Dickinson-like ditties

by Alice Woodrome

Emily Dickinson is my favorite poet. Her work is the standard by which I judge all other poetry, so it is not surprising, perhaps, that when I write a poem, if often sounds a bit like Dickinson.

Here are seven unrelated verses.


1
She gazed at pearls she'd never wear,
A bliss she would not taste.
Reflected in the window glass,
She fingered beads of paste.


2
Fate took it twice to let her see
A gem she'd never feel,
To watch it sparkle in the sun,
Then learn it was not real.


3
A thimbleful of sweet delight
On dry and blistered lips
But will the soul be pacified
With happiness in sips.


4
The heart accepts what pain it must,
And bit by little bit,
It owns the truth in puzzle style
Until the pieces fit.


5
So weary of the darkened sky,
She gave the sun a ring.
So anxious for a morning song,
She taught the birds to sing.


6
The sky, the stars, the universe
Within an easy grasp.
Beloved, is there nothing more
That you would care to ask?


7
Resigned to pauper's wages,
And late -- she raises up
From digging for the fabled gold
In fields of buttercup.



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