Beauty or duty?
We live but once so why die
For an ideal
When one may feel
Lips so soft
They awake
An ache
Beyond soothing?
The devil coughed,
“Excuse me”
Said she
“But time is moving
On and I must be away.
Unless, of course you ask me
To stay …”.
I beg you, stay a while
For I am without guile
And ‘tis no crime
To hide oneself in rhyme
Walking a tightrope,
The abyss
Of bliss
Below.
Should I let go
People would recall
That I had a spectacular fall …
To keep hold
Is, I am told
The right thing to do.
That may well be true
But oh
How I long to go
Into the abyss
Of bliss
Tis a strange thing
To see winter dance with spring.
The winter wind does freeze
Spring’s heart,
Yet she will play her part
And with her bloom
Tease
And please,
Creating her own tomb.
There was a young man named Guy
Who was employed as a British spy.
He received money from the Russians,
And payments from the Prussians.
That double-crossing young spy named Guy!
There was a young lady named Lou
Who created a website in 1902.
She had her own email address,
Although I must confess
That I am lying to you!
He hears her voice
And wonders what she does know
Of where men go
In their head. Choice
Is a word
Oft times heard.
Possessing seeming
Meaning,
It conceals scheming.
But women know
‘Tis not always so
And suspect
There maybe respect.
It helps them cope
For hope
Is the last thing to die.
This is, undoubtedly my favourite Emily Dickinson poem and the analysis provided by Interesting Literature serves to elucidate it’s meaning.
A critical reading of a classic Dickinson poem
In ‘Because I could not stop for Death’ Emily Dickinson writes about one of her favourite subjects: death. But the journey she describes is intriguing: is it faintly comical, or grimly macabre? Below are some notes towards an analysis of ‘Because I could not stop for Death’ which address the poem’s language and meaning.
Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.
We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –
View original post 688 more words
Incongruous you stood,
A sofa in my local wood.
You belong in a living room
But as some poisonous mushroom
You despoil the grace
Of nature’s face.
No point to shout
About a litter lout,
For if you did hear
I fear
That you would not listen.
The glisten
of morning dew
Means nothing to you,
Who would rather view TV,
Than stare at bird or tree.
Doubtless you own a state-of-the-art television
(And a new settee).
Yet you lack the vision
To see
Beyond the dancing screen
To yonder wood,
Where the air is good
And fox and squirrel are oft times seen.
There was a young man named Gus
Who caught the wrong kind of bus.
He found himself on a boat,
With nought but a goat.
You should have heard that terrible fuss!
