Denise Sobilo

About Denise Sobilo

Denise Sobilo is a poet who serves as a caregiver to her elderly mother. She was a stay-at-home mom and assisted her husband in his business.

“Advent of the Eskaton”

By |2020-07-25T12:10:18-05:00July 25th, 2020|Categories: Christianity, Evil, Imagination, Poetry|

‘You may say this to Théoden son of Thengel: open war lies before him, with Sauron or against him. None may live now as they have lived, and few shall keep what they call their own. —J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings ‘Ware, ‘ware! in the watches of the night; for the devil reigns in darkness [...]


By |2020-04-09T20:15:18-05:00April 9th, 2020|Categories: Christianity, Easter, Imagination, Poetry|

Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not over me; but weep for yourselves, and for your children. Luke 23:28 All gardens have now become Gethsemane: forsaken shadowscapes of sterile blight where no solace may be found, nor any light. Branches cruciate dominate cruelly. […]

“An Open Letter to a Fellow Poet”

By |2019-11-15T15:29:56-06:00November 15th, 2019|Categories: Poetry|

for Adam Sedia[1] But why against one poor poet, a hundred men?                                     "Cyrano de Bergerac"                                     Edmond Rostand What dreams do come to distress needful sleep, to cause me wakeful to take up my pen and write [...]

“The Nihilism of the Empty Tomb”

By |2019-04-05T13:13:21-05:00April 5th, 2019|Categories: Christianity, History, Literature, Poetry|

They seek him here; they seek him there. Those Frenchies seek him everywhere. Is he in heaven?—Is he in hell? That damned, elusive Pimpernel!  —The Scarlet Pimpernel, Baroness Orczy “Come now, let us be reasonable men as befits us in this epoch, this age, of enlightenment. If such it be, then why must we continue [...]

“On First Looking Into an Abridged Homer”

By |2018-03-04T14:20:11-06:00March 4th, 2018|Categories: Great Books, Homer, Poetry|

For Exander, on his second birthday In this egalitarian age of trans(en)gendered equivalencies work-product art exists, no more or less, as a fungible proxy for any other unit of work-product art; none are good, so there can be none better; to be deemed best but sleight-of-hand prestige: counterfeit currency for consumption. This present is nothing [...]

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