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.

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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