Braise
Mysterious loses
Pleasing, tempting, teasing
Planting, affluents blue gold
Treasure
She lit up his world like a Roman candle
But then disappeared in a flash,
took all that he thought they'd built,
and burned it straight to ash
If she comes back, slinking round,
He won't open that door again
He's not gonna wait around
For her to explain where she's been
By: J.N.R Dutton
The Colosseum sits~
a fractured crown,
its arches a circlet of light
where jeweled sun gathers,
I walk its perimeter,
my fingers grazing limestone
warm as living skin.
Dust rises~
a faint ghost of applause, of fear,
of spectacle braided with longing.
History here is not distant;
it presses close,
grainy and intimate.
The broken tiers curve
like a half-remembered sentence,
one the empire began,
but time insisted on finishing.
Grass grows where violence once bloomed;
the sky claims the open roof
as if to remind the ruin
that even power must answer to light.
I feel a strange tenderness:
noting how even magnificence erodes,
how power becomes dust,
how what remains is not violence
but vulnerability~
the open sky pouring through
what once was sealed.
The Colosseum reminds me
that time builds and erases in the same breath,
and that beauty endures most fiercely
in the places where the world
has already learned how to break.
Don’t scan your horoscope today
to find out what the stars may say
tomorrow brings, or if you’ll see
the lilacs bloom again, that tree
bud, flare, and fade, the sun decline
into its winter’s mortal shine:
what lies ahead is still a blur,
though what’s to come is all too sure.
The vanished years recede so fast,
and any smile may be our last:
we’re not designed to glimpse our end;
just take what good the gods may send.
This is all we need to know:
we’ve got today: don’t let it go.
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In imitation of (though not a translation of) Horace Odes I.11.
Please note that I never have used and never will use AI to compose or revise any of my writings.
A random comment on poetry in general: A good poem is addressed to the person who reads it, not to the person who writes it. By this standard, there are practically no good poems being written today.
Roman numerals
does anyone still use them
maybe a lost art
I used to know them
I have lost that knowledge
might have to relearn
I wanna spend Thanksgiving in a UFO
Thankin' the Cosmos for starlight's glow!
With veggies and fruits on my plate,
It's a Cosmic voyage that sure feels great!
Flying high, my saucer in the sky,
Mushrooms, squash, and peas roll by.
Thankfulness guides my heart, my art, my song.
At my Thanksgiving table, love belongs.
I want to paint like DeChirico in a dreamy haze,
While Roman columns fill my nighttime gaze.
Jupiter, Venus, and Odin are flying near.
My table is in Asgard with good mead and cheer.
Flying high, my space Saucer in the sky
Bluebirds and Cardinals are singin' nearby.
Planetary voices join in tune
As I sail beneath the Carribean moon.
I'm a Cowgirl, a pilgrim, a wanderin' woman.
The American spirit makes me feel free
With mashed potatoes and Seitan Stew,
Thanksgiving grits, yellow squash, and linguistic brew.
I'm flyin' high, my saucer in the sky.
Blessed be all, with peace to guide
Thanksgiving, the best Cosmic Holiday
Intergalactic with forever racing freeways!
You wore Achilles’ armor when things got tough
You slayed Trojan after Trojan, and seemed invincible
When Sarpedon went down they knew you were no joke
You turned their heads and raised their eyebrows, shields, and swords
But every hero gets lonely, and every hero falls
This was no fluke but a peak that then plateaued
How much can one man do, with Jove and Apollo on the other side?
Hector may have ended you, but not without their help
Of course, your legacy lives on
No warrior really took you down
You made Achilles proud
You made the Achaeans proud
The Trojans may have your armor
But your body is well preserved
Just like your spirit and your honor
Forever, the Trojans will shriek when they hear your name: PATROCLUS!!!
Vanished in death’s flames with Mani’s scriptures of life
Banished to mine for grey-white marble to fulfil Rome’s plan
Punished to mine in Phaeno, or die by Rome’s knife
Unvanquished through the endurance of the First Man
Valiantly working in marble mines, they now rest on diamond roads of light
Patently, those burned souls became our sweet remembrance and frankincense
Rampantly, inflamed Diocletian tried and failed to steal their pearls of pure white
Brilliantly, Mani’s burned medicine became our sweet myrrh incense
Poem about the Roman Emperor Diocletian's (284–305 AD) persecution of Manichaeans, which later extended to Christians. This is in honour of those persecuted.
powerful juno
roman queen of strong women
your song we still sing
as we escape twinned clutches
of crushing weeds to flower
Practicing hard at his yoga,
Cato convolved with his toga.
The news he was caught
In this Gordian Knot
Spread to the land of Busoga.
The one true Church established by Father Christ is the Roman Catholic Church
It is the Church which our Divine Lord started when He picked the 12 Apostles
And made St. Peter as their head
We know that the Roman Catholic Church is the one true Church established by Father Christ
Because it alone has the mark of the true Church
A mark is a sign that points out something
The marks of the Church points it out as the Church which Father Christ started
The chief marks of the Roman Catholic Church are 4
It is one
Holy
Catholic or Universal
And apostolic
All are obliged to belong to the Roman Catholic Church
Is the some way
In order to be saved
The Roman Catholic Church is a congregation of all baptized persons
United in the same true faith
The same sacrifice
And under the Holy Father
The Pope
Father Christ founded the Roman Catholic Church to bring all men to Eternal salvation
Father Christ gave the power to teach
To sanctify
And to rule the members of His Church to the Apostles
The 1st Bishops of the Church
The successors of Apostles are the Bishops of the Roman Catholic Church
Father Christ gave special power in His Roman Catholic Church
To St. Peter
By making Him the head of the Apostles
The chief teacher
And ruler of the entire Church
The Successor of St. Peter is the Holy Father
The Bishop of Rome
The priests
Especially Parish Priests
Help the Bishop in the care of the Souls
Ancient building, columns define. Eden’s forever garden hidden. Indelibly juxtapositioned kaleidoscopic lake maintains numerous orchidaceae. Porticos’ quaint, reclused, sequestered. Tetrastylon unseen villa’s with xystus, Yogananda’s Zen.
May be guns are self-explanatory
for already something is something
or cute cutlass and one local farmer
hoe or digger?
or somehow a carpenter hammer
or nail?.
The reason may be still self-
explanatory- can we only
rely on contemporary or sometimes
harking?, the west woke up
in the morning and born
the west said nothing except
a passion for memory and joy
how should we then smother and smother?.
little boys playing in the clay road
picking up turtles that fly in the wind
run, run away from the scary old widowers
or you might never be a boy again!
we can only be boys for a little longer
so let’s take our cheer and carry it on
as the great warrior Atreus did
when he gave his life for victory
we’re in Rome, with Kalsus and Andeus
and all of our friends from the east and the west
we are here, with this one chance to say
“we are here, we cheer, to hoping the words here last”
for we are the last of our kind to be here
and we don’t know what comes after
but we don’t give in to fear
and we hope to give you laughter
forever and ever
we are the sons of a generation
that will never be seen again
so laugh until the bitter end
hold the name of the Empire
in the hearts of all who hear
and remember, always remember!
Nothing comes from nothing!
So we will never die!
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