In my neighborhood we have these cool little mini-libraries out on people's front lawns where books are shared. They look like oversized birdhouses. I'm not sure if this is just a Toronto thing or if it happens all over. Maybe someone could enlighten me on that. Anyhow, I was walking by one of these tiny... Continue Reading →
I was in a poetry mood tonight so came up with this. Not having written verse for a while, I decided to use my old pen name from literally decades ago.
[Emily Dickinson’s House, now a Museum]
The wind tapped like a tired man,
And like a host, “Come in,”
I boldly answered; entered then
My residence within
A rapid, footless guest,
To offer whom a chair
Were as impossible as hand
A sofa to the air.
No bone had he to bind him,
His speech was like the push
Of numerous hummingbirds at once
From a superior bush.
His countenance a billow,
His fingers, if he pass,
Let go a music, as of tunes
Blown tremulous in glass.
He visited, still flitting;
Then, like a timid man,
Again he tapped–’twas flurriedly—
And I became alone.
-Emily Dickinson – Selected Poems
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
This poem marks the transition from the procreation sonnets to the romantic sonnets, and since this is still considered one of the “fair youth” sonnets, there is a strong belief that this poem and the rest…
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I was walking down the street yesterday. A beautiful summer day. Bilious clouds and sun. More like August than July. The teens by the local school were all staring into their smartphones. Me, I'd just spent a half hour sitting on the grass behind the library, marveling at nature's wildflowers and berries. So the kids,... Continue Reading →
I came upon a ‘Gyptian Scribe This ancient act of writing down Makes cynics laugh and comics frown Bemuse me, Lord, and let me sing Like the bells of St. Mary's How they ring! How they ring! Back in days of hardened youth When the glass was full And all, uncouth I came upon a ‘Gyptian Scribe Who... Continue Reading →