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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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Adrift! A Little Boat Adrift! By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Adrift! A little boat adrift!    And night is coming down!    Will no one guide a little boat    Unto the nearest town?     So sailors say, on yesterday,    Just as the…

September 20, 2019
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A Word. By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

 A word is dead    When it is said,    Some say.    I say it just    Begins to live    That day.

September 20, 2019
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A Well. By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

 What mystery pervades a well!    The water lives so far,    Like neighbor from another world    Residing in a jar.     The grass does not appear afraid;    I often wonder he    Can…

September 20, 2019
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A Train Went Through A Burial Gate, By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

  A train went through a burial gate,    A bird broke forth and sang,    And trilled, and quivered, and shook his throat    Till all the churchyard rang;     And then…

September 20, 2019
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A Toad Can Die Of Light! By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

A toad can die of light!    Death is the common right    Of toads and men, —    Of earl and midge    The privilege.    Why swagger then?    The gnat’s supremacy    Is large as thine.

September 20, 2019
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A Thunder-Storm. By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

The wind begun to rock the grass    With threatening tunes and low, —    He flung a menace at the earth,    A menace at the sky.     The leaves unhooked…

September 20, 2019
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A Throe Upon The Features By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

    A throe upon the features    A hurry in the breath,    An ecstasy of parting    Denominated “Death,” —     An anguish at the mention,    Which, when to patience grown,    I ‘ve known…

September 20, 2019
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A Thought Went Up My Mind To-Day By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

A thought went up my mind to-day    That I have had before,    But did not finish, — some way back,    I could not fix the year,     Nor where…

September 20, 2019
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A Tempest. By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

  An awful tempest mashed the air,    The clouds were gaunt and few;    A black, as of a spectre’s cloak,    Hid heaven and earth from view.     The creatures chuckled…

September 20, 2019
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A Syllable. By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

   Could mortal lip divine    The undeveloped freight    Of a delivered syllable,    ‘T would crumble with the weight.

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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