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Mad for Poetry

The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad for life, mad for talking, mad for poetry.

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Author: Samantha Evans

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Eternity. By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

On this wondrous sea,    Sailing silently,    Ho! pilot, ho!    Knowest thou the shore    Where no breakers roar,    Where the storm is o’er?     In the silent west    Many sails at rest,    Their anchors…

September 20, 2019
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Essential Oils Are Wrung: By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Essential oils are wrung:    The attar from the rose    Is not expressed by suns alone,    It is the gift of screws.     The general rose decays;    But this, in lady’s…

September 20, 2019
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Escape. By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

 I never hear the word “escape”    Without a quicker blood,    A sudden expectation,    A flying attitude.     I never hear of prisons broad    By soldiers battered down,    But I tug childish…

September 20, 2019
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Epitaph. By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

 Step lightly on this narrow spot!    The broadest land that grows    Is not so ample as the breast    These emerald seams enclose.     Step lofty; for this name is…

September 20, 2019
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Enough. By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

God gave a loaf to every bird,    But just a crumb to me;    I dare not eat it, though I starve, —    My poignant luxury    To own it, touch…

September 20, 2019
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Ending. By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

That is solemn we have ended, —    Be it but a play,    Or a glee among the garrets,    Or a holiday,     Or a leaving home; or later,    Parting with…

September 20, 2019
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Emancipation. By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

No rack can torture me,    My soul’s at liberty    Behind this mortal bone    There knits a bolder one     You cannot prick with saw,    Nor rend with scymitar.    Two bodies therefore…

September 20, 2019
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Each That We Lose Takes Part Of Us; By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Each that we lose takes part of us;    A crescent still abides,    Which like the moon, some turbid night,    Is summoned by the tides.

September 20, 2019
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Dying. By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

I heard a fly buzz when I died;    The stillness round my form    Was like the stillness in the air    Between the heaves of storm.     The eyes beside…

September 20, 2019
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Dying. By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

The sun kept setting, setting still;    No hue of afternoon    Upon the village I perceived, —    From house to house ‘t was noon.     The dusk kept dropping, dropping…

September 20, 2019

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Mad For Poetry

Mad For Poetry

Poesia Poetry Journal! Have a Read.

  • Issue #1 – Mad for Poetry / Pazzi per la Poesia

Mad for Poetry

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