Classic poem of the day
THE DOWNRIGHT LOVER .
And could the charmer of my soul suppose,
That praise, so justly to her talents due,
From any source but strong conviction rose,
And only meant my bantering pow'rs to shew?
Alas, that she I love so little knows
This simple heart, to feign which never knew;
And which could now without alarm expose
...
Member poem of the day
Tonight’s sky seems flat, it could be an expanse with no shape at all. Perception, they say, is everything. I step outside in the dark, see Venus and Jupiter, mistake them as stars. Why not? What mass can I assign to a paper-thin crescent glowing phantasmal yellow-white, or to its neighbors, bright, circular specks? Heavenly bodies we call them, as if knowing their figure: globe, sphere, some kind of body-at-all. Things change form and orientation to each other— like......
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