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Tim Bovee, Private Trader: The left brain side of my life.
mamabluefoot & the mountain
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A Poet on a Magical Journey Home
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Tina Blue's Beginner's Guide to Prosody, exactly what the title says, and well worth reading.
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Save Point 0.8.1, a Portland, Oregon, exhibit, Aug. 13-Sept. 5, 2004, at Disjecta.
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A dozen poems
For todayA version friendly to printer and palmtop
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Fifty Years Spent, by Maxwell Struthers Burt
Fifty years spent before I found me,
Wind on my mouth and the taste of the rain,
Where the great hills circled and swept around me
And the torrents leapt to the mist-drenched plain;
Ah, it was long this coming of me
Our Lip Met (The First Kiss), by George Jerone Jefferson
when you feel she is right for you it in your heart
The look in your pretty
Brown eyes
Softness of your lips
To
Song, by John Davidson
THE boat is chafing at our long delay,
And we must leave too soon
The spicy sea-pinks and the inborne spray,
The tawny sands, the moon.
Keep us, O Thetis, in our western flight!
Hertha, by Algernon Charles Swinburne
I AM that which began;
Out of me the years roll;
Out of me God and man;
I am equal and whole;
God changes, and man, and the form of them bodily; I am the soul.
Too solemn for day, too sweet for night, by William Sidney Walker
TOO solemn for day, too sweet for night,
Come not in darkness, come not in light;
But come in some twilight interim,
When the gloom is soft, and the light is dim.
Love in a Cottage, by Daniel Henry Deniehy
A cottage small be mine, with porch
Enwreathed with ivy green,
And brightsome flowers with dew-filled bells,
'Mid brown old wattles seen.
And one to wait at shut of eve,
Love and Life, by John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester
ALL my past life is mine no more;
The flying hours are gone,
Like transitory dreams given o'er,
Whose images are kept in store
By memory alone.
You, by Ruth Guthrie Harding
Deep in the heart of me,
Nothing but You!
See through the art of me --
Deep in the heart of me
Find the best part of me,
Soft, Low and Sweet, by Johannes Carl Andersen
Soft, low and sweet, the blackbird wakes the day,
And clearer pipes, as rosier grows the gray
Of the wide sky, far, far into whose deep
The rath lark soars, and scatters down the steep
His runnel song, that skyey roundelay.
Mr. Eliot's Sunday Morning Service, by Thomas Stearns Eliot
Look, look, master, here comes two religions
caterpillars.
The Jew of Malta.
Polyphiloprogenitive
The sapient sutlers of the Lord
April -- North Carolina, by Harriet Monroe
Would you not be in Tryon
Now that the spring is here,
When mocking-birds are praising
The fresh, the blossomy year?
Look -- on the leafy carpet
Early Scare, by Tom Young
Lets terrorize baby.
Make him think he's in a cradle in a tree top,
swinging in the wind.
Hanging from a brittle bough ready to break,
moments from falling to the ground,
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