In 1688, John Dryden, England’s first official poet laureate, was deprived of that title for remaining Catholic and replaced with the...

Mediterranean Fortunes A cold, dry Mistral gallops down the Rhone, reminding of what Dumas wrote: a count, falsely accused, rotting...

I saw a young bard, A prince sitting on An ancient divan, Plucking the strings Of his Dorian lyre. His dainty fingers Strummed the gentle...

At sunrise, I cast my nets into the sea, dredging up the strangest and most beautiful objects from the depths ... some radiant like...

The Gate It’s not so hard to turn into a gate. To do so, just assume this shape: from kneeling, stretch one leg out to the side, place...

The following article is an edited version of a conference presentation at La Chapelle en Vercors, Spring 2002. “We are ravished by the...

The fields stretch out, bare, icy: __Wide, blank, yet-unetched slates, Tabulae rasae, waiting __The chisel of the Fates, But deep beneath...

Like ghosts, the buildings Watch the changing earth and sky— Nothing is empty. Though in dark shadow, Gnarled and bent, it seems to rise...

Forget your Christmas cards and little crèche the cutesy donkey, sheep and shepherd boys. Put away the twinkle lights and all that trash;...