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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.
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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`What Look hath She?', by Mary Colborne-Veel
What look hath she,
What majestie,
That must so high approve her?
What graces move
That I so love,
Untitled, by Pyr3
Putting on a mask
Winter comes after summer
Wishing for true joy
Jolly Good Ale and Old, by William Stevenson
I CANNOT eat but little meat,
My stomach is not good;
But sure I think that I can drink
With him that wears a hood.
Though I go bare, take ye no care,
Only of thee and me, by Louis Untermeyere
Only of thee and me the night wind sings,
Only of us the sailors speak at sea,
The earth is filled with wondered whisperings
Only of thee and me.
Only of thee and me the breakers chant,
Wind o' the Autumn, by Will. H. Ogilvie
I love you, wind o' the Autumn, that came from I know not where,
To lead me out of the toiling world to a ballroom fresh and fair,
Where the poplars tall and golden and the beeches rosy and red
Are setting to woodland partners and dancing the stars to bed!
Oh! say, wild wind o' the Autumn, may I dance this dance with you
When I am dead and Sister to the Dust, by Elsa Barker
When I am dead and sister to the dust;
When no more avidly I drink the wine
Of human love; when the pale Proserpine
Has covered me with poppies, and cold rust
Has cut my lyre-strings, and the sun has thrust
Joe Hill, by Alfred Hayes
I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night
Alive as you or me
Says I, But Joe, you're ten years dead
I never died, says he
I never died, says he
Vesta, by John Greenleaf Whittier
O CHRIST of God! whose life and death
Our own have reconciled,
Most quietly, most tenderly
Take home thy star-named child!
Thy grace is in her patient eyes,
The Ninety and Nine, by Rose Elizabeth Smith
There are ninety and nine that work and die,
In hunger and want and cold,
That one may revel in luxury,
And be lapped in the silken fold.
And ninety and nine in their hovels bare,
Here is the Place where Loveliness keeps House, by Madison Cawein
Here is the place where Loveliness keeps house,
Between the river and the wooded hills,
Within a valley where the Springtime spills
Her firstling wind-flowers under blossoming boughs:
Where Summer sits braiding her warm, white brows
Phoebus with Admetus, by George Meredith
WHEN by Zeus relenting the mandate was revoked,
Sentencing to exile the bright Sun-God,
Mindful were the ploughmen of who the steer had yoked,
Who: and what a track show'd the upturn'd sod!
Mindful were the shepherds, as now the noon severe
Hard to Swallow, by Glen Sorestad
Poet Laureate of Saskatchewan
I raise the glass to my lips --
Bourgogne Passe-Tout-Grains --
and let the ruby elixir
fill my mouth. From the sixth floor
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