What Emily Would Write Today (poems from old notebooks)

Emily Dickinson, circa 1847.

I’m a pretty big fan of Emily Dickinson. And one day a couple of years ago it occurred to me to that it would be fun to write an Emily pastiche.  I was right. This is from August, 2011.

What Emily Would Write Today

I walked down by the water—
flat and calm and still—
every Sound and Motion
heaped up into a Hill

and all that Weight just waited,
poised above the afternoon—
invisible and Tidal
as The Astronomer’s new moon.

Everything in conjunction—
the wild roses faint and pale,
blue herons a long, low frieze,
and crows’ wings—Vowels of Braille.

The Sun, the Moon, the Milky Way.
The Atoms of our anger.
Sparse Particles of sex and need
and love and bliss and Danger.

I drew a Zero in the sand,
Divided all by it—
the herons stabbed, the crows called.
And a seagull—Shit.

About John MacKenzie

I'll mumble for ya. Poetry, plus most things quantifiable: science, neuroscience, memory, epistemology, baseball. And so on.
This entry was posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, Emily Dickinson, Poem tweets, Poems from old notebooks, Poetry and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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