Classic poem of the day
Sister of love-lorn Poets, Philomel!
How many Bards in city garret pent,
While at their window they with downward eye
Mark the fait Lamp-beam on the kennell'd mud,
And listen to the drowsy cry of Watchmen,
(Those hoarse unfeather'd Nightingales of Time!),
How many wretched Bards address thy name,
And Hers, the full-orb'd Queen that shines above
But I do hear thee, and the high bough mark,
Within whose mild moon-mellow'd foliage hid
Thou......
Member poem of the day
We met unexpectedly somehow,
on stroke bell of midnight,
mystic moon guides our walkway,
we almost nearly didn’t spot,
each other’s presence as of yet,
aura of the night roused,
sublime enchantment,
in those ocean blue eyes,
that act as strong magnet,
for iridescent love cycle,
magic scene shifting,
clustered heart intrigue,
cloud skim chocolate,
charcoal sky imposing,
us torch flames ablaze,
go...
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