From us, she has wandered one and a half centuries
Her tarrying, for unusual lyrical speech
Unknown in wilderness, preserving open-poems
To walk with words as Ethereal feet
No eye remembers her white-dressed
Wit, we only know our time of the present –
We took the mystery, of her rhymes that
Turned themselves inside-out
From us, she put away her ghosts
Her frantic stanzas, sunsets sworn
In short muse that hath too long a date
To talk with the Sun and Springtime’s bees
Poet of poets, woman of Massachusetts!
How many times can I read thy brief Divinity?
Alphabets of sublime artistry,
Heart as much a pen, as any page’s soul.
woman of Massachusetts! — hell ya!
haha!
Heart as much a pen, as any page’s soul.
– the last verse: perfection.
yes I liked the last verse too, it had it’s own element
so beautiful!
Emily Dickinson is one of my favourite poets of all time, and you certainly did her justice.
Thank you for featuring Emily – truly an amazing woman whose words gave me comfort during terrible times: “’Hope’ is the thing with feathers – / That perches in the soul – / And sings the tune without the words – / And never stops – at all – /”
“To walk with words as Ethereal feet” — amazing line –!
I also appreciated your use of dashes and unusual capitalization. Very well done! It *feels* very Emily-like. Brilliant poem.
She is one of my favorites. Thanx, Wuji.
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wonderful poem!