The leaves of Summer never were so fair As now, by dying season’s light they’re kissed, September’s melancholy, golden mist Descends like...

The light falls softly on the sparkling lawn, And then awakens every tree and flower, All earth renews, as it has since the dawn Of life...

The clock is ticking in the pallid rays Of ghost-like morning hour’s waning moonlight, And though it orders all my waking days, It has no...

It was the eyes that first ensnared my sight, As if through the hazy, gray years were glowing, Like beacons in my soul’s long wandering...

The following is a workshop and dialogue on the art of classical poetic recitation. We at The Chained Muse believe that a revival of...

Old as the eons that measure the galaxies, As to the unheard music they swirl, Young as the feeling that plays in the heart And the smile...

Late summer, and the silvery undersides Of the leaves shimmer in the hazy air, And the cicadas’ song wells up in tides That wash over my...

It is absurd to think that the only way to tell if a poem is lasting is to wait and see if it lasts. The right reader of a good poem can...

These stones that like huge sculpted figures lie Amid the trunks of moss and fern-clad trees, Eons of creatures have seen born and die...

The first true norther came today, With raging gusts of wind and rain, And blew the Summer heat away, And with it all of passion’s pain....

In the deep of the night do my restless thoughts roam To the moon-flooded fields of the sky, And they search for a pure and ethereal...

Long before the first eyes ever saw me Floating like a ghost upon the night, Long before human minds even feebly Pierced beyond their...

It plays upon the glowing sunset boughs, When shadows have enveloped all below, And distant, other-worldly thoughts arouse A passion in...

I awoke one day from a dreamlike sleep, Not knowing where I was, it seemed, And lay still as if cast from an ocean deep Of obscure and...

The leaves of Summer never were so fair As now, by dying season’s light they’re kissed, September’s melancholy, golden mist Descends like...

My spirit is lost in the late afternoon, As it drifts with the shadows that float in the air; It lives in the moment that dies all too...

The first soft days of springtime greet my eyes Like a young girl’s face, smiling fresh and clean, The sunlight falls, like hope, from...

This concludes a third in the series of poems, based on the poet's journey to Niagara Falls. Parts 1 & 2 can be found here. Father...

This is the second in a series of poems on the poet's journey to Niagara Falls. See part one. Again I sit, as I sat long ago, Upon a...

You will find below the first installment of three Niagara poems written during the poet's journey. A new one will be posted on each...