December 0

Blog Archive

Fri, 13.01.2012

Heredity by Effie Smith

Our dead forefathers, mighty though they be,
For all their power still leave our spirits free;
Though on our paths their shadows far are thrown,
The life that each man liveth is his own.

Time stands like some schoolmaster old and stern,
And calls each human being in his turn
To write his task upon life’s blackboard space;
Death’s fingers then the finished work erase,
And the next pupil’s letters take its place.

That he who wrote before thee labored well
Concerns thee not: thy work for thee must tell;
‘Tis naught to thee if others’ tasks were ill:

learn more

New Poem Each Day

Poetry Corner

Popsicle Cold Now that the story has moved out of the headlines the widow of the dead black hero stands alone at the public market purchasing polluted pork with government... POPSICLE COLD and CLAIRVOYANCE by Norman Jordan.
Read More