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Odd Poem: Hu Mingfu (胡明复) , 'Lion-Eating Poet in the Stone Den'

Lion-Eating Poet in the Stone Den is crafted entirely from the syllable “shi,” distinguished only by tonal variation, yet it still conveys a complete and coherent story in Chinese. The poem was originally written by Hu Mingfu (胡明复) and published by linguist Yuen Ren Chao in Volume 11 of The Chinese Students’s Monthly in 1916.[2][3] It was then refined by Yuen Ren Chao in the 1930s for…

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Sonnet: RHL, 'Why I Lie'

When hitchhiking, inevitably taskedwith answers to ‘Where from?’ and ‘Origin?’I lie to simplify the tales I’d spin if my odd background really were unmasked. (The childhood travels, seas in which I’ve basked; prep school: Jamaica. Teen years schooling in a former English palace, slept where Queen Victoria stayed…) because then I’d be asked: ‘Why hitchhike? Spoiled kid! Don’t lie! Get…

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Marion Shore, 'The Lies I Tell'

The lies I tell you, little ones, I hope may be be forgiven: Of course there is a Santa, hon, Yes, Tiger’s up in heaven. When lies forsake you, as they must, And leave you lost, alone, Will you forgive the broken trust? Perhaps when you are grown, And try to shield your children from The darkness and the cold, You’ll find that you are telling them The lies your mother told. ***** Marion Shore…

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Ed Shacklee, 'So We Beat Them'

One limped a little, and another had a stammer, one was cross-eyed, swarthy, and employed atrocious grammar; so we beat them with a pipe, and then a club, and then a plier, bending them like pretzels after binding them with wire, sending trite condolences with tappings of a hammer. One was far too clever, another drolly thick, one was hyper, one disfigured by a nervous tic; so we beat them with a…

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Squib: Max Gutmann, 'Pointedly'

Seurat completely placed his trust in pointillism, never fussed with other styles, for they’d have just been pointless. ***** For me this falls right on the border of the category I call ‘Unforgettable Nonsense’ verse – typically short, with puns or other jokes… But this isn’t strictly speaking nonsense… Yet the use of rhyme and rhythm with the wordplay makes it super easy to memorise, which is…

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Semi-formal sonnet: Red Hawk, 'Old Age Requires the Greatest Courage'

The greatest courage is not needed for war, but for ordinary people growing old. Like soldiers, the aged are never very far from death: many are called, all are chosen. A soldier faces danger then retreats, but for the old, going back is not possible; they may hunger for youth but pray for the luck of a quick death. When one by one the body’s systems fail, they must be brave and face annihilation…

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David Callin, 'Sangliers'

It is not a forest, more a sun- dappled woodland near the Pont du Gard, the river fol-de-rolling merrily. Here, where they’ve been told the wild things are, a family, a mother and her young, step through wild garlic till they come upon a small ménage of wild boars, sangliers: a mother and her young, a glade away. Their shadows lengthened by the dappling sun, each gives way to the other and trots…

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Joe Crocker, 'A one-way visit'

to the vet with our decrepit cat: snaggle-toothed, arthritic, ectoparasitic. His kick-ass piebald coat is now a mat for fleas to wipe their feet on. His legs are lame. His dignity is flat. He used to know his name was Tipperary. Today it could be Tom or even Jerry. Enough. He’s had enough. And that is that. ***** Joe Crocker writes: “Tipper” was my youngest daughter’s cat. He had white socks…

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Translation: Émile Verhaeren, 'Storm' translated by John Gallas 

So there you are, clambering amongst the topmost golden apples when – ker-boom! A storm! an avalanche! comes hurtling through, ripping round the orchard-side. And you?  Down that ladder smartish. Catch your breath. Shelter in the shed, whose wobbly walls squeal with lightning-snaps , whose old roof pings and rattles in the hail. And then? Then things go back to normal. Rosy sky. The…

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Sonnet: Jean L. Kreiling, 'Fado for Beginners'

Fado (Portuguese): fate, and also a Portuguese style of music forsolo singer and guitar, usually expressing saudade, or longing.Most of us long for something—love or wine or one more hour before we say goodbye— or feel an ache that we can’t quite define, the pulsing of our blood a silent sigh. In Portugal, we see the shiny thrones of kings who yearned for women and for land; we taste the port and…

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Tom Vaughan, 'Stuff Happens'

Bad stuff happens. Some survive but it’s a risky business being alive. Good stuff happens too – though don’t count on it lasting long. It won’t. ***** Tom Vaughan writes: “Stuff Happens was of course part of a remark by US Secretary of Defense/Defence Donald Rumsfeld in 2003 in response to widespread looting in Baghdad following the US/US military ‘intervention’. Although I wrote the poem on…

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D.A. Prince, 'Dawn Chorus'

That first sound splintering the listening dark, letting the light slip in between the notes — a blackbird, surely, surer now, his spark picked up by robins. Liquid tuning floats through unseen branches, marking territories of nests and mating, brings the grudging air its first flushed streak of colour. In the trees a strengthening music, patterned like a prayer. ***** D.A. Prince writes: “By a…

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Unforgettable Nonsense: A.E. Housman, 'Hallelujah!'

‘Hallelujah!’ was the only observation That escaped Lieutenant-Colonel Mary Jane, When she tumbled off the platform in the station, And was cut in little pieces by the train. Mary Jane, the train is through yer! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! We shall gather up the fragments that remain. ***** The Salvation Army is the only army I can think of that would have had female officers in Housman‘s time. I…

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Acrostic sonnet: Mike Mesterton-Gibbons, 'Veronika The Cow'

(Science has reported the first evidence in cattle ofusing a single tool for multiple purposes, a skill previously seen only in humans and chimpanzees.)  Veronika the cow can wield a broom, Enabling her to scratch her back and breast, Relieving itch. This Austrian, for whom Old age brings fame, is now the manifest New poster-girl for multi-purpose tools In use by livestock, widely thought to…

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Steven Clayman: 'Enmeshed In Pure Feeling'

I spied her entwine an out-spiraling net, each jittery stride trailing radial spans before coming to rest astride her last strands.  Still-standing and idling then inching and sidling till centered she sits, wind-wafted and wheeling, unhearing, unseeing, enmeshed in pure feeling.  From above, a tableau of flutter and flop; from within, she awaits the faintest pin drop. A gnat mid-air, full stop,…

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Quatrains: Melissa Balmain, 'For My Mother-in-Law, Trapped in Her Nursing Home by Another Viral Outbreak'

(after A.E. Housman) Loneliest of trees, a cherry blooms Unseen by you whose spartan rooms Have windows that are far too high For views of anything but sky. Now with your nineties in full swing, You’ve doubtless started wondering If last year’s rides to see spring’s glory Were the last ones in your story. And so you’re gamely making do With what’s available to you: A faded sprig from Mother’s…

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Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer, 'Qué hermoso es ver el día', translated by Paul Burgess

Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer (1836-1870) How beautiful to view the crownof fire encircling day, to watch its rise,to see its kiss illuminatethe brilliant waves, its blaze ignite the skies!How beautiful in gloomy fallto drink perfume from flower petals stilla little moist from morning rain,to breathe in sweetness ‘til you’ve had your fill!How beautiful to watch as whitedescends in silent flakes of…

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