This round: quieter reading, book-style chapters, and one HH throughout.
THE MODERN POET
The Five Carlins: An Election Ballad
By Robert Burns
THERE was five Carlins in the South,
They fell upon a scheme,
To send a lad to London town,
To bring them tidings hame.
Nor only bring them tidings hame,
But do their errands there,
And aiblins gowd and honor baith
Might be that laddie’s share.
There was Maggy by the banks o’ Nith,
A dame wi’ pride eneugh;
And Marjory o’ the mony Lochs,
A Carlin auld and teugh.
And blinkin Bess of Annandale,
That dwelt near Solway-side;
And whisky Jean, that took her gill,
In Galloway sae wide.
And auld black Joan frae Crichton Peel, 1
O’ gipsy kith an’ kin;
Five wighter Carlins were na found
The South countrie within.
To send a lad to London town,
They met upon a day;
And mony a knight, and mony a laird,
This errand fain wad gae.
O mony a knight, and mony a laird,
This errand fain wad gae;
But nae ane could their fancy please,
O ne’er a ane but twae.
The first ane was a belted Knight,
Bred of a Border band; 2
And he wad gae to London town,
Might nae man him withstand.
And he wad do their errands weel,
And meikle he wad say;
And ilka ane about the court
Wad bid to him gude-day.
The neist cam in a Soger youth, 3
Who spak wi’ modest grace,
And he wad gae to London town,
If sae their pleasure was.
He wad na hecht them courtly gifts,
Nor meikle speech pretend;
But he wad hecht an honest heart,
Wad ne’er desert his friend.
Now, wham to chuse, and wham refuse,
At strife thir Carlins fell;
For some had Gentlefolks to please,
And some wad please themsel’.
Then out spak mim-mou’d Meg o’ Nith,
And she spak up wi’ pride,
And she wad send the Soger youth,
Whatever might betide.
For the auld Gudeman o’ London court 4
She didna care a pin;
But she wad send the Soger youth,
To greet his eldest son. 5
Then up sprang Bess o’ Annandale,
And a deadly aith she’s ta’en,
That she wad vote the Border Knight,
Though she should vote her lane.
“For far-off fowls hae feathers fair,
And fools o’ change are fain;
But I hae tried the Border Knight,
And I’ll try him yet again.”
Says black Joan frae Crichton Peel,
A Carlin stoor and grim.
“The auld Gudeman or young Gudeman,
For me may sink or swim;
For fools will prate o’ right or wrang,
While knaves laugh them to scorn;
But the Soger’s friends hae blawn the best,
So he shall bear the horn.”
Then whisky Jean spak owre her drink,
“Ye weel ken, kimmers a’,
The auld gudeman o’ London court,
His back’s been at the wa’;
“And mony a friend that kiss’d his caup
Is now a fremit wight;
But it’s ne’er be said o’ whisky Jean—
We’ll send the Border Knight.”
Then slow raise Marjory o’ the Lochs,
And wrinkled was her brow,
Her ancient weed was russet gray,
Her auld Scots bluid was true;
“There’s some great folk set light by me,
I set as light by them;
But I will send to London town
Wham I like best at hame.”
Sae how this mighty plea may end,
Nae mortal wight can tell;
God grant the King and ilka man
May look weel to himsel.
Note 1. Sanquhar. [back]
Note 2. Sir James Johnston of Westerhall. [back]
Note 3. Captain Patrick Millar of Dalswinton. [back]
Note 4. The King. [back]
Note 5. The Prince of Wales. [back]
A little rhyme. Something to turn over. Tomorrow, a possible answer.
A moment with the words.
WORDS / EVERY HOUR
WORDS / EVERY HOUR
A note on the rotation
Box one belongs to works shared here—pictures, poems, or both—with a new selection each hour. The other three change one at a time every fifteen minutes. One is a Halloween poem through October. Skip any card, or pause while you read.
THE COLLECTION
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THE PLACES BEHIND THE WORDS
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A husband. A father of two. An aviator on a hobby farm. Just a normal dude who likes poetry—and occasionally writes some.
I built this because reading about a poet, finding their work, then following an interesting thought meant bouncing between a bunch of searches. I wanted the things I like in one place. So I made it. Figured I might as well share.
I spend a lot of evenings here reading, following ideas and leaving little notes. This place keeps growing because I actually use it. If I can make it easier for me, hopefully it’s easier for somebody else, too.
It’s also somewhere to leave my own work so people who know me can read it. If other people find something here, great. If it’s mostly me for a while, well, I was going to be reading anyway.
A little room outside your own head.
Poetry, art, philosophy and the occasional question that follows you home. Read something. Follow the person behind it. See where you end up.
I haven’t submitted any of my work for publication. Asking someone else to accept my art has never been my thing. Nothing against anyone who takes that route; I just wanted somewhere to put mine.
You’re welcome to leave something, too. Use your name, a call sign, or stay anonymous. No profiles, likes or follower counts. Your work stays yours.
Pandora’s box.
I was an infantry Marine, stuck in a cause I didn’t believe in. Thinking through the variables helped keep me alive. Building a place for internet submissions apparently calls for that habit, too: I’m hoping for Shakespeare. I’m prepared for buttholes.
I use AI to screen submissions and help explain sourced thoughts. Passing work goes public; flagged work waits privately for me to review. The little explanations are a way into an idea, not the last word.
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Why so much HH? And how does this work?
Right now, I’m most of the crowd. I make a lot, and I built somewhere to put it. I’d like this place to grow beyond the inside of my own head.
Works From Here gives one submitted work the board for an hour. Skip it, search for something, or leave it alone. Nobody’s taking attendance. HH gets no special slot.
There are other voices in the Library and on Home. If you’re reading this in ten years and it’s still mostly my work here, apparently I kept busy. No hidden message. I just needed somewhere to put the poems.
— HH · October 24, 2026
ONLY IN THIS BROWSER
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Pending review. These images are kept out of the collection. There is no automated screening or public upload service connected yet.
A LITTLE ROOM TO THINK
A thought for the day.
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For this section, only dead philosophers. The rest of us are still working on our theories.
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Country connections use present-day geography; they are not claims about ancient nationality. This is a small starting collection, not a complete world directory. Classical works may have been compiled by followers or published after the author’s death.
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How the rotation works
894 sourced thoughts and prompts, and growing. Original thoughts posted here join the same rotation.
One thought for the hour. Skip whenever you like. Your own thoughts belong here too—no profile, likes, or comments. Category: Other, unless you choose one.
Original thoughts share the pool with 894 sourced thoughts and prompts. While there are fewer than 20 posted thoughts, one in ten selections comes from here; at 20 it’s one in five, at 50 one in three, and at 100 one in two. Each pool shuffles without early repeats. Skips count as selections. A search can narrow the pool, so the mix then depends on what matches. Leave room for your own reading.
TWO VOICES. ROOM FOR BOTH.
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A LITTLE RHYME. A LITTLE ROOM TO THINK.
Riddle of the day.
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Seven days to catch up. A fresh riddle each day, with no reruns.
My name is Franklin. Hamilton’s around here somewhere.