Poems

I cannot get a grip on this--race replacement theory, genocide, violent intolerance.Nor can I find an endpoint--words and prayer; poetry, maybe; a mural, perhaps. --Ahhhhh!— I grab a long piece of eighteen-gauge waxed cord,a few yards of blackened jute, half dozen pieces of hemp,a nice sized piece of bright red feltand begin the art of knot making,one small circle … [Read more...] about Macreme, By: Michael H. Brownstein

ACT I. SCENE Road in a Wood.WALLACE and LACY. LACY. The troop will be impatient; let us hieBack to our post, and strip the Scottish ForayOf their rich Spoil, ere they recross the Border.Pity that our young Chief will have no partIn this good service.WAL. Rather let us grieveThat, in the undertaking which has causedHis absence, he hath sought, whate'er his … [Read more...] about The Borderers. A Tragedy, By: William Wordsworth

Here on their knees men swore: the stones were black,Black in the people's minds and words, yet theyWere at that time, as now, in colour grey.But what is colour, if upon the rackOf conscience souls are placed by deeds that lackConcord with oaths? What differ night and dayThen, when before the Perjured on his wayHell opens, and the heavens in vengeance crackAbove his head … [Read more...] about The Black Stones Of Iona, By: William Wordsworth

When Love was born of heavenly line,What dire intrigues disturbed Cythera's joy!Till Venus cried, "A mother's heart is mine;None but myself shall nurse my boy," But, infant as he was, the childIn that divine embrace enchanted lay;And, by the beauty of the vase beguiled,Forgot the beverage--and pined away. "And must my offspring languish in my sight?"(Alive to all a … [Read more...] about The Birth Of Love, By: William Wordsworth

Avon, a precious, an immortal name!Yet is it one that other rivulets bearLike this unheard-of, and their channels wearLike this contented, though unknown to Fame:For great and sacred is the modest claimOf Streams to Nature's love, where'er they flow;And ne'er did Genius slight them, as they go,Tree, flower, and green herb, feeding without blame.But Praise can waste her voice on … [Read more...] about The Avon, By: William Wordsworth