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Tim Bovee, Private Trader: The left brain side of my life.
mamabluefoot & the mountain
walderkinder: A Cascadian mom and biologist teaches her children about the marvels
growing around them.
Bliss Fotography: Really cool photos from San Francisco
A Poet on a Magical Journey Home
Chronicles of a Sea Woman
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Poetry Archive
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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To Autumn, by John Keats
SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness!
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
Untitled, by smilinmike Goodliffe
From across what's been
And been between
Shadows past
On the wall still seen
Dance across the ceiling
Behind the House is the Millet Plot, by Muna Lee
Behind the house is the millet plot,
And past the millet, the stile;
And then a hill where melilot
Grows with wild camomile.
There was a youth who bade me goodby
Dead Leaves, by Edward Booth Loughran
When these dead leaves were green, love,
November's skies were blue,
And summer came with lips aflame,
The gentle spring to woo;
And to us, wandering hand in hand,
To a Portrait of Whistler in the Brooklyn Art Museum, by Eleanor Rogers Cox
What waspish whim of Fate
Was this that bade you here
Hold dim, unhonored state,
No single courtier near?
Is there, of all who pass,
Souls, by Fannie Stearns Davis
My Soul goes clad in gorgeous things,
Scarlet and gold and blue;
And at her shoulder sudden wings
Like long flames flicker through.
And she is swallow-fleet, and free
Da Leetla Boy, by Thomas Augustine Daly
Da spreeng ees com'! but oh, da joy
Eet ees too late!
He was so cold, my leetla boy,
He no could wait.
I no can count how manny week,
The Relapse, by Thomas Stanley
O TURN away those cruel eyes,
The stars of my undoing!
Or death, in such a bright disguise,
May tempt a second wooing.
Punish their blind and impious pride,
Song Written at Sea, in the First Dutch War (1665), the night before an Engagement., by Charles Sackville, Earl of Dorset
TO all you ladies now at land
We men at sea indite;
But first would have you understand
How hard it is to write:
The Muses now, and Neptune too,
March, by Alexander B. McNair
No other month
Is welcomed more than thee:
The furious blast
That hurries past
Is but the winter freed.
Out Back, by Henry Lawson
The old year went, and the new returned, in the withering weeks of drought,
The cheque was spent that the shearer earned, and the sheds were all cut out;
The publican's words were short and few,
and the publican's looks were black --
And the time had come, as the shearer knew, to carry his swag Out Back.
Spring, by Cindi Beach
And when the frozen earth began
To melt in sunshine gold,
The start of nature's wonderment
Once more she did unfold
All her beauty and her splendor
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