Showing posts with the label Poems

Make Your Bed

  Ample make this Bed - Make this Bed with Awe - In it wait till Judgment break Excellent and Fair. Be it Mattress straight - Be it Pillow round - Let no Sunrise’ yellow noise Interrupt this Ground -  Emily Dickinson # 289 In David Preest’s website he said, “Emily herself titled a copy of this poem ‘Country Burial.’ The mourners are to make the spacious bed of this grave ‘with Awe,’ because in it the dead man awaits the day of Judgment.”  This description of the poem made me see it completely differently than what I was thinking when I first read it. I couldn’t help but gravitate to this poem, seeing that I now make multiple beds on a daily basis.  I make beds as part of my profession and take great pride in a good crease. To me a well-made bed stood for good discipline, like a soldier making the perfect bed, and because of that good discipline, you will be judged “Excellent and Fair.” The thing is, usually it's the unmade beds that show, this p

Best Moments

Did Our Best Moment last - ‘Twould supersede the Heaven - A few - and they by Risk - procure- So this Sort - are not given Except as stimulants - in Cases of Despair - Or Stupor - The Reserve - These Heavenly moments are - A Grant of the Divine - That Certain as it Comes - Withdraws - and leaves the dazzled Soul In her unfurnished Rooms - Description, So I renovated the inside of my shed over the summer, laid down wall to wall carpet and bought a really nice recliner armchair. So one overcast rainy afternoon, I am sitting out in my shed in my chair and reading, I look out the window (which really isn’t behind me, it’s on the other wall) and there is a rainbow, a "Heavenly moment" a "Grant of the Divine-." If you can recognize these moments, they absolutely do dazzle the soul. I envy anyone who can live for a prolonged time in these moments, before being dropped off into an "unfurnished" room, or what I sometimes cyni


Reverse cannot befall That fine Prosperity Whose Sources are interior - As soon - Adversity A Diamond - overtake In far - Bolivian Ground - Misfortune hath no implement Could mar it - if it found - Description, I couldn’t help but think of this poem when listening to, Esther (Abraham) Hicks, talk about being in the Vortex . My friend Amanda, depicted here, introduced me to her years ago but I just now started listening to her YouTube videos.  She talks about going about your day completely immersed in your Vortex, and that is how it should be. These are the “interior sources” that represent “fine prosperity” that nothing can “befall." This also goes along with Plato’s theory, “The first and best victory is to conquer self. To be conquered by self is, of all things, the most shameful and vile." Amanda is

"Real Riches"

Image 'Tis little I could care for pearls Who own the ample sea; Or brooches, when the Emperor With rubies pelteth me; Or gold, who am the Prince of Mines; Or diamonds, when I see A diadem to fit a dome Continual crowning me. Emily Dickinson poem, "Real Riches" edited by, Mabel Loomis Todd and T.W. Higginson 'Tis little I - could care for Pearls - Who own the ample sea - Or Brooches - when the Emperor - With Rubies - pelteth me - Or Gold - who am the Prince of Mines - Or Diamonds - when have I A Diadem to fit a Dome - Continual upon me - Description I will be honest with you, this poem could not have come at a better time in my life.  I discovered this poem right before I traded in my diamond for cash.  The money I used from the diamond was for a much worthier investment, my artwork, my freedom.  Jewelry for women is served to represent, "This is my p

Image and Description for Poem #81

We should not mind so small a flower - Except it quiet bring Our little garden that we lost Back to the Lawn again. So spicy her Carnations nod- So drunken, reel her Bees - So silver steal a hundred flutes From out a hundred trees - That whoso sees this little flower By faith may clear behold The Bobolinks around the throne And Dandelions gold.  Description Meditating, "quiet" on a rose that is losing blooms, because fall is now here. The bees now full of pollen have left, "So drunken, reel her Bees", and the leaves fly off the branches, a peaceful pleasant sound of wind blowing through a flute, "So silver steal a hundred flutes". Feeling the breeze brush against my cheek like a bird "bobolink" flying through the air landing on a "throne" where I now stand, on the lawn, knowing in faith this "flower" with roots in the earth, "gold", will rise next spring.