This round: quieter reading, book-style chapters, and one HH throughout.
THE MODERN POET
The Song of Yesterday
By James Whitcomb Riley
I
But yesterday
I looked away
O'er happy lands, where sunshine lay
In golden blots,
Inlaid with spots
Of shade and wild forget-me-nots.
My head was fair
With flaxen hair,
And fragrant breezes, faint and rare,
And, warm with drouth
From out the south,
Blew all my curls across my mouth.
And, cool and sweet,
My naked feet
Found dewy pathways through the wheat;
And out again
Where, down the lane,
The dust was dimpled with the rain.
II
But yesterday! --
Adream, astray,
From morning's red to evening's dray,
O'er dales and hills
Of daffodils
And lorn sweet-fluting whippoorwills.
I knew nor cares
Nor tears nor prayers --
A mortal god, crowned unawares
With sunset -- and
A scepter-wand
Of apple-blossoms in my hand!
The dewy blue
Of twilight grew
To purple, with a star or two
Whose lisping rays
Failed in the blaze
Of sudden fireflies through the haze.
III
But yesterday
I heard the lay
Of summer birds, when I, as they
With breast and wing,
All quivering
With life and love, could only sing.
My head was leant
Where, with it, blent
A maiden's, o'er her instrument;
While all the night,
From vale to height,
Was filled with echoes of delight.
And all our dreams
Were lit with gleams
Of that lost land of reedy streams,
Along whose brim
Forever swim
Pan's lilies, laughing up at him.
IV
But yesterday! . . .
O blooms of May,
And summer roses -- where away?
O stars above;
And lips of love,
And all the honeyed sweets thereof! --
O lad and lass,
And orchard pass,
And briered lane, and daisied grass!
O gleam and gloom,
And woodland bloom,
And breezy breaths of all perfume! --
No more for me
Or mine shall be
Thy raptures -- save in memory, --
No more -- no more --
Till through the Door
Of Glory gleam the days of yore.
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
Stay for a little while.
Browse by category or shuffle
Search words and related subjects, or use a name. You can combine both. Results change as you type.
Nothing here yet. Try another search, or leave a poem of your own.
BEHIND THE WORDS
Find a poet.
Different places. Different lives. A shared human experience.
Search the collection and live public records. Results link back to their sources.
No matching poets in this draft yet.
FOLLOW YOUR CURIOSITY
Someone you might not know.
Two voices from the collection. New suggestions every 30 seconds, or whenever you feel like it.
THE PLACES BEHIND THE WORDS
Closer than you think.
Find poets and deceased philosophers with documented public city connections near you. Start within 250 miles, or expand to 500.
Try a city:
Choose a city or use your location to find poets within 250 miles. No place is assumed for you.
A note on location and privacy
These are approximate city locations—not private addresses or exact writing spots.
City searches go to Open-Meteo. Your device location is used only in this page to calculate distance. Nothing is saved. Distances are straight-line estimates to public places, not private homes or a complete list of local poets.
One artwork for the day. A growing collection to explore. Open a name or portrait for the person behind it. Interpretations are optional.
Look beyond this collection
Search The Met’s public collection by artist, work, place, or subject. Living artists are welcome here, too. Museum results link to the original; protected or unreviewed images stay at the museum.
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.
THERE’S ROOM FOR YOUR VOICE.
Got something to say? Leave it here.
A poem. A picture. Both. Sign your name, use a pen name, or stay anonymous. You don’t owe anyone an explanation.
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
Private image drafts.
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.
Different places. Different ways of seeing. Deceased thinkers with work that remains in circulation.
For this section, only dead philosophers. The rest of us are still working on our theories.
Find a philosopher or an idea.
Use either field, or combine them. Searches match words and related subjects in this collection.
A note on countries and sources
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.
Deceased thinkers with a documented work in Wikidata. Search above by name or present-day birthplace country. Subject searches check descriptions and work titles, not full books. Coverage and historical geography are incomplete.
A thought doesn’t have to end with an answer. Leave a question. Leave room.
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.
See it another way.
Choose a poet and a poem. Find a similar feeling, or try an emotional contrast. These are suggested readings, not fixed meanings.
YOUR SAVED POEMS
Words you kept.
Saved on this browser. No account, public count, or notification to the poet.
A LITTLE RHYME. A LITTLE ROOM TO THINK.
Riddle of the day.
Some have answers. Some open another door. Give it a day.
Seven days to catch up. A fresh riddle each day, with no reruns.
My name is Franklin. Hamilton’s around here somewhere.