Ryan Wilson

Ladew Gardens Hand-in-hand, through the famous garden’s roses,We stroll while gangs of children run amokUnwatched. You don’t want kids, you tell me. StruckBy the remontants, we pause, and our posesBriefly fail. Late light cut through by green shadesIn patterns like a roulette wheel. Dark . . . . Continue Reading »

Here is the place envy and lies Pent me behind a prison gate. Oh, happy is the humble state Of that wise man so sage he flies This wicked world that’s filled with hate, And with his humble home and board In some delightful country spot, His one companion there the Lord, Lives out his life alone, . . . . Continue Reading »

One more dead party, and, off to the sideAmong the knick-knacks and the curios,In a blue blazer you assume the poseOf one whose patterned noose is loosely tied,Of one belonging here, one clearly meantFor artificial lights and merriment. The revelers, snug in their ugly sweaters, Swill booze and . . . . Continue Reading »

Melius enim iudicavit de malis benefacere, quam mala nulla esse permittere.                                 —St. Augustine There is a . . . . Continue Reading »