Emily Poems

Fascicles Untitled

The Printers clipped her Dash—
And caged her Breath in Chains—

Yet Time—
 its Lantern flickering—
Restores what none can name—

They pressed her Thunder flat—
But Silence wove the Wild—

One Century—betrayed—
Another—keeps the Fire—

The Raggedness they could not mend
 Fulfills her single Desire—

She would not sell her Storms—
Yet—
 Time perceives—

Dashes leap the narrow Page—
Where Songs could never bow—

Letters she sent—
To

The Early Morning Bloom Has Opened Up

Death has ushered me into a new Home—
The Bloom has opened—wide—
No Chamber here for sorrow—
But endless Rooms—inside—

A quiet hush of Petals—
Unfurl upon the Air—
As if the Soul were Gardened—
By Hands divinely fair.

The Walls are made of Silence—
Yet Music drifts between—
An unseen Choir attending—
What once the Grave had seen.

I lay my old attire—
Upon the Dust below—
And

So Little Room, I Took Up, When I Left Her All Alone

So little Room — I occupied —
When Breath — withdrew from Me —
The House — enlarged — to wilderness —
And left — Infinity —

The Chair — appeared too vast — for One —
The Bed — a vacant Sea —
The Mirror — kept a hollow Face —
Where once — I used to be —

The Garden —

Emily, Just a Question

Emily, let me ask you something

The life that you needed. 
Why did you love a poor guy?

Lives dead. Our children. Hmm
You don’t cry. Your children are dead

I am sad. Disappointed. Field my life
A life, a poor existence, walk on and off

Emily. Here is the question. Answer it.
What did you want from a general worker?

Hmm. You

Emily, The Time Is Goodbye

Emily, the time is goodbye

Loved you, walked in your land, the killed heart
I loved you. I needed you, woman. A destroyed love

The time is gone. Our lives are gone. Our children are 
Yes. You killed them. All of them are great. Hopes. Was all.

I respect you, Emily.
I loved you
Your life

Drop
Drop
My life

This is nothing for you
Just

Emily Unity

We met where souls go to whisper—
in the quiet halls of the Children’s Campus,
Melbourne sun kissing the windows,
and sorrow folding into silence.

I was just a patient,
a tangle of thoughts,
a shadow of myself.
She—
she was the light.

Holding a broken child
like she held the sky—
soft hands, steady heart.
Compassion wasn’t a word in her—
it was a presence.

I never spoke

Faith

Faith is the thing with callow feet—
That tiptoes on thin air—
It keeps no calendar or creed—
Yet finds me unaware.

It does not knock—it does not plead—
But settles in the soul—
A hush, more firm than any church—
A bell without a toll.

It drinks the dew from shadowed grass—
It sings beneath the snow—
And when the sky forgets to speak—
It’s

Because I Would Not Stop for Death: A Homage to Emily Dickinson

after Because I could not stop for Death, by Emily Dickinson

Because I would not stop for Death,
he kindly stopped for me.
A wilted bouquet in one hand—
a reminder of life's mortality.

We began to walk—he knew no haste—
side by side, as we always were.
In silence, no sympathies were spoken,
as he knew I often preferred.

We passed the house

Emily Dickinsons Burial

It may seem a cruel tragedy
that Amherst’s greatest poet Emily 
Dickinson never got to marry
though she burned ardently to be.
And yet in Death (if you’ll allow)
she did eventually get laid –
not in a man’s bed but a pine box
and (if you’ll allow) this paradox
she still remains a chaste old maid.

Emily Dickinson

She passed away upon a day
Where silence lie in sullen vein 
Where whispered notions plant a seed 
Of all the words penned in belief
Hoping a man would come to see
A well lit road clear and free

To find tranquility within a psalms
To cry aloud a remembered song
And through the ages to live again
Her spirit arise
Through lofty

AN EMILY wordplay

a dishonest man steals identities - an honest man steels himself

AN EMILY wordplay

    free by  a sacrifice  - a sacrifice for free

Silent Battles

They called me a coward, said my words would hide,
Too scared to face the storm, I’d run and confide.
My thoughts were shadows, secrets locked tight,
In silence, I fought my own ing fight.

They wanted thunder, loud as hell,
To shout like lightning, break the spell.
But my voice shook, a flickering flame,
Afraid the truth would tarnish my name.

They

A Letter to 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

Letter to fav poet Emily

Dear Emily,

In the quiet of Amherst, your words still bloom,
"Hope is the thing with feathers," you penned in your room.
Your verses, like the breeze, traverse time's vast sea,
Yet, dear Emily, a suggestion from me.

Your solitude crafted such delicate lines,
But what if your thoughts had danced in the pines?
Among the living, where laughter is heard,
Would your

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