Flinging The F-word
I suppose some of you versifiers
think the use of the f-word
puts that extra zing
in your lines
You think the truth is as crude
and coarse as your writing is
You abandon all standards
convinced of your righteous
intent
You ignore Emily's rule-
'Tell all theTruth but tell it slant-'
Emily Dickinson's
metaphor for
her lack of directness
is the stuff of poetry
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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Related quotes
Emily's Rule
Some versifiers on this site
think using obscenity
puts a zing
in lame lines
They think truth is as crude
and coarse as their writing
They abandon all standards
and ridicule rules
convinced of their righteous
intent
They ignore Emily's Rule-
'Tell all the Truth but tell it slant-'
Emily Dickinson's metaphor
for her lack of directness
is the stuff of poetry
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tell the truth, but tell it slant.
quote by Emily Dickinson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tell All The Truth
Tell all the truth but tell it slant,
Success in circuit lies,
Too bright for our infirm delight
The truth's superb surprise;
As lightning to the children eased
With explanation kind,
The truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Inferior To You (A Poem To Emily Dickinson)
INFERIOR TO YOU (A POEM TO EMILY DICKINSON)
Inferior to you
And your metaphor-rich mind
I can only pretend
We’re two of a kind.
Dear Emily
I love you,
But after all these years
Nothing will marry us
Save our too mortal fears..
poem by Shalom Freedman
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There's a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons-- That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes--
quote by Emily Dickinson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When all is said and done, mes amis!
how much time do we spend
writing the best stuff we can
when the odds are against us
I could abandon punctuation
the use of simile and metaphor
a certain restraint as to mood
and just commit to logorrhea
like so many of us do
but I can't just surrender
poetry means something more
than just letting my feelings run
away with irony and good sense
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.
quote by Emily Dickinson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Poet Became His Own Poetry
A POET BECAME HIS OWN POETRY
A poet became his own poetry
And all he could be
Was lines and lines and lines
Inside and outside
Lines and more lines
Off- rhymes
Finding a phrase
A metaphor
Hearing listening
To sounds
His own mind made.
A poet became his own poetry
And went into the long sleep
Of being only what he wrote.
No one can know how
Reading these lines now
The poet and the poetry live
without themselves.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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If it had no pencil
921
If it had no pencil
Would it try mine—
Worn—now—and dull—sweet,
Writing much to thee.
If it had no word,
Would it make the Daisy,
Most as big as I was,
When it plucked me?
poem by Emily Dickinson
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There is no Frigate like a book to take us lands away nor any coursers like a page of prancing Poetry.
quote by Emily Dickinson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry.
quote by Emily Dickinson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A word is dead when it is said, some say. I say it just begins to live that day.
quote by Emily Dickinson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A word is dead
A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.
I say it just
Begins to live
That day.
poem by Emily Dickinson
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Emily's Garden
The Red Tulips are so captivating--
And the Dandelions just seem to roar---
Astonishing Mother Earth-who'd just given birth--
To the Daffodils only just moments before;
The Yellow colour is so delightful--
That it all but drowns out the Buttercups hue--
Blazing like no other in the Garden----
They are what give this Garden its majestic view;
Let us not forget the Crocus standing proud---
Nor the Violet or Lilac in the Garden Glen---
A Purple Haze can be sooo insightful---
Most especially with the Lavender 'round the bend;
Oh sooo many colours complete it--
This Garden of the World-upon Gods Green Earth--
That i simply must take time to express it---
To say: 'Thank you' for all the flowers most glorious birth! ;
'She slept beneath a tree--
Remembered by me
I touched her cradle mute-
She recognized the foot--
Put on her carmine suit
And see'
Emily Dickinson
1830-1886
This is a dedication to: The exibition in New York
'Emily Dickinson's Garden: The Poetry Of Flowers
At The New York Botantical Gardens in the Bronx Borough
Of New York. It is opening a garden inspired by 19th century poet Emily Dickinson. The exibition runs through June 13,2010.
poem by Theodora Onken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Truth is so rare that it is delightful to tell it.
quote by Emily Dickinson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There's a certain Slant of light (258)
There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons--
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes--
Heavenly Hurt, it gives us--
We can find no scar,
But internal difference,
Where the Meanings, are--
None may teach it--Any--
'Tis the Seal Despair--
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the air--
When it comes, the Landscape listens--
Shadows--hold their breath--
When it goes, 'tis like the Distance
On the look of Death--
poem by Emily Dickinson
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I did not seek death but she came along (cavatina sequence)
(after Emily Dickinson)
I did not seek death but she came along,
was visiting
in passing looked at me wearily;
I was shooting,
she was a entrancing, lewd, lascivious
kind of being;
who really did love destruction and war,
she promised to visit me once more.
She said that all of her kisses and bliss
would transport me
into a unknown distant restful place,
eternity
was one of her many vague promises,
from her grasp free
grenades, rockets, shells detonated
while still in vain, with longing, she waited.
["Because I Could Not Stop for Death" by Emily Dickinson.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Moonyeen
frail lady Emily Dickenson
That is moonyeen
the girl of the night of chat
the student of the law website
asking questions
about some directions
what to do with her life
where to go
why
she is asking why
she is asking me why
i am making all things hard for her
as i threw questions of law and facts from a pile of law books
while i keep on writing my poetry and enjoying every situation
she has to read her
political law
her constitutional law with utmost logical objectivity
she is asking why i have made life hard and harsh for her
why i am cold and damp setting high standards on her legal studies
as i enjoy my craft of writing poems everyday
for days she is sad and would not chat
she shuts herself to all her difficult questions
while i
have sweet conversations with myself
i know her predicament though
she burns her candles with the law
while i sit peacefully under the cool shades of the trees
reciting all these love of life this zest for living
on the other hand moonyeen had to study her law
submit to the definitions of justice and equity
i have had all of that unjust stuff for years those dusty law years
and they serve no other purpose but for me to earn my living
to support my poetry and my love for this silly stuff
nonetheless makes me fully human fully alive!
these poetry which at the end will render
a disposition
who ever told you that life is fair?
whoever told you in the name of all our laws that life is fair?
that is the question assigned for moonyeen not just for this semester
but for the whole span of her lifetime
while i make my poems and read them all alone for myself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poetry Is A Metaphor
Poetry is a metaphor
For beauty
For deepest feeling
For light
For all kinds of dreams we may not know the name of-
Poetry is a metaphor
For life at its most intense
Poetry is a metaphor for Poetry.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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It don't sound so terrible—quite—as it did
426
It don't sound so terrible—quite—as it did—
I run it over—"Dead", Brain, "Dead."
Put it in Latin—left of my school—
Seems it don't shriek so—under rule.
Turn it, a little—full in the face
A Trouble looks bitterest—
Shift it—just—
Say "When Tomorrow comes this way—
I shall have waded down one Day."
I suppose it will interrupt me some
Till I get accustomed—but then the Tomb
Like other new Things—shows largest—then—
And smaller, by Habit—
It's shrewder then
Put the Thought in advance—a Year—
How like "a fit"—then—
Murder—wear!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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