Ordinarily I don’t publish so much poetry at Theoria-press, and instead try to provide mostly essays with an odd poem or sonnet occasionally interspersed among them. But the Muse’s visits have outstripped my ability to keep pace with prose pieces so readers who prefer essays should peruse the archives of this site, which are replete with them.
I WROUGHT a garden with my working hands,
by the Euphrates fed, plus rivers three
flowing down into the fretful sea,
which breaks upon the golden strands
atop a mountain rising from the sands,
wherein I placed a pair of blooming trees
the haunt of singing birds and humming bees
in the East an angel, flaming sword in hand
to stand guard over the all who dwelt therein
most of all, my beloved man and wife
whom I wished to cherish and to keep from sin
but my hopes were spurned: the way they went is rife
with pain and toil and death for all their kin
they fled the garden, chose the path of strife
but I have kept for them the Tree of Life