Classic poem of the day
The buzz saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Five mountain ranges one behind the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,
As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.
Call it a day, I wish they might have ......
Member poem of the day
I heard the old year leave
noxious, corrupt and crippled
dragging through cold streets
like a brittle bag of bones
with tortuous, decrepit step.
My old words were there
and a facsimile of old me
trapped in rotting burlap
tempting with the heady
scent of perfumed decay.
I resisted the craving to cling.
I let them wander by, blind.
Good riddance to past pasts...
may they molder in perfect putrefaction.
and tomorro...
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