she liked to plant poetry up on a hill
she took the land's name in vain
as she done so
unique, odd and original became
pet words of her peers
for her sort of style and zeal
the scope of her panorama only grew
the world thickened in its complexity
still she stuck to her simplistic
almost limerick like view
living is more than mere breathing
it's experiencing
and it's success in increments
with failure at unexpected intervals
it's morals tangled up in temptations
though so few did she have
the so called experts would argue
and beauty found in the ugliest unlikeliest
of situations
honesty at some level can only play
a gauzy part
too much truth drives people away
in fear
some would vehemently debate
an ox works far more diligently under
a strong yoke
this could be said for a large cut of
the human cloth as well
so then there must be nearly as much talent
as there is taint to such notion
of memorable spark
that others a great many decades
after her death
would choose to hold her work up
so stoic yet brief as it was
to clamber to read about
the smallness of her world
and in so few words writ
still stirring today the human mind
up in a word rich mix
that leaves the bedazzled reader
all a buzz with such sweetly
enchanted ideas
so, thank you Emily (Dickinson)...
(Aug. 30, 2010 1122 am)

Author's Notes/Comments: 

was reflecting on the wonder and skill and often so mundane subject matter of her poems and this poem of dedication to her came to me.

View palewingedpoetess's Full Portfolio