Weekly Contest
Classic poem of the day
When the humid shadows hover
Over all the starry spheres
And the melancholy darkness
Gently weeps in rainy tears,
What a bliss to press the pillow
Of a cottage-chamber bed
And lie listening to the patter
Of the soft rain overhead!
Every tinkle on the shingles
Has an echo in the heart;
And a thousand dreamy fancies
Into busy being start,
And a thousand recollections
Weave their air-threads into woof,
As I listen to the patter
Of the rain upon the roof.
Now in memory comes my mother,
As she used in years agone,
To regard the darling dreamers
Ere she left them till the dawn:
O! I feel her fond look on me
As I list to this refrain
Which is played upon the shingles
By the patter of the rain.
Then my little seraph-sister,
With the wings and waving hair,
And her star-eyed cherub-brother—
A serene an...
member poem of the day
delivered me back in the dark shadows
and the underbelly of the web,
where impossible mission
to differentiate the outer limits
cast by edge of night
essentially rendering a twilight zone
where obscured criminal activity
clear as day in retrospect,
versus earlier this month
when yours truly gung ho
obediently got a crash course
in cryptocurrency and electronic
of human bondage
blindsided to the Potemkin Village,
who never heeded the red flags
now forced me to revisit
nightmare scenario of pennilessness,
whereby an absentee vote
of no confidence in self awareness
guaranteed enthrallment back
to burglarious, nefarious, usurious loan sharks
ever since the latter part of June 2023,
when pseudonymous Harvey Specter
indelibly etched monetary fiasco
now marking
the second anniversary of debacle
present racket instigated
courtesy Donald Koons,
who steer
