Roses are red, violets are blue, et cetera. Perhaps you have composed a verse on the theme, as did John Jenkins in 10th Grade English, “Roses are red, violets are purple, sugar is sweet, and so is maple surple.” A sincere effort. Not quite Nash, but even so. John, a fine person, recently passed…
FROM CONFESSION, “SALVATION” I ask you, “Who would live to die a saint?” To scorch the feet on desert sands; To strike the thigh with leather bands; To starve; to kneel in prayer until one faints: Oh no, I would not want to be a saint. Neither would I be a martyr, Boiled in…
Essentially Priapus: A New Priapeia Feminism. This too shall pass. Nature will have its way after we’ve gone astray. Always has. Always shall. Each thing is as it is made. For instance, Priapus was carved of a living olive tree in the moment of bringing forth fruit, the seed and oil. Fertile and virile,…
The Priapeia, a new translation and sympathetic interpretation of the God and the ancient text Many gods and goddesses occupy the high temples of Olympus and crowd the many niches of museums. You will know and recognize Aegis-Bearing Zeus, Cow-Eyed Hera, Phoebus Apollo, Pallas Athena and others of the sky-gods, you might even…
Potina, Lady of the Stag In the saffron field above a pleasure-palace in the rich seaport of Akrotiri, Aiyana gathers blooms for a festival to honor the goddess and the earth opens and black plumes rise … so begins, Potina, Lady of the Stag, the story of a girl. This, a girl…
Colloquies: A Review of Civilization in Little Songs Nations come and nations go, kingdoms are mostly gone, China intends empire, not certain its people do, though they are hungry for wealth, and are willing to consume the world’s resources, including yours. Our nation will be gone, sooner or later; all nations fade away in…
Paideia, Book I of Colloquies, A Review of Civilization in Little Songs Wonder what Isocrates might have made of me. A Greek, I suppose. As ipso facto he did, just as he made you, Greek. We are who we are by how we know of what we are, universally, biologically, creatures who can know…
Classical Poets and Expansive Poetry When you come to be my age (God willing, you do) patterns reveal themselves, show themselves more real than real, mutable things. But then, alike you, I have always seen patterns, and this the cause, I suppose, that we are classical poets. Something about the pattern patterning, God’s universe, the…
