Classic poem of the day
In a green place lanced through
With amber and gold and blue;
A place of water and weeds
And roses pinker than dawn,
And ranks of lush young reeds,
And grasses straightly withdrawn
From graven ripples of sands,
The still blue heron stands.
Smoke-blue he is, and grey
As embers of yesterday.
Still he is, as death;
Like stone, or shadow of stone,
Without a pulse or breath,
Motionless and alone
There in the lily stems:
......
Member poem of the day
There’s plenty of it on this sphere of ours,
in solid state, in liquid, and in steam.
Life’s brimming with it, from lobelia stem
to giant redwood bole. I’m free with oars
to row a boat, or in a canoe to paddle
to Boston, Antwerp—anywhere I wish.
If I get mucky, I’ll jump right in and wash
or watch the buntings bathing in a puddle
or peddle water filters, piddle about
the house all day and, sipping sparkling...
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