The Rivals
Mark Van Doren (1894-1972)
On a night of whirling snow
When every twig and star is dead
There is a house where I can go
And knock and enter and be fed
With fire and wine; and as we grumble
Winter ceases on the panes.
The outer heights of darkness tumble
Down and in upon our brains,
And sitting there so bitter-bright
We build a season of our own—
Of cynic ice and sudden white
Blasts of understanding blown.
This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on February 23, 2025, by the Academy of American Poets.
A gentle reminder of how we do things: 🐱🐶🐦
- Do not troll the diary. If you hate pootie diaries, leave now. No harm, no foul.
- Please do share pics of your fur kids! If you have health/behavior issues with your pets, feel free to bring it to the community.
- Pooties are cats; Woozles are dogs. Birds... are birds! Peeps are people.
- Whatever happens in the outer blog STAYS in the outer blog. If you’re having “issues” with another Kossack, keep it “out there.” This is a place to relax and play; please treat it accordingly.
- There are some pics we never post: snakes, creepy crawlies, any and all photos that depict or encourage human cruelty toward animals. These are considered “out of bounds” and will not be tolerated. If we alert you to it, please remember that we do have phobic peeps who react strongly to them. If you keep posting banned pics...well then...the Tigress will have to take matters in hand. Or, paw.
Shopping? We got you covered. Please share with other groups!
Thanks to BeadLady and her helpers the 2025 Kos Katalogue is HERE