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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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Night's Mardi Gras, by Edward J. Wheeler
Night is the true democracy. When day
Like some great monarch with his train has passed,
In regal pomp and splendor to the last,
The stars troop forth along the Milky Way,
A jostling crowd, in radiant disarray,
Only Blue Escapes, by Andrew Patrick Cummins
only blue escapes these seamless corners;
nothing else, I don't know why
the folded sky spills from itself,
intense and past due dry
there's contradiction yet there's comfort,
The Bitter Herb, by Jeanne Robert Foster
O bitter herb, Forgetfulness,
I search for you in vain;
You are the only growing thing
Can take away my pain.
When I was young, this bitter herb
The Inverted Torch, by Edith M. Thomas
Threading a darksome passage all alone,
The taper's flame, by envious current blown,
Crouched low, and eddied round, as in affright,
So challenged by the vast and hostile night,
Then down I held the taper; -- swift and fain
Bridal Song, by George Chapman
O COME, soft rest of cares! come, Night!
Come, naked Virtue's only tire,
The reaped harvest of the light
Bound up in sheaves of sacred fire.
Love calls to war:
The Old Whim Horse, by Edward Dyson
He's an old grey horse, with his head bowed sadly,
And with dim old eyes and a queer roll aft,
With the off-fore sprung and the hind screwed badly,
And he bears all over the brands of graft;
And he lifts his head from the grass to wonder
Fair Janet, by Anonymous
Child Ballad 64
Ye maun gang to your father, Janet
Ye maun gang to him sune;
Ye maun gang to your father Janet,
Before his days are dune.
Bushland, by Arthur Patchett Martin
Not sweeter to the storm-tossed mariner
Is glimpse of home, where wife and children wait
To welcome him with kisses at the gate,
Than to the town-worn man the breezy stir
Of mountain winds on rugged pathless heights:
To the Virgins, to make much of Time, by Robert Herrick
GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
Airly Beacon, by Charles Kingsley
AIRLY Beacon, Airly Beacon;
O the pleasant sight to see
Shires and towns from Airly Beacon,
While my love climb'd up to me!
Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon;
Song, by Hartley Coleridge
SHE is not fair to outward view
As many maidens be,
Her loveliness I never knew
Until she smiled on me;
O, then I saw her eye was bright,
Shee, by Joe Duvernay
Two members move up
Die cast
Shee obtains
Righted permit(s)
Contained in the satchel captured
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