Before the night encroaches much farther

Watch, watch for Arthur

Hi friends,

I haven’t written in a while. I was waiting to have a new poem to share, and I had a bit of a quiet spell around midwinter. But now the poems are starting to emerge. I have 9 poems lined up for publication in 2026 so far, so buckle in.

I only have one new poem to share today, but it’s one I’m really excited about. I’ve been obsessed with the mythology of King Arthur since I was a kid, and for much of that time I’ve also had a vague idea of writing some kind of Arthurian … something. For years I thought it might be a novel, when I was still interested in novels (oops did I say that out loud). More recently I’ve been playing around with the idea of writing an epic poem. But the form aside, the feeling of the thing I’ve wanted to write through all those years has been very steady. I love the swampy edges of the Arthurian mythology, the weird dead ends that wander off the well-worn highways of Mallory and Tennyson. I want to write something that really lives in the weirdness of those stories, the fearful uncertainties at the edges of the light.

I’ve made a couple attempts in recent years to write something. I have a few Arthur poems I like as standalones, but there’s one that I think could actually be the basis of an epic. And it was published this week in the incredible New Verse Review: A Journal of Lyric and Narrative Poetry.

It took this poem a while to come to fruition, but I don’t think the timing could have been better. It’s a poem about being at the end of an age, and watching a way of life crumbling around you, and looking ahead to what might emerge. We’re living in chaotic times, and I think the moment demands big, ambitious art to help us feel our way through the change. This poem may or may not be the acorn that the oak of my Arthurian epic grows out of one day. But for now I’m glad it has found its way to ground.

My poem is called “The Last of the Longships,” and you can find it here. For now, here’s the first half:

When the last of the legions left the city
their boots rang hollow through the square
toward the longships. We waited there,
observing this last indignity,
as the soldiers marched lockstep up the ramps
of the vessels, their bellies sagging full
of plunder. They’d gleaned the city bare.

I was still a child that day. I saw
all this, but didn’t understand
how the lean years leaned in over us
with withering expectation. My hand
clung to my master’s wizened claw
of a hand—gaunt fingers stained with simples—
as if I could absorb from him
the wisdom to see out past the dim
horizons closing in on us.
Just then, just then, his ancient eyes
took on the milky distant sheen
they took whenever he prophesied
(and they might still). His voice stretched, keen
and shrill, across the clustered causeway …

If you want to know what the master prophesied, finish reading at New Verse Review here. And while you’re there, poke around and read some other poems. It’s a really good journal that consistently publishes some of the best poetry being written today. Thanks as always to Steve Knepper for including me in such company.

I’ll write more soon with some more new poems. But to finish today I want to share some last things from 2025.

As I announced several times on here, I did a reading in November with D.S. Martin, at the St Thomas Poetry Series in Toronto. Here’s a picture of me reading that my lovely wife Kat took:

And for those of you who missed it, here’s the video of the full reading:

In December, Fr. Justin (Edward) Hewlett shared a delightful account of discovering me on the St Thomas Poetry Series website, and the small world of traditional poetry.

Also in December, Traces Journal featured my poem “Talking Saint Brendan Blues” in their year-end retrospective. Thanks to editor Maya Venters who’s running a really wonderful Canadian journal (and who has an incredible poem in the new issue of New Verse Review linked above!).

That’s all for now. Happy new year to all, and more new poems to follow soon.