• Grey Facebook Icon
  • Grey Twitter Icon
  • Grey Google+ Icon

December 25, 2019

A pin oak grips its leaves, long turned to brown
And hanging against the frosts and deepening chill,
Into December still it holds them on
When all the trees around have let them fall.

The envied flowers have gone for many a day
Whose beauty struck the solemn oak to sh...

August 12, 2019

Night past night, down the endless starry river;
We watch for any change, but do not see
The tiny metaphor that is to be
The lightning spark that makes the unmoving shiver.
When constellations seemed transfixed forever,
A seedling grew and died in a desert sea
Behind t...

June 17, 2019

At last, the Sun looked down upon the treasure
                The night star had seen;
It rose, and burned to know what midnight pleasure
                To the night star, this had been;...

May 14, 2019

This article is reprinted with permission from the author

St. Augustine, the founder of Western Christian civilization, wrote, of poetry:

The purpose of it is to lead young people of ability, and perhaps older people too, gradually, with Reason for our guide, from the th...

May 1, 2019

Above in the trees, the birds are calling and replying,
Their lively laughter moving the gentle evening air,
The wrens gaily singing, the doves with quiet sighs.
On the ground below a chick, thrown from the nest, is crying,
Their gleanings were given to the stronger yo...

February 25, 2019

Memory is such a guileful thing,
And now I watch it like a doorway closing,
Or a mist along a shore that’s darkening,
Revealing less, and more in fog enclosing.

A pleasant thing if we could walk again
The many steps that made us come together;
Where went the grace that...

December 31, 2018

Once did an ancient poet see,
When antique dawn spread out her light,
Two birds of song and poetry
Upon a bending, flowering tree.
And as each day went on toward night,

One bird did hunt and fly and sing
And busy lay the nest in leaf,
Sought high and low on restless win...

September 17, 2018

Tired bends the lily 

Beneath its gorgeous flower;
Weary stoops the pilgrim
Drawn on by heavenly power.

All the soldier’s glory
Is grime upon his brow
In the darkness after battle --
A storm would bless him now.

Sadly broods the poet,
But the verse will glow,
And joy,...

Please reload

Connect on Facebook
  • Grey Facebook Icon
Please reload