Siris

Today is the feast of St. Polycarp, whose name means 'many-fruited'. He was bishop of Smyrna. Tertullian notes ( De praescriptione h...

The Isles Your reason is a snowdrift-reason, icy in and out of season, cold and sharded frost with flakes, a floe no grace nor fervor w...

This finishes the notebook that was complete in January 2018. "The working of our power to know is the same in whatever course of exp...

The Poet and the Baby by Paul Laurence Dunbar How's a man to write a sonnet, can you tell,— How's he going to weave the dim, poe...

This began as an adaptation of part of a poem attributed to Seneca; I then detached it from the larger context and gave it a slightly more N...

Today is the feast of St. Pietro Damiani, Doctor of the Church. Born in Ravenna near the end of the tenth century, Peter Damian became a uni...

A Texas Hymn The birds woke me at the sunrise hour when grass was dewy and all was pale beneath the light of a high white star; it sang...