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Image and Description for Poem #531

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We dream – it is good we are dreaming – It would hurt us – were we awake – But since it is playing – kill us, And we are playing – shriek – What harm? Men die – externally – It is a truth – of Blood – But we – are dying in Drama – And Drama – is never dead – Cautious – We jar each other – And either – open the eyes – Lest the Phantasm – prove the Mistake – And the livid Surprise Cool us to Shafts of Granite – With just an Age – and Name – And perhaps a phrase in Egyptian – It’s prudenter – to dream –   Description, This poem is about two different types of people, the first being; people who can dream up fantasies and use their imagination to create a drama for entertaining themselves and others. The second being; people who take everything literally, don’t stray from the obvious, make sure not to stand out, they are dull, ordinary, righteous, and condemning of others. Not being able to see beyond reality can be harmful. If someone doesn’t know how to pl

Image and Description for Poem #122

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A something in a summer’s Day As slow her flambeaux burn away Which solemnizes me. A something in a summer’s noon – A depth – an Azure – a perfume – Transcending ecstasy. And still within a summer’s night A something to transporting bright I clap my hands to see – Then veil my too inspecting face Lest such a subtle – shimmering grace Flutter too far for me – The wizard fingers never rest – The purple brook within the breast still chafes its narrow bed – Still rears the East her amber Flag – Guides still the Sun along the Crag His Caravan of Red – So looking on – the night – the morn Conclude the wonder gay – And I meet, coming thro’ the dews Another summer’s Day! Description This poem is about getting lost in the beauty of a summer day, so much so, you even have to “veil” your face. The colors made by the sun and the brightness of the stars, meet together in a drop of dew on another summer’s day, because God or “The wizard fingers never rest” will a

Image and Description for Poem #155

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The Murmur of a Bee A Witchcraft – yieldeth me – If any ask me why – ‘Twere easier to die – Than tell – The Red upon the Hill Taketh away my will – If anybody sneer – Take care – for God is here – That’s all. The Breaking of the Day Addeth to my Degree – If any ask me how – Artist – who drew me so – Must tell! Description In a moment of awe, trapped, in a rapturous way, by the beauty of something outside your self. For Emily, it was a fascination with a bee or the sun, “The Red Upon the Hill”. For me it was the Japanese Maple, in full flaming red glory out side my window that held me captive, so still, an artist could draw me. Go ahead and “sneer” if you will at our stillness. Stillness, that takes us away from everything, everything that is but God.

Image and Description for Poem #143

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For every Bird a Nest – Wherefore in timid quest Some little Wren goes seeking round – Wherefore when boughs are free – Households in every tree – Pilgrim be found? Perhaps a home too high – Ah Aristocracy! The little Wren desires – Perhaps of twig so fine – Of twine e’en superfine, Her pride aspires – The Lark is not ashamed To build upon the ground Her modest house – Yet who of all the throng Dancing around the sun Does so rejoice? Description Just like the Wren in the poem, at some point we all have aspired to “Aristocracy” for bigger and better things, the tallest building, the bigger home, and the fancy car. These beautiful materialistic things are so alluring, but they not only come with a price they come with a sacrifice. You sacrifice your freedom of time, you now have to work to pay or take care of all these things. We can all learn from the Lark who humbly builds its nest on the ground, but is “happy as a lark”, because there is time for

Image and Description for Poem #288

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I’m nobody! Who are you? Are you – Nobody – Too? Then there’s a pair of us! Don’t tell they’d advertise – you know! How dreary – to be – Somebody! How public – like a Frog – To tell one’s name – the livelong June – To an admiring Bog! Description If Emily Dickinson had been a “somebody” in her day we would not have her marvelous poetry we have today. Creativity is lost when you create only to appeal to the masses. When you are a nobody you have the freedom to be anybody!

Image for #1247

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Poem #1247 To pile like Thunder to it’s close Then crumble grand away While Everything created hid This – would be – Poetry – Or Love – the two coeval come – We both and neither prove – Experience either and consume – For None see God and live – Description This poem is about the consuming power of love that inspires an artist or poet to create. It is this other dimension that gives an artist or poet the ability to create another world. Mocking Gods ability to create life. But nobody can prove where love and inspiration come from, “We both and neither prove –“.   All we know is when we are feeling them it is all consuming “Experience either and consume –“.   During the numinous (arousing spiritual or religious emotion) climax, the consumption swallows you whole, “While Everything created hid”, and crumbles “grand away”. And with that grandiose aw-inspiring spiritual experience comes pure trembling terror.  Now that you have lived in the spirit world and
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He put the Belt around my life – I heard the buckle snap – And turned away, imperial, My Lifetime folding up – Deliberate, as a Duke would do A Kingdom’s Title Deed – Henceforth, a Dedicated sort – A Member of the Cloud. Yet not too far to come at call – And do the little Toils That make the Circuit of the Rest – And deal occasional smiles To lives that stoop to notice mine – And kindly ask it in – Whose invitation, know you not For Whom I must decline? Description In this poem, Emily is simply proclaiming her absolute dedication to her life’s work, her poetry. Her dedication is no different than a Priest “I heard the buckle snap”, a Nobleman “Deliberate, as a Duke”, or even a Saint “A Member of the Cloud. Even though, her life and work are as important as these grand figures, she still remains humble enough to “do the little Toils” that make up the rest of her life. In my image, “the little Toils” is represented by the dishwasher. I proclaim

Image, Audio, and Description for Poem #378

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I saw no Way – The Heavens were stitched – I felt the Columns close – The Earth reversed her Hemispheres – I touched the Universe – And back it slid – and I alone – A speck upon a Ball – Went out upon Circumference – Beyond the Dip of Bell – Description She did not need a very patriarchal puritan religion to experience Heaven. She found her heaven, ‘Beyond the Dip of Bell’ in self discovery. Helen Vendler says it beautifully in her book, “Dickinson Selected Poems and Commentaries”, “Dickinson is left solitary, at the edge of the universe, what redeems her lonely status is the fact that she has attained it by her own exploration: she ‘went out’ to where she finds herself. ‘she is the agent of her own enlightenment.” In today’s world of always staying connected I think we forget the importance of being solitary. Being alone, so we can develop our own relationship that exists ‘Beyond the Dip of Bell’, so we can come back and make the Univ

Image and Description for poem #1385

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"Secrets" is a daily word Yet does not exist - Muffled - it remits surmise - Murmured - it has ceased - Dungeoned in the Human Breast Doubtless secrets lie - But that Grate inviolate - Goes nor comes away Nothing with a Tongue or Ear - Secrets stapled there Will emerge but once - and dumb - To the Sepulchre - Description, Once a secret is told it really is no longer a secret, “it has ceased”.  We don’t want to tell our deepest darkest secrets, keeping them grated away, “Dungeoned in the Human Breast”.  This is for our own protection for grating them keeps us from harm.  But, as spiritual philosopher Pat Pope said,“when all said and done, your secret is “dumb” and already known to the infinite, “the Sepulchre’.” What struck me most about this poem was the graphic word, “Tongue”.  Instead of, mouth, Dickinson choose the word, “Tongue”, and the tongue being “stapled”, to which I didn’t even know staples existed in the 19th century,

Emily/Women/Religion

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Emily Dickinson Her Poetry .  Encompasses time, the seasons, nature, life, death, land, air, water, feeling, god, and faith.  I would go as far as saying to me reading her poetry is similar to reading the bible.  It takes me out of myself to a greater understanding of life beyond.  A greater life that is in this one and the next.      I can analyse it and interpret it like I do the bible.  But to me being a woman it is better than reading the bible.  She was a very strong woman and her not converting to her puritan religion is significant to me.  The Bible and Christianity is very patriarchal.  Worshipping Christ who is a man is completely ignoring or negating half of humanity.  To me Christ is a teacher for the people of earth, both woman and man, but I don't think Christ is the only teacher the only one who can lead us to God.  We need to look at others as teachers.   The bible is completely missing a woman's teachings on God.  I am not worshipping Emily Dickinson as

Image, Description, and audio for poem #883

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  The Poets light but Lamps - Themselves - go out - The Wicks they stimulate - If vital Light Inhere as do the Suns - Each Age a Lens Disseminating their Circumference - Description, This piece was made in the summer, it is a combination of many different things.  The sunset picture was taken on our road trip with the boys.  One of our stops was the Zippo Lighter museum,  of which I actually let my boys 8 and 10 get their own Zippo lighter, fighting with them the rest of the way to stop lighting it in the car.  But how perfect I thought this poem, "The Wicks they stimulate", went with the classic, Zippo lighter.  Also in this piece is the reflection of my studio's windows through the lens of my new camera.  I was definitely lit up with all the possibilities of a new studio.  But just as quickly as I am lit up,the flame goes out, when the lady I leased the studio from, tells me she's moving out, and I need to as well.

Hope, Image and Description for poem #245

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"Hope" is the thing with feathers – That perches in the soul – And sings the tune without the words – And never stops – at all – And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard – And sore must be the storm – That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm – I’ve heard it in the chillest land – And on the strangest Sea – Yet, never, in Extremity, It asked a crumb – of Me. Description      No matter where you are Hope is always there.  A tropical flower able to bloom in our living room in Louisville Ky.  Hope is Home, where you are accepted for who you are, "never, in Extremity, / It asked a crumb - of Me" or "sore must be the storm -/ That could abash" the hope "That kept so many warm -"