Emily Dickinson: Presentiment – is that long Shadow
Presentiment – is that long Shadow – on the Lawn –
Richard Michelson: Angels with Guns Guarding the Gates of Heaven
My grandmother didn’t
live to see her youngest son, my father, murdered in a Brooklyn
gutter by a fifth generation, drug-addicted, unemployed house-
painter whose ancestors were dragged here like devils in chains.
Emily Dickinson: The Color of the Grave is Green
The Color of the Grave is Green
The Outer Grave—I mean—
You would not know it from the Field—
Except it own a Stone—
Emily Dickinson: I am afraid to own a Body
Double Estate—entailed at pleasure
Upon an unsuspecting Heir—
Video: The Opposites Game
An English teacher asks his class: ‘What’s the opposite of a gun?’
Video: “Hope” by Emily Dickinson | A Film by Robert Isenberg
“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –
Emily Dickinson: A Bird, came down the Walk
A Bird, came down the Walk –
He did not know I saw –
He bit an Angle Worm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw
Emily Dickinson: Remorse is memory awake
Remorse is cureless,—the disease
Not even God can heal
Emily Dickinson: Cocoon above! Cocoon below!
A moment to interrogate,
Then wiser than a “Surrogate,”
The Universe to know!
Emily Dickinson: How happy is the little stone
Fulfilling absolute Decree
In casual simplicity—
Emily Dickinson: I had been hungry, all the Years
The Plenty hurt me – ’twas so new –
Myself felt ill – and odd –
As Berry – of a Mountain Bush –
Transplanted – to a Road
Rachel Hadas: Holding on to hope is hard, even with the pandemic’s end in sight – wisdom from poets through the ages
As we begin to glimpse what might be the beginning of the end of the pandemic, what does hope mean? It’s hard not to sense the presence of hope, but how do we think of it?
Gary Margolis: The Desire to Write Poetry at Forty
the mysterious
feeling between her
and Emily, the centuries in
between two women
alone in their rooms.
Emily Dickinson: They shut me up in Prose
They might as wise have lodged a Bird
For Treason — in the Pound —
Vox Populi 