Poetry

. Sean who passed away this week in Honolulu, Hawaii Although there are a few who’ll grieve and mourn, Who’ll celebrate his life and then move on, The unexpected loss will be hard borne By those who called him “Brother” and “My son.” I knew him back when he was...

. Most schoolgirls, street-people, attorneys, and Bachelors of Art are aware that Thomas Jefferson composed what is likely the most widely-known, oft-repeated sentence in American history: . We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable...

. Prayer of the Guilty Poet Before I put these words to ink, Be still, my pen, and let me think. Are they the balm to expiate, Or bomb indeed, to detonate? . . A City Short Make no excuse, I heard a sneeze! Old man, produce Your papers, please!...

. Know How to Mow __You want to raise your rates, you say? __Your crying poor is killing me, __for what it’s worth.  Just yesterday, __when you were blithely billing me __for services you rendered on __a Saturday two weeks ago __—the mowing of my splendid lawn— __you seemed quite...

. With Coffins at the Dover Air Force Base: 29 August 2021 On Sunday, Biden traveled to the Dover Air Force Base to pay respect for thirteen service members who were slain. But grieving parents of the dead were not consoled by him— he kept on looking at his watch—and...

. Allgibberish (I Saw a Man Who Wasn't There) after “Antigonish” (“I Met a Man Who Wasn't There”) by William Hughes Mearns Yesterday in great despair, I saw a man who wasn't there. He's on the news again today, oh how I wish he'd go away. This afternoon at ten...

. WINNERS ANNOUNCED HERE. "Select, all ye who write, a subject fit, A subject not too mighty for your wit! Before you lay your shoulders to the wheel, Weigh well their strength, and all their weakness feel!" ---Horace (65-8 B.C.) First Prize: $2,000. Publication on the Society's website and Journal....

“Select, all ye who write, a subject fit, A subject not too mighty for your wit! Before you lay your shoulders to the wheel, Weigh well their strength, and all their weakness feel!” —Horace (65-8 B.C.) First Prize: $200. Publication in the Society's website and The Society of Classical Poets...

“Select, all ye who write, a subject fit, A subject not too mighty for your wit! Before you lay your shoulders to the wheel, Weigh well their strength, and all their weakness feel!” —Horace (65-8 B.C.) First Prize: $100. Publication in the Society's website and The Society of Classical Poets...

. The starlit sky is filled with smoke ______and men succumb To dread, while folded hands invoke ______to overcome This awful plight; yet prayers heard ______through fervid faith Are breath for Satan. Death’s preferred ______to blows that scaith And wake the human soul. If eyes ______could only find A route...

. The Peach Garden Oath This oath of fellowship is an iconic moment in the first chapter of the historical novel Romance of the Three Kingdoms, by Luo Guanzhong (14th century), in which the main heroes of the novel pledge to restore goodness and order to a nation whose government...

. Waking Up (Freedom Doesn't Come in a Can) A Protest Song Written and Performed by Jack DesBois I was lying in my bed, Waiting for the day to start, Waiting for the sun to get me on my way, And I waited, and I waited, And while I lay...

by Adam Sedia The life of Walter de la Mare (1873-1956) spans earthshattering changes in history and art. The England into which he was born was a colonial empire stretching across the globe. Horse-drawn carriage was the only means of local transportation. Tennyson was poet laureate, and Matthew Arnold, Robert...

. Observations of a Former Victim You may think me insensitive or witless, But more and more it seems the case these days, That victimhood is run up on a flagpole, Including in some overreaching ways. Of course there’s real and rife victimization, But vague or bloated forms are now...

. “Make a decision,” is what me ma said, As she wearily plucked at each feather, ‘Er old gnarled fingers rough and red And clumsily workin’ together. “Yer’ll not get another chance like this, Two offers in less than a week. Great mother of pearl! A decision now girl, This...

. "American pragmatism insists that words are for use, not enjoyment; American puritanism insists that expression is a duty, not a pleasure." —Richard A. Lanham Everyone knows that poems work on different levels. Even if you just believe that a poem implies or suggests a bit more than it says...

. The arrogant are all about these days. How disrespectful are their callous ways! They go about as freely as you please— No mask, no vaccine, carrying disease And likely death wherever they may go (Which is all places, if you want to know!). But why do I speak of...

. This challenge comes form poet James A. Tweedie: Perhaps the most familiar of all formal, English-language poems is the classic 18th century bedtime prayer that reads: Now I lay me down to sleepI pray the Lord, my soul to keep.But if I die before I wakeI pray the Lord,...

. a rondel It's funny how a day can go so slow, and yet a year just simply seems to fly. We blink, and then another one goes by. Those winds of change don't ever cease to blow. Time's raging river has an undertow. So quickly does our hourglass run...

. At the Temple of Yue Fei Behind, a lake unstirring sleeps; Ahead, grey fog and budding leaves. A jade-green pool commands the heart, Beneath the clouds and sweeping eaves. A statue beckons; I respond, And past the present then perceives. While traitors kneel by mounded tombs, A land for...

. Lost and Found I’ve lost myself but in the course, I’ve found a sanctuary glowing, aspen golden. To me, I am the stream to woodland bound upon the forest floor midst boulders olden. My water flows as free as eagles soaring above the watching Adirondack mountains. A hemlock’s flitting...

. The Secret Garden Beyond these ivied walls grows naught but heather Gorse and broom, the moors engulfed by blows Of bitter, wuthering wind and gloomy weather. This haunted land is barren, bleak and old. But here---within the gate---my garden grows Warmed by sunlight bright as marigold! Enchantment! Every mum,...

. There never was a night so long When time went crawling by. The Arctic wind came howling in Across the Nashville sky. The planes had all been grounded With no tickets left to ride. It was wheels out on the highway On the night Hank Williams died. The radio...

. The Commander-in-Chief How Biden sucks---I mean the man, Who being wholly characterless Will criticize Afghanistan "Cowards"---when he can’t face the Press! . . James Sale is a worldwide thought leader on motivation: he has had 4 books on the topic published by Routledge, and over 700 management consultants in 15...

. Geese on the Moor On Laddow Moss the April air is cold And still. A single pair of wayward geese We find beside a tarn, their nest of fleece And feather sprigs of springy heather hold Together. Once we found marsh marigold Up here but now its meagre straggles...

. You are invited to a reading of exquisite poetry and conversations with the poets. This reading is part of a quarterly series of online poetry readings planned for 2021-2022. . Date & Time Sunday September 19, 2021 2 p.m. (New York time), 7 p.m. (U.K. time) Duration: 1 hour...

. “Come with me, child, past all this camouflage.” “Is there a secret garden there, Grandpa?” “Not quite. It’s just a small, padlocked garage, To keep out the enforcers of the law.” I keyed the lock, and lifted up the door For just the time it took us to walk...

. Cheap Sauvignon’s chilled and then swilled just to stave off the pain, While TVs drone on as cons ponder on who is to blame. We lumber along with each task And no one will ever dare ask--- Zip lips for survival, no scathing reprisal, or shame. He’s coming for...

Reviewed Book: Legends of Liberty Volume 1, by Andrew Benson Brown, T A J Classics, 2021 by James Sale Legends of Liberty is an important new poem from the American poet, Andrew Benson Brown. The nearest work that one might compare it to is probably Byron’s mock-epic, Don Juan. It is...

. Albert Pierrrepoint (1905-1992) served as one of GreatBritain’s chief executioners from 1931 to 1956, duringwhich time he hanged over 500 persons. All the namesand events mentioned here are real. My father and my uncle had the job.I learned from both of them those little thingsThat one should know in...

. Debacle in Kabul We all make mistakes and we all have regrets. The mess in Kabul is as bad as it gets. We messed up before when we left Vietnam, Not to mention, Qaddafi, Iraq and Saddam. We messed up in Syria, Lebanon, too. Our screwed foreign policy’s nothing...

. The gods of ancient Greece return to cast their blight upon our nation. Throughout the eons come and gone, now social strife is their creation. Chaos, the god of disarray, of lawlessness and vast disorder, now has become a resident, resettled on our southern border. Eris, goddess of strife,...

. after “Ballade of the Unborn Child” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox I wrote by hand my lines of verse, __Just lit by reading light; I made no sound, no sign or curse, __And suddenly was fixed with fright. ____Then out in the air on a gossamer wing, ____Came a sigh...

. W A R N I N G : __You won’t be forgivenfor the belt road you are livingfor flat miles that you have drivenover roadkill stacked and strivenon your blood red ride to hell. __You, the swollen high-ups,laced with torture-rapture tie-upswith your knuckles ever-tighteningas you find your slippage frighteningas...

. The Worst of Rhymes No matter where we choose to sit, A fool, alone, would not admit, We’re living in a world of shit And I have more than done my bit. Here by the guillotine I knit Caps for the heads devoid of wit--- I am a useful...

. A burst of laughter slips into an echo past the tinny bells and rattling glass of Joe's, my corner liquor store, the last and first of every day. Arroyo streets are dry of human traffic now, are dry of humans anyway, and through abandoned cars a gust of night...

. Write a poem rhyming the word "orange" with something else. Post it in the comments below. This challenge comes from Cheryl Corey, who provided the below poem as inspiration: . Nothing Rhymes With Orange Why, oh why, does nothing rhyme with orange?But if I say it en franҫais---“l’orange,”Aha! I...

. We can’t remember. After years of war that thing once known as “poetry” was lost. We know there was a Greek named Robert Frost; we don’t know what “pentameters” were for. In rotting libraries the lame and blind burn offerings to Hecuba and Seth. They brew a postapocalyptic meth. Perhaps it’s...

. Running round ruins of things long forgot, These tried, tiring times---who can make an end? Can read the scroll or seven seals rend? The limpid air is still and full of rot. The sorry dreams of fragile souls are bought And sold for tuppence. My unhappy friend, What plan,...

. Inklings The clues are there. They skulk between the lines. They lurk in spin and smirk in murky spiel. The clues are there. They leer in subtle signs. They lounge in lies and lace the dicey deal. The clues are there. They strain the untrained brain. They pester questing minds with raw alarm. The clues are there. They send the sane insane. They snake through lakes of fakery and charm....