Winter 2006-7

Jack D Harvey


There is that in God
which is not gaud
                                                feeding the chickens
Honorius muttered in Latin,
not brooking a report
that Rome
how you say?
                                had been
like a chicken
                                its neck wrung.

Jesus, the beautiful faces,
the villas where Sallust
the beautiful noble stones
the shithouses, aqueducts, roads
                ROME DEAD?
but she fed the world
     a long time
a line of law
and reason

Lars Porsinna
and the bloody emperors
hairy Vandals
                                Alaric alert
All honor
her hills, her people,
her purple
covered the steppes,
the western isles.

Among the ruins
raindrops spatter
like pennies,
clattering on bronze
and marble alike.

We will not see Hadrian
again rebuilding the walls.

Jack Harvey is retired, in his sixties and has been writing poetry on and off since the age of sixteen. Twice-divorced, father of one daughter, he lives in a small town near Albany, N.Y. His poetry has appeared in Scrivener, Mind In Motion, Slow Dancer, Laurel Review, The Antioch Review, The University of Texas Review and a number of other poetry magazines over the years.



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