Poetry

. Sonnetized “Why poetry?” My chair leans in his chair And slides me a sabbatical-swelled smirk. The past nine months I’d shouldered all his share So he could spend his patriarchal perk In penning pap not destined to see light. “A couplet is a manageable cup “To nurse while nursing...

. Living The Dream   “I look to a day when people will not be judged by the color of their skin,   but by the content of their character.” ---Martin Luther King, Jr. The USA gives thanks---hurray For Martin Luther King--- A good and gracious grand display For one who rose above the...

. Martin Luther King, Jr. Meets Today’s Left How would the Left see Dr. King Just what reaction would they bring If he today could be our guest Reviving messages expressed? How would the Left see King today? Not positively, I must say. Support for words like his seems slim....

. I Grieve Bleak Streets I grieve bleak streets where handguns reign in terror Daring inner-city residents To duck and cover. Life used to be fairer Years ago, when mayors and presidents, Police, and everybody else refused To tolerate a minor misdemeanor, And those who broke the law were not...

. Let It Bleed My family believes a puzzle piece is missing, that it’s me and if they snap it in, the family will have peace. The picture will be whole. They’ll close a gap. But as I stand outside, I see no space to fit me in. The edges...

. A Truthful Triolet I want the truth. I want to trust The words that trip from lips that lied. I want all doubt to fade to dust. I want the truth. I want to trust. Truth hurts. Truth heals. Truth's heart is just. My faith in you, it hasn’t...

. Obsession an Alfred Dorn sonnet As candles gently glow in amber light The picture centered high upon the wall appears to take a life form of its own. Yet, thoughts of her are stronger on this night. He views her fleeting image in the hall, as he sits drunk,...

. Caring Now, while Winter’s noisy emptiness moans In the flue, Dearest, look out at all these Somberly unimpatient silent trees Holding aloft their abject skeletons: Can new flesh somehow sprout from human bones Like April’s tender leaves? Can memories Of touches lost refind their first surprise As roots grope...

. Civis Romanus Sum (I am a Roman citizen) As Paul stood bound and for the whip outstretched, He said to the centurion beside, “‘Tis lawful here for you to flog a wretch, A Roman citizen and not yet tried?” The mere centurion on hearing went And to the tribune...

. The Spirit of the Anti-Mary a poem in honor of Our Lady of Gualalupe in reparation for the crime of abortion and abortion-tainted medicines All those who seek me find eternal Life, But those who sin against me snuff life’s breath, And plunge into their souls a blood-stained knife,...

. The Artist Intuitive journey, subconscious creations refuse to diffuse while the muse makes the choice to infuse mystic magic with personal voice giving birth to original manifestations. Works will cement while fermenting with feeling revealing a meaning unique to each eye. “No one knows why,” says the strange passer-by,...

. The Lost The fog rolled heavy, down to blunt the day, Sharp skyscraper tops dissolved into the gray. Pale ghosts condensed, one here or there, lone, gaunt: Scared eyes, blank masks, as if condemned to haunt These empty streets that once were thronged with life. They hurry with held...

. Limerick China’s footballers haven’t a clue why they can’t go and get a tattoo, but I think it might be it’s since President Xi is afraid they’ll choose Winnie the Pooh. . . This Urge for the Truth We strive for trusted knowledge in the guise of Truth, but...

. The A-bomb Dome in Hiroshima The epicentre of the blast was here, This dome, its empty ribcage gaunt and bare, It stands mute testimony to the day A Superfortress, the Enola Gay, Took to the cirrus-marbled cobalt skies Above Hiroshima, unwished-for prize, Its mission: razing of necessity By nuclear...

. The View from Space My helmet gone, I float among the stars As weightless as my lungs deprived of air Asphyxiating slowly, I am far From all I love and anyone who cares. The stars are dead already: cold and hot, Like burning funeral torches in the sky Their...

. Fleet of Foot Pheidippides A Grecian runner named Pheidippides, From Athens, ran to Sparta with a plea. “We need your help to fight the Persians, please!” But Sparta sent him back with, “Nosirree!” Two-hundred eighty miles is what he ran, For four or maybe five days he was gone....

. https://youtu.be/RMcLVFNbueY . Complete poem text here. CREDITSPoetry: Alan Nordstrom (1939-)Audio/Visual Work: Society of Classical PoetsVoice-Over: Evan MantykPhotos/Footage:“Milky Way with Tree” by Videvo, licensed under Videvo’s Royalty-Free License (videvo.net)Music:“Valley Sunset” by Alejandro Magaña (A. M.) licensed under the Mixkit Stock Music Free License (mixkit.co)Sound FX:“Crickets and insects in the wild...

. Cascading Nation Now not so much a nation as a place for pushing through a bruit cacophony of cultures in discordant synergy, dismissing calm consensus, wit, and grace as if considered discourse would abase befuddled masses yearning to breed free and manifest a new world destiny while tumbling headlong...

. Sadness Has Silent Feet Sorrow comes on softened steps, __But joy leaps madly in. Where is she with the golden hair __I would yet see again? Is she now like wind on braes __That sing the brae-wind song? Or does she, silent, by the sea, __Whisper, and walk along?...

. St. Joseph’s Admonition Forget yourself, and do what’s right, Remember how you gained your sight, So do not pause to quench your pain, Your will is strengthened by the strain, But weakened if you do not fight. Pick up your sword and slay with might, The demons who tempt...

. It’s Coming for You! It’s coming to devour you, you know. There’s no escape no matter where you go. It waits and watches, hides behind the door With fetid breath from pathogenic spores. Far worse than covid’s variants, it drains The life force from the body and the brain....

. The Ninth Day of the Emperor's Wrath a rondeau redoublé The stadium roared at the end of the fight. In triumph the victor uplifted his sword. The emperor signaled thumbs down with cold spite. Death’s blow entertained the degenerate horde. The Christian who died was placed onto a board...

. Good Conscience Under our cauls a sleepless giber lurks, A callous judge of all our selfish smirks Who slices through our veils of self delight To show us prancing for unholy cirques. Our ego tells us to ignore the frights Our conscience lays before us every night And every...

. Sonnet by José de Espronceda (1808-1842) | translated from Spanish by Adam Sedia Fresh, lush, pure, and perfumed luxuriantly, The blooming garden’s flair and ornament, Coxcomb perched on the stem's filament, The budding rose-bloom sets its fragrance free. But if the burning sun stirs angrily, Shines flaming in the dog-days’...

. https://youtu.be/dYyxThEY71o . An Excerpt from The Western Star for Epiphany, January 6, 2022 The road stretched out forever in the morning, giving Balthazar plenty of time and space for thought. The meanderings of his mind returned to that strange gift old Caspar meant to give in honor of the...

. Annuary Stichs Jamesian intricacies swarmed about the voter-counts; a massive fraud had taken place beyond the lovely mounts. Nobody had expected Apate and Dolos to ubiquitously fake vote-counts in the Red-White-and-Blue. And so, Americans across the land came to DC, resenting the demonic rats and their false media. Yes,...

. There are a number of ways to go wrong in poetry. Unfortunately, the Poetry Establishment is only willing to admit the existence of a select few of them. The others are either kept under wraps, or disguised as acceptable options. Let’s start with the common errors—that is, the ones...

. The Language of Hope The heart forbids the mind to let it go; __Extinguished love has deeper scars, __The foremost friend, the dreaded foe, It burns and scatters flames like broken stars. I pace upon the trampled grass and think __Of all those days when sleep was sweet, __How...

. Reviewed Book: A Thing With Feathers, by J. John Nordstrom, independently published, 2021 by Andrew Benson Brown A Thing With Feathers is the debut novel of J. John Nordstrom (the pen name of Joseph J. Jablonski, Jr.). A mixture of prose and poetry—something one does not see very often...

. Forever Faun In mottled shade of forest stood a faunSo still he seemed to be no living thing;The sun beamed down, already he was gone—His presence was a fleeting sign of Spring.Once in the distant past, when earth was young,Men saw the faun and prayed to gods that beAnd...

. Unprofitable Servant Bergoglio clarifies his views on the Latin Mass A treasure was mine, but it’s too long ago For me to recover what now I despise. Fearful and sickened and sadly too slow I was to suppress it, and new catechize Against all allurements that cause it to...

. Meditations on Ecclesiastes . Inquiry “What profit has a man for all his labor…?” ---Ecclesiastes 1: 3 None knows what all his work accomplishes; What one begins, another finishes A different way. Or, fools may come in after He dies, waste life in lust and drunken laughter, Abandoning the...

. The Dark Knight I’ve always held the Queen in high esteem, Her ever-classy, never brassy aura Shines noble splendour on the regal scene And blesses folk who openly adore 'er. Today the corgi-hugging monarch’s task Of knighting U.K.-hater, traitor Blair, Left baffled subjects hankering to ask Her Majesty if...

. So It Is Written The books that I have owned for many years, Still sitting on my shelves or stored in boxes, Have yellowed pages—damaged belvederes— With covers bearing pale mildewy poxes. I’ve read them all, but such a heavy toll Humidity inflicts on sheaves of paper, A nuisance...

. Introduction In a second-hand bookshop, located in the French Quarter (New Orleans), I discovered a poetry book by Margaret Hunt Brisbane (1858-1925). It had been in mid spring of 2005, a couple of months before Hurricane Katrina sorely afflicted New Orleans. I sensed that Mrs. Brisbane’s pure verse and...

. Last Christmas I’d rushed there through the afternoon In someone else’s borrowed car Where you, distressed I’d come too soon, Were giving samples in a jar. The last I ever spoke with you Was in that long, cold, darkened ward. Snow washed outside like waves, and you Were slipping...

. “Lud's Church" or “The Green Chapel” after Sir Gawain and the Green Knight I travel to this place each New Year’s Day, To where the fluting curlew builds his nest. Upon these stegosaurus hills I stray, The Wilderness of Wirral to the West. The Lollards worshipped here so long...

. For Auld Lang Syne Each New Year’s Day is like a colander Through which we strain and drain away the days Of auld lang syne, throw out the calendar, And set the count-down-midnight-sky ablaze. Take down the tree, and vacuum up all trace Of Christmas morning’s litter from the...

. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I4HH4MeT9Mo . Read the complete poem here: https://staging.classicalpoets.org/2013/12/12/two-psalms/#/ CREDITS Poetry: Evan Mantyk (b. 1982) Audio/Visual Work: Society of Classical Poets Voice-Over: Evan Mantyk Photos/Footage: (1) Stock footage (“Bangkok Train From Above at Sunset”) provided by Videvo, downloaded from www.videvo.net (Videvo Attribution License); (2) “In the Foothills” (1861) by Albert...

. 20/20 Vision You’re lurking in the shadows with a wink. I see your flute of crystal, hear you pop Your cork as spirits soar and keen arms link To strains of Auld Lang Syne as clock hands stop. In moonlight, while lips melt in midnight’s kiss, You sashay in as glasses ring and rise With toasts to bright tomorrows---future bliss In highs and sighs as...