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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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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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Where My Books go, by William Butler Yeats
ALL the words that I utter,
And all the words that I write,
Must spread out their wings untiring,
And never rest in their flight,
Till they come where your sad, sad heart is,
This Place Called Home, by Peter E Adotey Addo
Sometimes my memory corrodes my mind
But there are parts I know it cannot change.
Sometimes I may deny past the hour of dawn.
Perhaps these are just partial images passing through.
Where I once lived someone lives there now
The Passionate Shepherd to His Love, by Christopher Marlowe
COME live with me and be my Love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
Or woods or steepy mountain yields.
And we will sit upon the rocks,
The Breaking, by Margaret Steele Anderson
(The Lord God speaks to a youth)
Bend now thy body to the common weight!
(But oh, that vine-clad head, those limbs of morn!
Those proud young shoulders I myself made straight!
How shall ye wear the yoke that must be worn?)
The Rover's Adieu, by Sir Walter Scott
A WEARY lot is thine, fair maid,
A weary lot is thine!
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid,
And press the rue for wine.
A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien,
My Childhood Home I See Again, by Abraham Lincoln
I
My childhood's home I see again,
And sadden with the view;
And still, as memory crowds my brain,
There's pleasure in it too.
Spring, by Thomas Nashe
SPRING, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king;
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing--
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The palm and may make country houses gay,
The Half-asleep, by Thomas Wade
O FOR the mighty wakening that aroused
The old-time Prophets to their missions high;
And to blind Homer's inward sunlike eye
Show'd the heart's universe where he caroused
Radiantly; the Fishers poor unhoused,
Song, by Margaret Widdemer
The Spring will come when the year turns,
As if no Winter had been,
But what shall I do with a locked heart
That lets no new year in?
The birds will go when the Fall goes,
Beauty Bathing, by Anthony Munday
BEAUTY sat bathing by a spring,
Where fairest shades did hide her;
The winds blew calm, the birds did sing,
The cool streams ran beside her.
My wanton thoughts enticed mine eye
The Ride to the Lady, by Helen Gray Cone
"Now since mine even is come at last, --
For I have been the sport of steel,
And hot life ebbeth from me fast,
And I in saddle roll and reel, --
Come bind me, bind me on my steed!
Benevolence, by Catherine R. Misenheimer
What has this world come to?
We are living as caged animals in a zoo
Pacing the floor and feeling confined
Wondering, Is it safe to go outside ?
Seclusion is not the way to hide
The DayPoems web site, www.daypoems.net, is copyright 2001-2012 by Timothy Keith Bovee. All rights reserved.
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