence iced too...

History There’s a story in every piece of history. Each time I probe into a part of history, I see wars, plagues, triumphs, romances, and conflicts Between the poor and the rich. History inflicts Me with memories of pain, and also soothes me With memories of hope. History ought to...

A line that travels down the middle of the scene divides the picture's plane in two: above, the vast and airy openess o' th' arching building, green on top, and filled with golden light and shadows cast between huge windows, flag, and architectured space, as if some grand, extr'ordinary thing...