Long Amherst Poems
Long Amherst Poems. Below are the most popular long Amherst by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Amherst poems by poem length and keyword.
Emily, you stitched the world into small, precise syllables,
tucking eternity into lines so brief,
they might be mistaken for whispers.
But in your whispers, there were earthquakes,
the kind that only the soul could feel.
You walked the garden paths of Amherst,
where bees hummed their sermons
and the wind brushed secrets against your ear.
Did you know your words would fly farther
than the wings of any bird you watched?
Recluse, they called you, as if solitude
were a fault to be mended.
But in your solitude, you found infinity,
not in grand cathedrals but in the humblest moments—
a slant of light, a spider’s thread,
the fierce blooming of wildflowers
in the shadows of the mind.
I wonder, did the world ever feel enough for you?
Or was it always “so much madness,”
the kind that pressed too tightly
on the edges of your heart?
Yet you held it all with grace,
turning chaos into crystalline truth.
When you wrote that hope "is the thing with feathers,"
you taught us all to listen for the unseen,
to feel the flutter of possibility
even in the darkest hours.
Your hope still perches in the hearts of many,
singing softly but never ceasing.
Emily, your lines are needles threading the infinite,
each word a star sewn into the fabric of time.
You gave us the cosmos in dashes,
the universe in quiet rebellion,
the courage to see beauty
where the world had forgotten to look.
So here’s to you, the poet who stayed
while the world passed by,
and yet managed to hold it all
in the palm of her hand.
Oh, how do I love thee Soup, count the ways
you resuscitate me on many days!
When skies are black and the ground is muddy
I come to the Soup to find my buddies.
The close allegiance of my friends worldwide
brings a smile to my lips, tears I can't hide.
You are there, all of you, I'm not alone
if I'm sad many ring me by the phone!
What more could one ask on the internet
but company of those who are their get.
http://www3.amherst.edu/~rjyanco94/literature/elizabethbarrettbrowning/poems/sonnetsfromtheportuguese/howdoilovetheeletmecounttheways.html
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
Date: 1/22/12
*Carol who is the framework from whose kind heart all
recieve support!
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.
...Duncan pulled free and sprinted, half-mad,
tears streaming as he made his retreat,
he’d never imagined hell this bad,
and didn’t much care if they were beat.
All he desired was to get clear,
to run himself far away from here,
but as the boy ran his panicked sprint,
lines of provincials marched up to him,
a commander grabbed him, smacked him hard,
said, “Come on, lad, we’ll yet win the day!”
Forced him to march back into the fray,
but as before, they didn’t get far.
How Duncan survived this next attack,
he didn’t know, nor how he got back…
’Twas a beaten army marching south
along the wooded shores of Lake George,
there great advance turned into a rout,
without getting in sight of the fort,
the French would still control Lake Champlain,
and Duncan asked if he was still sane…
One thousand British casualties,
due to that half-wit Abercrombie,
Duncan wintered down at Fort Edward,
and troubling thoughts came to his mind,
he tried, but no reason could he find
for putting all those lives to the sword,
so that a king he’d never chosen
could claim more land, and taxes from men.
Was that what his life would amount to?
Was this the reason he’d come to be?
He did not see how it could be true
that he lived to fluff some king’s glory.
Was that the same reason the French fought?
For the power that their Louis sought?
How could it be so many were damned
to feed the vanity of one man?
The pride he’d felt for his soldiering,
blew away like thin clouds in a breeze,
in not much could poor Duncan believe,
all certainties of old now fading.
He wanted to run away from this hurt,
but knew he would hang if he dared desert.
The next year Abercrombie was gone,
and Lord Amherst had taken control,
his leadership promised a new down,
he’d seized Louisburg, was much extolled.
In July his army did sail north,
the French had only a meager force,
so small that they left their forward lines,
and fled to the fort to buy some time.
Amherst did not make the same mistake,
he took his time, and set up a siege,
the French knew they would not be relieved,
so they fled north by Champlain’s great lake,
but not before a great flash was seen,
they blew up their powder magazine!
CONCLUDES IN PART IV.
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.
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 quill have captured a different word?
"Tell all the truth but tell it slant," you advised,
Yet in life's full extent, what truths might arise?
Step out, dear poet, from your reclusive shade,
And let the world's full spectrum in your ink cascade.
"I dwell in Possibility," you wrote with such grace,
But what if possibility had a different face?
Beyond the confines of your homely retreat,
Could your verses have found a more vibrant beat?
Dear Emily, your legacy, tender and grand,
Forever will echo through time's shifting sand.
Yet, I wonder, if you had fulfilled the world's hue,
What new shades of truth might have blossomed through you?
1. Always aspiring to authentic answers
2. Belief begins, only to end
3. Calls the crow, 'never, to'
4. Drifting like October leaves
5. Falling upwards, death is alive
6. Gargling, bleating, cawing birth
7. Haul the young into the hall
8. Jaded cribs reluctantly nurse
9. Lemon-sour hope gently sweetened
10. May's pastel caress heals yesterday's recall
11. Once, seasons ... now regrown faith
12. Promises to breach, ideas to rebuild
13. Returning the world not unreal, the
14. White Witch of Amherst guiding through
15. Young hearts revive again.
for A Litany of Poetry Devices contest
1. alliteration 2. internal rhyme 3. allusion 4. simile 5. oxymoron 6. onomatopoeia 7. homphone 8. personification 9. metaphor 10. assonance 11. ellipsis 12. antithesis 13. litote 14. metonymy 15. synecdoche
also written in ABC form.