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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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Exclusion. By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

The soul selects her own society,    Then shuts the door;    On her divine majority    Obtrude no more.     Unmoved, she notes the chariot’s pausing    At her low gate;    Unmoved, an emperor…

September 20, 2019
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Except To Heaven, She Is Nought; By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Except to heaven, she is nought;    Except for angels, lone;    Except to some wide-wandering bee,    A flower superfluous blown;     Except for winds, provincial;    Except by butterflies,    Unnoticed as a single…

September 20, 2019
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Except The Heaven Had Come So Near, By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

 Except the heaven had come so near,    So seemed to choose my door,    The distance would not haunt me so;    I had not hoped before.     But just to…

September 20, 2019
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Evening. By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

The cricket sang,    And set the sun,    And workmen finished, one by one,    Their seam the day upon.     The low grass loaded with the dew,    The twilight stood as…

September 20, 2019
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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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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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