Classic poem of the day
What's hallowed ground? Has earth a clod
Its Maker meant not should be trod
By man, the image of his God,
Erect and free,
Unscourged by Superstition's rod
To bow the knee?
That's hallowed ground where, mourned and missed,
The lips repose our love has kissed;--
But where's their memory's mansion? Is't
Yon churchyard's bowers?
No! in ourselves their souls exist,
A part of ours.
A kiss can consecrate the ground
Whe......
Member poem of the day
Sunday eventide, on the slope of the fire-hued mountain, owls emerge from the pines' shelter of boughs, I'm sitting by an open window, the peace of writing in the night. Hunters moon, so settled and goldenrod, the young days of autumn's presence, sipping cinnamon hot cider, baying hounds in the smoky valley, songbirds taking an evening vow of silence. Writing of bygone friendships, and gained faith, harvest of bittersweet recollections, surviving parent, a ghost of memories, of ......
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