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Tim Bovee, Private Trader: The left brain side of my life.
mamabluefoot & the mountain
walderkinder: A Cascadian mom and biologist teaches her children about the marvels
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Bliss Fotography: Really cool photos from San Francisco
A Poet on a Magical Journey Home
Chronicles of a Sea Woman
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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 todayA version friendly to printer and palmtop
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Idealists, by Alfred Kreymborg
Brother Tree:
Why do you reach and reach?
Do you dream some day to touch the sky?
Brother Stream:
Why do you run and run?
Esperanza, by Cindi Beach
I would paint her green
And if Hope were a color
For all the desires her eyes have seen!
And in between her emerald shades
I would trace her in gold
Reveille, by Louis Untermeyer
What sudden bugle calls us in the night
And wakes us from a dream that we had shaped;
Flinging us sharply up against a fight
We thought we had escaped.
It is no easy waking, and we win
Meeting, by George Crabbe
MY Damon was the first to wake
The gentle flame that cannot die;
My Damon is the last to take
The faithful bosom's softest sigh:
The life between is nothing worth,
Twenty Gallons of Sleep, by Agnes L. Storrie
Measure me out from the fathomless tun
That somewhere or other you keep
In your vasty cellars, O wealthy one,
Twenty gallons of sleep.
Twenty gallons of balmy sleep,
Harbury, by Louise Driscoll
All the men of Harbury go down to the sea in ships,
The wind upon their faces, the salt upon their lips.
The little boys of Harbury when they are laid to sleep,
Dream of masts and cabins and the wonders of the deep.
The women-folk of Harbury have eyes like the sea,
The Burial of Sir John Moore after Corunna, by Charles Wolfe
NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
As his corse to the rampart we hurried;
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
O'er the grave where our hero we buried.
We buried him darkly at dead of night,
To Music, to becalm his Fever, by Robert Herrick
CHARM me asleep, and melt me so
With thy delicious numbers,
That, being ravish'd, hence I go
Away in easy slumbers.
Ease my sick head,
Wassail Chorus at the Mermaid Tavern, by Theodore Watts-Dunton
CHRISTMAS knows a merry, merry place,
Where he goes with fondest face,
Brightest eye, brightest hair:
Tell the Mermaid where is that one place,
Where?
Against Indifference, by Charles Webbe
MORE love or more disdain I crave;
Sweet, be not still indifferent:
O send me quickly to my grave,
Or else afford me more content!
Or love or hate me more or less,
At Her Window, by Frederick Locker-Lampson
BEATING Heart! we come again
Where my Love reposes;
This is Mabel's window-pane;
These are Mabel's roses.
Is she nested? Does she kneel
The Angel of Death sleeps beside me, by Jean Jones
At night, her black hair, and dark eyes
Stare at me like photographs I have
Hanging from the wall, she is a skull
Grinning constantly at me, she is smiling
And her eyes flash every time she stares at me
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The authors of poetry and other material appearing on DayPoems retain full rights to their work. Any requests for publication in other venues must be negotiated separately with the authors. The editor of DayPoems will gladly attempt to assist in putting interested parties in contact with the authors.
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