Weekly Contest
No contests this week.
Classic poem of the day
O Thou, by Nature taught
To breathe her genuine thought
In numbers warmly pure and sweetly strong:
Who first on mountains wild,
In Fancy, loveliest child,
Thy babe and Pleasure's, nursed the pow'rs of song!
Thou, who with hermit heart
Disdain'st the wealth of art,
And gauds, and pageant weeds, and trailing pall:
But com'st a decent maid,
In Attic robe array'd,
O chaste, unboastful nymph, to thee I call!
By all the honey'd store
On Hybla's thymy shore,
By all her blooms and mingled murmurs dear,
By her whose love-lorn woe,
In evening musings slow,
Soothed sweetly sad Electra's poet's ear:
By old Cephisus deep,
Who spread his wavy sweep
In warbled wand'rings round thy green retreat;
On whose enamell'd side,
When holy Freedom died,
No equal haunt allured thy future feet!
O sister meek of Truth,
To my admiring youth
Thy sober aid and na...
member poem of the day
I left the cemetery that April day And drove to the old farmhouse Where I’d grown up. Dead leaves shattered As I walked around the house I hadn’t seen in twenty years The tree branch that had held the rope swing, The grassy space by the woods where I’d played… Still there. The trees, just beginning to show new leaves Let more light reach the ground than under summer’s Dense canopy of green Broken beer bottles, left by hunters, I guessed, lent sparks of light To the dried leaves that had piled up for years Shards of broken glass hung from the frame Of my old bedroom window Paint had worn off the house, leaving gray weatherboard Speckled with holes from buckshot From deer hunters no longer worried about anyone living there The house sagged where rain had blown in for years. And I knew the house would never be rebuilt. I turned to go back to the car. And that’s when I saw it. When we’d moved to the farm and cleared the yard I came across the trunk of...
Weekly Contest
No contests this week.
