Remorseless sun stunts the dew
Glistening towers of tainted glass
ignite and blister in blood-yellow light
recalling the tallest of crumbling tombs
as humbler graves harbor their dead
in the clutches of earth and callous night
The past is draining through inhuman dreams
no people are packing backrooms and bars
no pride or empire rises on ruins
no glance at a face gleans what is fair
Everyone senses evil has come
The world we knew will not be renewed
and gods of technology are graceless and numb
We call for a hero but just hear recordings
Unmaking Machiavelli’s Modernity
In his Apologia ad Carolum Quintum, English cardinal Reginald Pole claimed that Thomas Cromwell told him in…
Wendell Berry’s Eternal Story
Ten years ago, an editor at Penguin approached me to ask if I would like to edit…
Winners of the Third Annual First Things Poetry Prize
We are pleased to announce the winners of the third annual First Things Poetry Prize. Forester McClatchey…