It’s National Poetry Month!

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Happy April! Happy National Poetry Month! And if you live in Northern Vermont: Happy Still Having Several Feet Of Snow In Your Yard!

Let’s ignore that last one and focus our attention to poetry. I’m not going to lie, I’m about to weasel out of writing a big post. The fact of the matter is that school’s a bitch right now and updating my blog is important but will not help me get straight “A”s (if you get an “A” in a subject you don’t need to sit for the final exam which means less time in a room thinking about how I know how Harry felt when sitting with Dolores). So here are some of my favorite poems from:

Emily Dickinson

(Who kicks ass all around)

To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,

One clover, and a bee.

And revery.

The revery alone will do,

If bees are few.

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I taste a liquor never brewed –

From Tankards scooped in Pearl –

Not all the Frankfort Berries

Yield such an Alcohol!

Inebriate of air – am I –

And Debauchee of Dew –

Reeling – thro’ endless summer days –

From inns of molten Blue –

When “Landlords” turn the drunken Bee

Out of the Foxglove’s door –

When Butterflies – renounce their “drams” –

I shall but drink the more!

Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats –

And Saints – to windows run –

To see the Tippler

Leaning against the – Sun!

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Nature — the Gentlest Mother is,

Impatient of no Child —

The feeblest — or the waywardest —

Her Admonition mild —

In Forest — and the Hill —

By Traveller — be heard —

Restraining Rampant Squirrel —

Or too impetuous Bird —

How fair Her Conversation —

A Summer Afternoon —

Her Household — Her Assembly —

And when the Sun go down —

Her Voice among the Aisles

Incite the timid prayer

Of the minutest Cricket —

The most unworthy Flower —

When all the Children sleep —

She turns as long away

As will suffice to light Her lamps —

Then bending from the Sky —

With infinite Affection —

And infiniter Care —

Her Golden finger on Her lip —

Wills Silence — Everywhere —

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Best Witchcraft is Geometry

To the magician’s mind —

His ordinary acts are feats

To thinking of mankind.

————————

Witchcraft was hung, in History,

But History and I

Find all the Witchcraft that we need

Around us, every Day —

—————————

They shut me up in Prose —

As when a little Girl

They put me in the Closet —

Because they liked me “still” —

Still!  Could themself have peeped —

And seen my Brain — go round —

They might as wise have lodged a Bird

For Treason — in the Pound —

Himself has but to will

And easy as a Star

Abolish his Captivity —

And laugh — No more have I —

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Thanks to poets.org and americanpoems.com for helping me get the full text to these non-copyrighted poems.