Best Dickinson Poems
Crowned poet,
posthumous Queen
of the private world,
you explored
every subtlety of the soul
and mapped the wonder
of existence
to its last drawn breath.
What price did you pay
deep in your alabaster chambers,
charting the course
of a nameless presence
stretched across eternity,
giving it a home
in the exquisite vessel
of your words.
0' Soul, Can Poetic Art Heal Such Broken Heart
Her pen bled deep, and this her fans may yet agree
She felt a torrid hell, darkest of angry seas
Should her pen have conquered deepest of her fears
Could her poems have stopped flow of her falling tears?
Although we may stand aghast at sorrows once seen
Her agony in ink, shows true as Nature's green
Of a poet facing darkness, death and its gloom
Fully aware of life's end, its rest in the tomb.
Seeker of more, Death haunted her with mortal strife
With pains and dying of beloved ones in her life
0' soul, can poetic art heal such broken heart
In glory, renewal of spirit thus impart?
Her pen bled deep, and this her fans may yet agree
Immense sorrows and beauty in her poetry!
Robert J. Lindley, 10-24-2019
Sonnet, ( First poet honored, Renewed Poet's Tribute Series)
Emily Dickinison,
Bio-
1.
https://www.google.com/search?q=emily+dickinson+biography&oq=emily+dickinson&aqs=chrome.5.69i57j0l5.7054j0j8&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8
Emily Dickinson
Biography
DescriptionEmily Elizabeth Dickinson was an American poet. Dickinson was born in Amherst, Massachusetts, into a prominent family with strong ties to its community. Wikipedia
Born: December 10, 1830, Amherst, MA
Died: May 15, 1886, Amherst, MA
Education: Amherst Academy (1840–1847), Mount Holyoke College, Amherst College
Influenced by: Ralph Waldo Emerson, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, William Blake
2. https://www.britannica.com/biography/Emily-Dickinson
Dear Emily, 'the Recluse of Amherst'
In my university days, you burned in me
As a dazzling flame of endless inspiration.
As I sit to write to you, your soul in its depth I see
And it speaks to me, still giving endless motivation.
Your concise and crisp musings, penned years ago,
Continue to light poetic sparks in my soul.
Your poetry is like a whispered secret still aglow
As a recluse, you hid yourself. From the crowd you stole.
Your poems give a glimpse into the workings of your heart
Your thoughts, bold and subtle speaks directly to me.
As I think of you, through my mind, emotions of awe dart.
Staying aloof, you watched nature and animals closely.
In your poems, you elevated the mundane to the sublime.
‘If I could Stop one Heart from Breaking’_
This poem, stays immortal in all time.
Your musings on life and nature are breathtaking.
Dear Emily, you shouldn’t have hidden your light,
Like a lamp under the bushel. Sad, your poems you buried,
Abhorrent of publicity, but posthumously came into limelight.
Now across oceans and tides, they are avidly ferried.
They wouldn’t let me be White
Oh I wanted to be
Dreams of that Pulitzer haunted me
They said, Sir, you have ten minutes to play
I gave them Milton, Poe and Millay
I stood before that panel
Like I was auditioning for Jesus On judgment day
I belted out those rhymes like Sandburg
Gave them sweet elegant words
I gave them personification and anapest
Gave them Trochee with syllables unstressed
I played those Robert Frost Blues
Those Road less traveled Blues
Those Thomas Hardy
going down on the Titanic Blues-
And they said, Son, You could be the greatest
Since Langston Hughes!
And oh I was out of sight
Switched up / Got Fancy
Moved the stressed syllable
From the middle to the right
But still they wouldn’t let me be White
I had every judge popping their fingers
Moving their heads from left to right
So I took a bow
And smiled up at those lights
I gave them Dickinson, Browning and Keats
Oh I had those White judges on their feet
I played until they saw stars
A judge leaned over and said,
You remind me so much of- What’s his name?
Paul Lawrence Dunbar
I played Eliot I played Cummings
I played Stevens too
I had those White Poets out of their shoes
Oh I lifted them a hundred miles off the ground
But when they came down
They said, You could be the next Sterling Brown
I said, Come on! Get out of town!
I closed that audition with my best Haiku
They said, M.e. Don’t take this wrong we like you
I took a final bow I had performed to their delight
But still they wouldn’t let me be White
I’m somebody! Who are you?
Are you somebody too?
Then there’s a pair of us – do tell!
We must advertise – you know!
How dreary to be nobody!
More worthless than a frog
Who without a name - croaks all day
To be a bump on a log!
Dear Emily,
When you said, your “life closed twice before its close,”
I realized how badly your heart had been broken
You conveyed your feelings best with the written word
But did you leave too many words unspoken?
Sadly, this has been the case for me too
Relationships have suffered from this mistake
I release pain through my pen, emulating you
In my bed alone I try to tune out heartache
You called yourself “Nobody”; that goes for me as well
No children, no spouse, I seem to be invisible
As through crowds I drift, people look right through me
And errors I’ve made always seem unforgivable
When you composed, “I could not stop for death”
Did you peer at the future, see my health struggles
The reaper awaits; I’ll soon draw my last breath
Isolated like you, I don’t share my troubles
Although you achieved no fame in your lifetime
I read your words often and have memorized some
I grow through your poetry, they help me climb
With your spirit in my heart, easily my words come
*Written May 20, 2014
“Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul – and sings the tunes without the words – and never stops at all.” - Emily Dickinson
Her soul, composed of poetry
Breathed light and reflected mystery
In shadows secreted deep within
Where silence seemed her only friend
Her heart, colored in hues of hope
Prayed peace through the innocence
Abiding where the stillness was lost
In the wonder hiding beneath her thoughts
Her soul, stirred by each make believe
Dreams faithful to the rumors so unique
Rich and vibrant hues of eternity rising
Through the stardust raining across a life
Her heart, erasing every doubt with truth
Beckons for the laughter, the graceful
Sincerity of a kindness so deep and good
Falling gently, like fresh snow, in whispers
Her soul, singing merrily of joys buried
Beneath the silhouettes of sadness and sorrow
Leaving imprints, notes of encouragement
Wounding the doubts with serenity, assurance
Her heart, conquering all the faded feelings
Who guided her to listen to all she’s concealing
The beauty and grace, the inspiration and faith
All of the soft winds who beckoned her to hear
Her soul, heeding the light – the lingering love
Sent down from above, where His kindness
Grows smiles as He gentles the trials, the hurting
Becomes like a long ago dawn who recalls the night
Her heart, aching to understand the breathtaking
Stillness, lasting through the storms, delaying
Suspicions and promising that His way, His blessing
Will bring only good things, miracles to believe in
Her heart – Her soul… they’re an open door
To the marvel, the mercy, the message…
That love from above will always find a way
To pierce the uncertainty with a belief that vows…
Forever is found in the peace that comes to life
Just beyond the kiss of sun, the caress of moon,
Where Jesus walked and talked and gave each one
The opportunity to believe in His everlasting life!
Let His love flow…
And grow – a light
That never fades
to dwell in physical form
neglects our inner being
to breathe in essence of self
never owned by anyone
the drabbest of birds
sings a lullaby of hope
whereas the ostentatious
will try to drown out the truth
as hope is the last to die
its song
will be there for all
who wish to hear it
hope perches in the soul
folding its wings
around our fluttering hearts
Inspired by: ‘“Hope” is the thing with feathers’, by Emily Dickinson
I
The word, when said
Makes some go dead
The sound of dog (she)
II
Most beaches lead somewhere
Some beaches lead nowhere
Truth or dare (campuses
Have grassy, waterless beaches)
III
Dickinson: words begin living
"when it is said" (not dead)
Emily knew of flight
In Fight to write
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Written by : Elizabeth Barrett Browing
And still you scorn the confines life would cast
About your fixed and marked identity.
A father, lover, friend tried endlessly,
And all the cycled censors failed at last.
Now resurrected in your revived past,
At signal of the butterfly and bee,
Witness your love wedded in mystery!
Beyond the book, the dream once believed, you clasp.
Not what we read or see or trace in line,
Becomes the ultimate of greater worth;
It is the dream we hold as our own right
Unseen by men, but envied for the sign
It shines upon the face of these on earth
Who cling to love and faith beyond the light."
Emily Dickinson
Just thought that I would share..
I have always loved the first one..
Note these are by Elizabeth Browning and Emily Dickinson Not by me...
After Hours
After hours-
After the final checkout-
After the library's final close-
Forever is too long- for a poets repose-
Go ye there, Emily-
In this line -And not that one-
Not with regular mortals-
Inclined to caskets or crypts to die-
Yet abscond ye there-
Through a clandestine portal-
And forever- on library shelves lie-
And one minute- before the library opens-
May ye creep ‘cross the library floor-
Then right turn and left turn-
Along those corridors-
And return ye then- that borrowed pen-
Then sleep on those shelves again-
Fifty-six years her beauty's heart did glow; a nineteenth century
Love song amid eastern skies northern lights; she danced as dwelled
In dreams these possibilities ? Clandestine, verses sublime gables rhyme
Of sweet perfume, and timeless time; singsongs, choirs, your carriage awaits...
Segue Juliet, this music she plays; parallel, heirlooms her love his, corsage; we kiss.
For Langston Hughes
What sends them Harvard poets
I just couldn't do it, Sir:
What sends them Harvard poets
I just couldn't do it, Sir:
They'll never give me a Pulitzer.
What tickles them Yale poets
Just leaves me sad an' a grievin':
What tickles them Yale poets
Leaves me sad an' a grievin':
Never seen no Birch trees
On a snowy evenin'.
Then Oxford poets got they poems
An' I gots mine...
So I'll be movin' on, Langston
Movin' down the line....
Michael Ellis
for Sue, forevermore
(Tribute to Emily Dickinson and Susan Gilbert: an attempt)
You remind me that I’ve got blessings to count,
Albeit disguised as despair beneath daisies --
You remind me that there’s no grace in saving face,
for the truth comes out eventually --
You remind me of an old familiar body ache,
One that lingers intermittently; causeless --
You remind me of mystery in a murderous ploy,
but the truth bends easily --
You remind me of everything and nothing at all,
A violent outburst that calms my soul --
A sole firefly in my darkest of nights;
Alas, I can’t put out the fires you’ve set in my garden of lies --
A perfect day,
Somber, quiet, and mellow,
Thinking of one of the greatest,
Poets of all time.
Imagine being in a time,
When no one can see your,
Greatness or your talent.
You never get to see when everyone,
Reads your poems and,
How they idolize you.
Thousands of books are in print,
And there's even a TV show,
All about you called Dickinson.
I wish you could see this,
And so much more.
I sit at a desk much like her's,
With a glass of wine and I,
Write a poem dedicating all,
To the great Emily Dickinson.
Just one day to show Emily,
That she is indeed one of the,
Greatest poets ever.
Tossing and turning,
Dreams rather nightmares,
Of the past when women had,
No rights, women had to marry,
Not loving men and they couldn't,
Buy property or have money.
I finally drift off to sleep,
Only to be awaken by the noise,
Of my neighbors.
Walking into the kitchen,
I see a woman I see a woman,
In a long flowing dress.
She turns around and I see,
EMILY DICKINSON
You know me?
Emily, the whole world knows you.
I show her the book,
"The poems of Emily Dickinson,"
I look at her as I see tears,
Glide down her face.
The world knows of your,
Greatness and your talent.
Things are different here,
What year is this, where are we?
It's 2022 and we're still in Amherst.
I told her about gay rights and,
Women's rights and the TV show.
I just wanted one day to tell,
You what your poems mean to,
Me and all the other poets.
I just wanted to thank you,
For allowing us to see into your,
World and how you opened,
The door for us to write poems.
Now let's go see Amherst,
And your house.
You need some clothes.
She asked me,
Do I get to wear man pants?
I laughed and said Emily,
You can wear anything you want.
Emily what was the year,
When you left? She said 1885.
The year before her death,
Maybe Zeus will let her stay.