Classic poem of the day
After the first powerful plain manifesto
The black statement of pistons, without more fuss
But gliding like a queen, she leaves the station.
Without bowing and with restrained unconcern
She passes the houses which humbly crowd outside,
The gasworks and at last the heavy page
Of death, printed by gravestones in the cemetery.
Beyond the town there lies the open country
Where, gathering speed, she acquires mystery,
The luminous self-possession of ships o......
Member poem of the day
It is a smell— a sweet lavender from running through fields or an overwhelming vanilla from tailing behind your mother or a fragrant burnt from blowing out candles.
It is a taste— the saltiness lingering in the ocean air or bitterness from a disastrous Thanksgiving or soggy from your first kiss with a girl or spicy transporting you right back home.
It is a sound— a heavy bass from your gothic te...
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