Tuesday, as some of you may know, is dedicated to those poets who have passed away. Emily Dickinson is the very first poet I fell head over heels for. I love her poems because they always seem a little strange, they almost fit a rhythm and rhyme but not quite. They flow, almost. In this way she keeps the reader awake and paying attention to every word and the best part is she really wasn’t seeking a wide adoring audience when writing. She wrote for herself as the words came and then stowed them away. (With the exception of sending poems when writing letters back and forth to loved ones of course). Now there is hardly a person out there who hasn’t heard of her, thanks to English classes of all school-age levels and course studies. No matter how much you already know about her I still would like to feature her in this blog as she is the reason why I got into poetry at all in the first place.
This excerpted poem appeals to me in that anyone can relate to a broken heart and the idea that love or divine intervention appears just in time to heal it:
A poor torn heart, a tattered heart
That sat it down to rest,
Nor noticed that the ebbing day
.....
The angels, happening that way,
This dusty heart espied;
Tenderly took it up from toil
And carried it to God
......
Thanks for reading, stop by tomorrow to see whether anyone has submitted a poem for Poet Hound to post (poethoundblogspotATyahooDOTcom), or if Poet Hound will have to post their own…
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