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Poetry

Last year I was asked by the Precentor of Wells Cathedral if I would write an extra 8th Antiphon sonnet to go with the special 8th O antiphon, O Virgo Virginum, which was used in English churches and Cathedrals in the...
0 779

Before first-frost enfolds the woodland glade, Compelling fowl and foliage to flight, Anoint the earth with balm of prayers prayed. The bodies of beleaguered brothers laid Have yet to rot and yet to reunite, Before first-frost enfolds the woodland glade.
0 1648

Many modern observers view the university as little more than an instrument to achieve social and economic objectives, and to the extent that they are successful at corralling universities into these projects, they signal the end of liberal learning...
1 2820

A renowned medievalist who did her post-doctoral work at Oxford under such luminaries as J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis, Sister Madeleva Wolff wrote poetry as beautifully as she handled expertly all the chores of a Wisconsin farmer... “Accidents are so often God’s way of being doubly...
0 872

He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark, And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey, Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the park Voices of boys rang saddening like a hymn, Voices of play and pleasure after day, Till gathering sleep had mothered...
1 1944

Francesco Petrarch and Laura de Sade likely never met or spoke, but Petrarch wrote hundreds of sonnets about her and to her... When we think of love sonnets, most of us think of the sappy ooze of lyricists or...

Lo! I am come to autumn, When all the leaves are gold; Grey hairs and golden leaves cry out The year and I are old. In youth I sought the prince of men, Captain in cosmic wars, Our Titan, even the weeds would show Defiant, to...
0 775

When by thy scorn, O murd'ress, I am dead And that thou think'st thee free From all solicitation from me, Then shall my ghost come to thy bed, And thee, feign'd vestal, in worse arms shall see; Then thy sick taper will begin to wink, And...
2 1940

In The Waste Land, T.S. Eliot gives us a terrifying gaze at the spiritual reality of the world. All men are cracked, thirsty and longing for death... “The awful daring of a moment’s surrender / which an age of prudence can never retract / by this, and...
0 652

This is the village where the funeral Stilted its dusty march over deep ruts Up the hillside covered with queen’s lace To the patch of weeds known finally to all. Of her virtues large tongues were loud As I, a stranger, trudged the streets Gay with...
2 1254

Lo! ’t is a gala night Within the lonesome latter years! An angel throng, bewinged, bedight In veils, and drowned in tears, Sit in a theatre, to see A play of hopes and fears, While the orchestra breathes fitfully The music of the spheres. Mimes, in the form...
0 680

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To...
0 1058

Gerard Manley Hopkins' poem "God’s Grandeur" is far more powerful than William Wordsworth’s pondering and wandering on the banks of the Wye because Hopkins did not turn away from the dark reality... In England for a family...
0 1171

In poetry, I want startling new visions and a new way to look at the world aslant. I want a spark or surge of emotion that sneaks up on me and catches me, in the surprising turn of a final couplet or an intimate insight that disturbs...