Featured Topic: Dreams
Featured Product: Seasons
Featured Writer: poets better and more famous than me
Featured Form: Rondel
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The Curse of Cain
My punishment is more than I can bear! He who finds me will kill me in the open field. Not so. Your crime, cannot cut short my care; your head will be, against such vengeance, sealed. And yet, from the ashes of Eden—length to length— you will roam the desert...
The Crime of Cain
You claim you are not your brother's keeper, but I detect the absence of a proper fear. What will you say when I raise the sleeper? Though you have ears to hear, you do not hear. I begged you not to join your father's war and his dreadful crimes not to recommit. You...
The Sleeping Prince of Rails: Or the Curious Death of Webster Wagner
Webster Wagner was born in Palatine just a stepping stone between Rome and Troy as you ride the old New York Central line from Albany straight west to Illinois. He built quite a home alongside the bridge, a mansion of the Mohawk Valley 'tween the Adirondack and the...
The Duomo at Barga
Snow melts from these peaks feed not the Tiber but push the aging Auser's modest mills. Common threads they keep, but silken fiber will be sold to greater Florence for her frills. When the Fuhrer the Gothic line made green to crop the conquest of his conquerors, made...
The Feast of the Fast
It has been the habit of your holy ones to grieve, their faces bent over an empty bowl, and in their fast they found you hotter than the cooking coal. Yet we can barely sit to pray, our stomachs full, and are lulled to sleep by a thousand bites; our bellies to our...
The Fickle Devotion of a Saint
Holy Sonnet 19 by John Donne Oh, to vex me, contraries meet in one: Inconstancy unnaturally hath begot A constant habit; that when I would not I change in vows, and in devotion. As humorous is my contrition As my profane love, and as soon forgot: As riddlingly...
When Cats Grow Claws
From the ashes of Sinai, He commands us to eat no thing that has not hooves but paws for earth itself fell victim to our hands; the ground grows thorns and the cat has grown claws. To think, the lion once grazed like a goat but now he stalks the young and ill to maul—...
Why church music sucks.
As a general rule, I hate hymns that were written in the 1800's. I am not a musician, but I understand that melodies are more reliable predictors of a song's popularity than the content of their verses--a reality that is evidenced by my own inability to shake Katy...
“I will wait for you.”
This is an amazing performance that articulates a healthy view of singleness in the Christian life. I feel that it is a powerful and much needed corrective to a protestant/evangelical culture that overvalues married life.
Flight of the Monarch
Behold the prince, the winged monarch as he circles, circles in the midday breeze and in robes of orange and train of black could dark the skies and bring the impious to his knees. This army, in ever ancient loyalty, emerges from its chrysalis to fill the heavens with...
Fourteen Lines by Steven Alexander
A book of poems based on the biblical Song of Solomon. You can buy it from Amazon.
What need has He for our Democracy: A poem for Peter during his lapse
There lies the body of our murdered monarch. Dare we now await the morning with the lark, hoping for the death of dark and dawn of day, with blood on our hands and in our bones decay? We have no claim, no light, no hope of hope and deserve nothing but a traitor's...
Silent Saturday
Is this the one who would lay final claim to Great David's old imperial throne, whose touch has cured an army of the lame but crawled our cobbled streets to die alone? Is this the "Coming One" we thought would reign, his head with glory's golden laurels crowned? Is...
The Birth of Cain
The rising white of a blister on my hand is my blood guilt, my token from the fall— this and the damned weeds that curse the land with stains from our black revolt—our cabal with the snake against heaven's highest king. Now everything is taken by the thorn and my...
At Simon’s House
This lazy traveler reclines with dirty feet and receives his food from unwashed hands. He sinks his teeth in questionable meat and questions not this whore with tangled strands crying to him as if he were a god! And the whole muddied mob calls him "Teacher!" Can they...