Weekly Contest
Classic poem of the day
Act I, Scene I VOLPONE .
Good morning to the day; and, next, my gold:
Open the shrine, that I may see my saint .
Haile the worlds soule, and mine. More glad then is
The teeming earth, to see the long'd-for sunne
Peepe through the hornes of the celestiall ram ,
Am I, to view thy splendor, darkening his:
That, lying here, amongst my other hoords,
Shew'st like a flame, by night; or like the day
Struck out of chaos , when all darknesse fled
Unto the center. O, thou sonne of SOL ,
(But brighter then thy father) let me kisse,
With adoration, thee, and every relique
Of sacred treasure, in this blessed roome.
Well did wise Poets, by thy glorious name,
Title that age, which they would have the best;
Thou being the best of things: and far transcending
All stile of joy, in children, parents, friends,
Or any other waking dreame on earth.
Thy lookes, when they to VENUS did a...
member poem of the day
As the arthritic railbird spits out his chew,
the strong exercise rider slows the four
year old stallion to a trot,
his muscular, mahogany body sweats,
prominent veins, flaring nostrils,
puffing out mist,
a toss of his head,
his hot walker awaits,
farrier's craft of light shoes on his hooves.
Don't have the Thoroughbreds parade to
the races anymore,
the pastures of buttercups so beckoning
in the April morning chill,
His dam still whinnies for him -
please, no more horses broken down,
no more jockeys falling to the earth,
Ruffian's shadow on the track,
she became immortal
that long and painful day,
July 7, 1975,
her groom leaned his head
on the doorway of her empty stall,
and, as usual,
the horse racing world went on.
