Weekly Contest
Classic poem of the day
Full are my pitchers and far to carry,
Lone is the way and long,
Why, O why was I tempted to tarry
Lured by the boatmen's song?
Swiftly the shadows of night are falling,
Hear, O hear, is the white crane calling,
Is it the wild owl's cry?
There are no tender moonbeams to light me,
If in the darkness a serpent should bite me,
Or if an evil spirit should smite me,
Ram re Ram! I shall die.
My brother will murmur, " Why doth she linger? "
My mother will wait and weep,
Saying, " O safe may the great gods bring her,
The Jamuna's waters are deep. " ...
The Jamuna's waters rush by so quickly,
The shadows of evening gather so thickly,
Like black birds in the sky ...
O! if the storm breaks, what will betide me?
Safe from the lightning where shall I hide me?
Unless Thou succour my footsteps and guide me,
Ram re Ram! I shall die.
member poem of the day
there are too many poems about the moon:
“the moon is a fingernail
run through ink hair”
“a bleach spot on blue jeans”
“a quarter”
“a (w)hole”
what I want to know is, look--
we aren’t content to wait.
we make, make--
write and paint and re-write.
“the moon is a glass eye in a sunken face.”
but we will never make the moon again--
we make nothing so gravitous,
so vast, fast, first and last--
splendid!
we will never paint a moon the size of the moon
with sunlight shimmer-arcing over Earth
“the moon is a snapple cap in the dirt”
“the moon is a mouth”
“the moon cries out why, or why not?”
why do we say the moon cries out?
do we distill nine billion acres of iron alloy
into twenty-six lines
for truth?
for love?
for kicks?
it’s one a.m. and i’m staring at the damn thing,
spinning, skipping, screaming, “i can feel it! i can feel it! i can feel it! yes!”
and what i want to know is: can you?
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