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Tim Bovee, Private Trader: The left brain side of my life.
PORT: An Online Visual Arts Journal
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Project Gutenberg, a huge collection of books as text, produced as a volunteer enterprise starting in 1990. This is the source of the first poetry placed on DayPoems.
Tina Blue's Beginner's Guide to Prosody, exactly what the title says, and well worth reading.
popomo.net, miniature, minimalist-inspired sculptures created from industrial cereamics, an art project at Lewis and Clark College in Portland, Oregon.
pink.popomo.net, More projects from Portland
oarena.net, Furby, Eliza, Mr_Friss and Miss_Friss.
Save Point 0.8.1, a Portland, Oregon, exhibit, Aug. 13-Sept. 5, 2004, at Disjecta.
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A dozen poems
For February 9, 2010A version friendly to printer and palmtop
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Whilst it is prime, by Edmund Spenser
FRESH Spring, the herald of loves mighty king,
In whose cote-armour richly are displayd
All sorts of flowers, the which on earth do spring,
In goodly colours gloriously arrayd--
Goe to my love, where she is carelesse layd,
Copyright 2003-2004 by Spring Allegro. All rights reserved.
Whisper Soft, by Bob Childs
Take of the seed and stand over it that someday
You become made of wood and pressed into paper
Take of the soil and turn clay into painted beads
To braid into your hair
Take of the sky and cloud--up heavy and dark
Aubade, by Sir William Davenant
THE lark now leaves his wat'ry nest,
And climbing shakes his dewy wings.
He takes this window for the East,
And to implore your light he sings--
Awake, awake! the morn will never rise
A Jacobite's Epitaph, by Thomas Babington Macaulay, Lord Macaulay
TO my true king I offer'd free from stain
Courage and faith; vain faith, and courage vain.
For him I threw lands, honours, wealth, away,
And one dear hope, that was more prized than they.
For him I languish'd in a foreign clime,
The Sirens' Song, by William Browne, of Tavistock
STEER, hither steer your winged pines,
All beaten mariners!
Here lie Love's undiscover'd mines,
A prey to passengers--
Perfumes far sweeter than the best
Laura, by Thomas Campion
ROSE-CHEEK'D Laura, come;
Sing thou smoothly with thy beauty's
Silent music, either other
Sweetly gracing.
Lovely forms do flow
Why, by Bliss Carman
FOR a name unknown,
Whose fame unblown
Sleeps in the hills
For ever and aye;
For her who hears
The Homeland, by Dana Burnet
My land was the west land; my home was on the hill,
I never think of my land but it makes my heart to thrill;
I never smell the west wind that blows the golden skies,
But old desire is in my feet and dreams are in my eyes.
My home crowned the high land; it had a stately grace.
Compensation, by William Ellery Leonard
I know the sorrows of the last abyss:
I walked the cold black pools without a star;
I lay on rock of unseen flint and spar;
I heard the execrable serpent hiss;
I dreamed of sun, fruit-tree, and virgin's kiss;
Fairyland, by Mrs. James Glenny Wilson
Do you remember that careless band,
Riding o'er meadow and wet sea-sand,
One autumn day, in a mist of sunshine,
Joyously seeking for fairyland?
The wind in the tree-tops was scarcely heard,
Battle Song, by Ebenezer Elliott
DAY, like our souls, is fiercely dark;
What then? 'Tis day!
We sleep no more; the cock crows--hark!
To arms! away!
They come! they come! the knell is rung
Into a Precipice, by Oyown
Sitting upon a precipice,
Created by the running river
That comes and goings beyond the horizons,
The sun adorning the ripening sky
Without friend to be accompanied by
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