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Tony Burton

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George Bernard Shaw, Hilaire Belloc, and G.K. Chesterton.  Shaw lampooned the other two as “Chesterbelloc,” “a very amusing pantomime elephant.”

George Bernard Shaw, Hilaire Belloc, and G.K. Chesterton. Shaw lampooned the other two as “Chesterbelloc,” “a very amusing pantomime elephant.”

"George, Who Played with a Dangerous Toy" by Hilaire Belloc

January 27, 2021

And suffered a Catastrophe of considerable Dimensions

When George’s Grandmamma was told
That George had been as good as gold,
She promised in the afternoon
To buy him an Immense BALLOON.
And so she did; but when it came,
It got into the candle flame,
And being of a dangerous sort
Exploded with a loud report!

The lights went out! The windows broke!
The room was filled with reeking smoke.
And in the darkness shrieks and yells
Were mingled with electric bells,
And falling masonry and groans,
And crunching, as of broken bones,
And dreadful shrieks, when, worst of all,
The house itself began to fall!
It tottered, shuddering to and fro,
Then crashed into the street below—
Which happened to be Savile Row.

When Help arrived, among the Dead
Were Cousin Mary, Little Fred,
The Footmen (both of them), the Groom,
The man that cleaned the Billiard-Room,
The Chaplain, and the Still-Room Maid.
And I am dreadfully afraid
That Monsieur Champignon, the Chef,
Will now be permanently deaf—
And both his aides are much the same;
While George, who was in part to blame,
Received, you will regret to hear,
A nasty lump behind the ear.

Moral:

The moral is that little boys
Should not be given dangerous toys.


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A Quiet Life by Baron Wormser

January 20, 2021

What a person desires in life
is a properly boiled egg.
This isn’t as easy as it seems.
There must be gas and a stove,
the gas requires pipelines, mastodon drills,
banks that dispense the lozenge of capital. MORE…

Comment

Everybody Made Soups by Lisa Coffman

January 13, 2021

After it all, the events of the holidays,

the dinner tables passing like great ships,

everybody made soups for a while. MORE…

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In the Bleak Midwinter by Christina Rossetti

December 23, 2020

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim, worship night and day,
Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels fall before,
The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.


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To My Son's Girlfriend by Michael Milburn

December 16, 2020

I'm tempted to ask
what you see in him.
Although you probably
see the good that I see
I wonder if you realize
how much he is my handiwork,
or which of the qualities
you daydream about in class
are the ones that I take pride in,
his cordiality, for example,
or love of silliness. MORE…

1 Comment
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“The Bee Carol” by Carol Ann Duffy

December 09, 2020

Silently on Christmas Eve,

the turn of midnight’s key;

all the garden locked in ice —

a silver frieze —

except the winter cluster of the bees.

Flightless now and shivering,

around their Queen they cling;

every bee a gift of heat;

she will not freeze

within the winter cluster of the bees. MORE…

Comment

"The Leaving" by Greg Watson

December 02, 2020

I will not miss this place but for

the paraffin glow of the young nurse's face,

blonde and almond-eyed,

strange comfort of the flashlight's

blinking on and off as she makes her

nightly rounds, seemingly without steps,

to check if you are still breathing,

kneeling at the bedside to ask,

Are you still awake? Do you need a pill?

as outside the window a dull gray

snow is falling into absence

and you cradle a thought no longer there…MORE

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"Spirit of Cecilia" by Ursula Vaughan Williams

November 25, 2020

Sing for the morning's joy, Cecilia, sing,

in words of youth and praises of the Spring,

walk the bright colonnades by fountains' spray,

and sing as sunlight fills the waking day;

till angels, voyaging in upper air,

pause on a wing and gather the clear sound

into celestial joy, wound and unwound,

a silver chain, or golden as your hair.

 

Sing for your loves of heaven and of earth,

in words of music, and each word a truth;

marriage of heart and longings that aspire,

a bond of roses, and a ring of fire.

Your summertime grows short and fades away,

terror must gather to a martyr's death;

but never tremble, the last indrawn breath

remembers music as an echo may.

 

Through the cold aftermath of centuries,

Cecilia's music dances in the skies;

lend us a fragment of the immortal air,

that with your choiring angels we may share,

a word to light us thro' time-fettered night,

water of life, or rose of paradise,

so from the earth another song shall rise

to meet your own in heaven's long delight.

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“Wild Geese Alighting on a Lake” by Anne Porter

November 18, 2020

I watched them
As they neared the lake
They wheeled
In a wide arc
With beating wings
And then….MORE

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In Flanders Fields by John McCrae

November 11, 2020

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

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The Day Nothing Happened by Jeffrey Harrison

November 04, 2020

On that day in history, history
took a day off. Current events
were uneventful. Breaking news
never broke. Nobody
of any import was born, or died.
(If you were born that day,
bask in the inverted glory
of your unimportance.) MORE….

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Farm Auction by Amy Fleury

October 28, 2020

Contrails scrawl the sky under which
sawhorse-and-lumber tables offer up
the hoard and store of fifty years.
Neighbors have come to scour house
and barn and implement shed.
Yes, we’ve come to haul it all away—

MORE…

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For My Son, Reading Harry Potter by Michael Blumenthal

October 21, 2020

How lovely, to be lost
as you are now
in someone else’s thoughts
an imagined world
of witchcraft, wizardry and clans
that takes you in so utterly
all the ceaseless background noise
of life’s insistent pull and drag soon fades
and you are left, a young boy
captured in attention’s undivided daze…MORE…

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“From Blossoms” by Li-Young Lee

October 14, 2020

From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward  
signs painted Peaches.

 From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat. MORE…

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Fetch by Tony Hoagland

October 07, 2020


Who knew that the sweetest pleasure of my fifty-eighth year
would turn out to be my friendship with the dog?

MORE…

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The Apple Orchard by Dana Gioia

September 30, 2020

You won’t remember it—the apple orchard
We wandered through one April afternoon,
Climbing the hill behind the empty farm.

A city boy, I’d never seen a grove
Burst in full flower or breathed the bittersweet
Perfume of blossoms mingled with the dust. MORE…

1 Comment
The Battlefield at Gettysburg.

The Battlefield at Gettysburg.

The Gettysburg Address by Abraham Lincoln

September 23, 2020

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

—Delivered at the Dedication of the Cemetery at Gettysburg, November 19, 1863.

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Bad News About My Vocation by Ron Koertge

September 16, 2020

I remember how the upper crust in my hometown
pronounced it—care-a-mel. Which is correct, I guess,
but to everybody else it was carmel.

Which led to the misconception about the order
of Carmelites

MORE…

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Ode to a Watch at Night by Pablo Neruda

September 09, 2020

At night, in your hand
My watch shone
Like a firefly.
I heard no ticking:
Like a dry rustling coming
from your invisible hand.
Then your hand
went back to my dark breast
to gather my sleep and its beat. MORE…

From Neruda: Selected Poems, Houghton Mifflin Press, 1990.

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She Gives Me the Watch off Her Arm by Marjorie Saiser

September 02, 2020

my mother wants me to
go to college

the closest she has ever been
is this
the dorm…MORE

Today’s prayer by Steven Charleston:

I am praying for silence. I am praying for a great silence to descend on every city that is in conflict, on every community that is suffering, on every street still littered with broken glass. Like snow falling from heaven I pray for a silence to still the voices of those who would incite violence, to muffle their messages of manipulation, to turn their shouts to whispers, until the only thing left is no sound at all other than the sound of our heart beating: the common sound we call life. I am praying that in this holy silence, free from the voice of hate, we might finally see one another clearly, see who we are, see what we have done and are still doing, see into the eyes of those we have been told are different. No more speeches today. No more fear or anger. Only silence. The silence of any human spirit when it first sees the truth.

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Bio

Bishop Anthony Burton is the retired Bishop of Saskatchewan.

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