Weekly Contest
Classic poem of the day
Oh! look at the moon,
She is shining up there;
Oh! Mother, she looks
Like a lamp in the air.
Last week she was smaller,
And shaped like a bow;
But now she's grown bigger,
And round as an O.
Pretty moon, pretty moon,
How you shine on the door,
And make it all bright
On my nursery floor!
You shine on my playthings,
And show me their place,
And I love to look up
At your pretty bright face.
And there is the star
Close by you, and maybe
That small, twinkling star
Is your little baby.
member poem of the day
He had studied flags, kites and pinwheels
knowing them for the harmless fry of monsters
they would soon become his duty
for all his tilting at windmills
everything looked skewed
An enemy of state
of mind he sought the source
of untamed, wanton might
not just to cage a beating heart but to fire
engines whether of giants or turning, wooden sails
They bided their time or wasted his
aware they could outlast his futile forays
into imagination flickering like a candle’s flame
fanned not to burning novas but guttering
in the breeze, thoughts bending this way and that
Unwilling to give a hint of their endless energy
the windmills creaked unceasing, deep
belly laughing millstones about his neck
he’d hung his hopes and dreams on discovering
something as mighty and invisible as a breath of wind
Heroic Fantasy Quarterly #17 2013
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