Classic poem of the day
Ainkurunuru 321, 323, 325, 327, 328, 330
(1)
Even when I cross those places
where the hen-eagle,
parched head and chisel beak,
squawks on the dry forks
of spreading omai trees,
beyond the bare forest floors,
the several hills of alien languages,
her gentleness
goes with me.
......
Member poem of the day
'It's gravity, baby',
that's how it started--
three whispered words
under the bleachers,
two bodies
pulled into orbit.
From tongues of flame
halting caterwauls
breathlessly
stumbled...
...
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