Mrs. Lindon and Beyond the Veil

Mrs. Lindon and Beyond the Veil

Mrs. Lindon and Beyond the Veil Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem    Fanny Brawne, later Mrs. Lindon Avoiding ghost temptations to go through The curtain made of voile of silk between The living and the...

Fragile

               Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem “…very witty and intelligent and divinely beautiful….But, alas, very fragile.”  Siegfried Sassoon writing to Henry Festing-Jones...

Autumn and the Spanish Steps

          Autumn and the Spanish Steps   Though waiting for the wind so long, the leaves Know patience, or at least they know no dread. The autumn wind is patient, too, perceives Their stoicism wearing orange and red, October yellow even, brighter in Their bravery. ...

Archangels in the Moon Garden on Christmas Morn

          Archangels in the Moon Garden on Christmas Morn     The flowers in whitest rows set forth their white Perfume beside the Great Rift Valley on The day that Christ was born.  A rose’s might Is all that they can muster in this dawn Of Kenya.  That is strong...

On First Looking into Ovid’s Metamorphoses

On First Looking into Ovid’s Metamorphoses For Adam Meister and Suyash Singh His hand was heart.  His heart was hand.  The hand Was heart and more.  This hand was soul and mind. He learned that there are more than Sabbaths, bland And filled with trifling things like...

What Movie Stars Can Never Be

    What Movie Stars Can Never Be Enchantment is a slavery to stars Of sweatless screens, the cinema, tv, Or Netflix, or on smartphones.  Out on Mars Stars walk around, and though that’s stupid, we Watch on.  We know that we are lacking like Some Sad Sack clown.  An...

Sovereign Keats

               Sovereign Keats Modern poetry  modern verse  contemporary poetry  contemporary verse  modern poem  contemporary poem To bear all naked truths, And to envisage circumstance, all calm: That is the top of sovereignty. Hyperion II 203 To accept all With...

Coffin, Bed, Whatever

    Coffin, Bed, Whatever He used to have a black nacrotic ____ But now, because of you, it swells again. It pulses and is desperate to _____ Out words and symphonies so full of pain That laughter is the only option.  ____ Is there if you desire it in your throat. If...

Conversion at the Cliff Edge of the Great Rift Valley

Some readers may find this piece offensive.  If you think you might be offended, please do not read it. Conversion at the Cliff Edge of the Great Rift Valley Modern poetry  modern verse  contemporary poetry  contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem Beyond...

True Love

             True Love                 For Charles Randall Stanfield   Modern poetry  modern verse  contemporary poetry  contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem “I can never feel certain of any truth but from a clear perception of its Beauty.” ~ John Keats...

Sing in Me, Rational Muse!

Sing in Me, Rational Muse! Plato’s “descriptions of poetic inspiration occur over a long period of time, ranging from his earliest works to his latest, and there is considerable uniformity in what he says.  Throughout P.’s work the mental state of the inspired poet is...

Stunned, Stung with Esthetic Tears

Stunned, Stung with Esthetic Tears “When it reaches Alexandria, poetry comes in out of the sun, retires to the library . . .  And so it [poetry] survives in a world where the vulgar tongue is not Greek.” ~ Michael Schmidt, The First Poets, 19 At Florida Technological...

Crippled Poets

          Crippled Poets Among the earliest of lines to spring And linger utterly till now are long Ones drawn from blinded eyes.  The verses sing Like prophets’ spirits which must see.  A song Of guts, the gods, and marrow-spills came out From manly depths behind the...

Crippled Poets

        Crippled Poets Among the earliest of lines to spring And linger utterly till now are long Ones drawn from blinded eyes.  The verses sing Like prophets’ spirits which must see.  A song Of guts, the gods, and marrow-spills came out From manly depths behind the...

Virgins in Self-sacrificial Auto da Fé

Virgins in Self-sacrificial Auto da Fé Modern poetry  modern verse  contemporary poetry  contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem John Keats on his deathbed. ~Joseph Severn “His ‘magic’ does not take account of what cannot be known.”* His beauty does not care...

The Bones of Orpheus, the Hair of Keats

The Bones of Orpheus, the Hair of Keats Modern poetry  modern verse  contemporary poetry  contemporary verse  modern poem  contemporary poem If we collected poets’ body parts And put them in glass cases, would the world Adore them there like saints? Pickled hearts Of...

The Hard Truth: Keats

     The Hard Truth: Keats The myth rides gently on that wasting death. Consumption weakened him as if a spell Were cast by Tories hating lines with breath For weaker ones among us.  He was well In brain and soul, this little giant filled With all nobilities, this...

Abandoned by All but Two: Joseph Severn & Immortality

Abandoned by All but Two:  Joseph Severn & Immortality The man who sailed to Italy with Keats Was chosen just because he was the one Available.  Deaf circumstance defeats Our friends.  Concerns about the family stun Some men who otherwise might offer us Their...

Firm Fluidity

            Firm Fluidity The sunlight wavers from the ripples down Below.  The surface of the fountain in The square beneath his deathbed cannot drown Keats’ poetry.  The wavelets’ discipline Had killed his writing earlier, before He saw their wavering refractions on...

The Jewel a Bright Star Gave Him

The Jewel a Bright Star Gave Him . The lover holds carnelian between His thumb and finger (far too late to write More poetry), then palms it there to lean Against his lifeline.  If the stone is white Or red like blood that turns away from life Is well beyond God’s...

Unfinished Symphonies

     Unfinished Symphonies All lives are incomplete, not just the life Of Keats—or Emily in Amherst locked In circumstance.  Chance wields the palette knife And even genius finds its choices balked By limitations of the oil paints That fate provides.  The colors on...

The Final Leg of John Keats’ Journey to Death

The Final Leg of John Keats’ Journey to Death [John Keats, in case you didn’t know already, died of TB when he was very young.  In a desperate attempt to save his life, his friends subscribed money to send him to live in Italy. This ploy  failed and he died...

The Entry into the City of English Poets

The Entry into the City of English Poets We see him heated, agitated, full Of passion as a poem fills a page, As stern as Christ with money changers; skull Not visible but there as if a rage Resents the hair and flesh and skin And mouth, the opening between the bones,...

Misogyny and Class Warfare

    Misogyny and Class Warfare We took Keats’ life to be a taller ship Of Poetry, Romance, and High Ideals, But now we know through Motion’s scholarship Keats danced to rather boorish, common reels, Not only rules for minuets and verse. He hated women when he...

March 1819

               March 1819 John strolls alone along spring’s English streets. He sees a kitten being tortured by A boy, a butcher’s boy, and fights and beats Him, thrashes him. Just over five feet high, John intervenes when others might have left The beef-slab bully to...

Keats Walked Here

  Keats Walked Here The mountainside outshines the twilight force Above the highway and its cars.  Their glass And chrome presumably reflect the gorse, Dark green and yellow, from the mountain pass Back up, but weakly; colored echoes are Too feeble.  Bog plants made...

So Keats was Wrong

     So Keats was Wrong So Keats was wrong:  a star is not so firm Or steadfast as a lover’s sonnet yearns For it to be.  In fact, his urgent sperm Was probably more loyal and his tears For Fanny Brawne more strident than two bright, Twin stars.  Besides, some stars...

Keats, Rimbaud, Verlaine

   Keats, Rimbaud, Verlaine Day after day I sit and write French verse Forms, villanelles and terzanelles.  At noon I leave the British Library.  “Much worse Existences,” I say, smugly, “are strewn Across the urban universe.”  Today I noticed from the bus Paul...

Keats’ House before Arthur

Keats’ House before Arthur A meager air like dimmed eternity Pervades the scene.  The purple of the spikes Of crocuses is like an undersea Phenomenon in coral depths the likes Of which John Keats could not have seen Or conjured in his poetry.  But still This...

The Political Poet

     The Political  Poet I really LUV the way they try to see A poet’s politics.  The latest life Of Keats puts forward a pitiful plea To think of him as if the loving strife Inside him isn’t quite the point.  His heart And lungs were doomed and we’re supposed to care...

The Hard Truth

       The Hard Truth The myth rides gently on that wasting death. Consumption weakened him as if a spell Were cast by Tories hating lines with breath For weaker ones among us.  He was well In brain and soul, this little giant filled With all nobilities, this genius...

John Keats

          John Keats ‘the last lineal descendent of Apollo’ ~ Arthur Hallam The inmost soul of poetry is Keats. Its spirit is derived from locks of hair And curls about his temples.  Muse’s seats           In heaven rock with wonder and despair When goddesses consider...

Black Flightless Widow

   Black Flightless Widow “I have not got over it and I never shall.” ~ Fanny Brawne He died and then the girl Fanny soon                             Keats on his deathbed Fell ill.  Her spirit’s heart contrived to take Its toll upon her flesh.  A black cocoon...

One Brilliant Spot on a Poet’s Pillow

One Brilliant Spot on a Poet’s Pillow [It used to be that there was a notice in Keats’ House, Hampstead, London, beside the bust of John Keats set on a pedestal that said that it had been tailor-made to make the top of the bust reach exactly to the height...