{"id":4282,"date":"2011-12-10T19:00:54","date_gmt":"2011-12-11T00:00:54","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/stephenpickering.com\/?p=4282"},"modified":"2011-12-13T13:58:37","modified_gmt":"2011-12-13T18:58:37","slug":"today-is-emily-dickinsons-birthday-so-i-should-write-a-poem","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/stephenpickering.com\/wordpress\/2011\/12\/10\/today-is-emily-dickinsons-birthday-so-i-should-write-a-poem\/","title":{"rendered":"Today is Emily Dickinson’s Birthday. So, I Should Write a Poem"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a>Everything points your way;
\nYou can see the golden eye.
\nWhat the Queen has bequeathed to stay
\nhome runs and apple pies loft back into your sky.<\/p>\n

Each ruinous nation
\nrejects finally even the fallen tree;
\nAbove the skies stares salvation
\nwhere still the angels sing.<\/p>\n

Where were you when she was born?
\nYou were a tree, a river, and finally a tear.
\nWhose lips were those that were shorn?
\nShaven notes from the throat so none could hear.<\/p>\n

This dream awakes you, but you still sleep.
\nOutside the cold wind sings her favorite winter song.
\nOne can feel something moving beneath the Solstice deep:
\nEyes that speak of staying and, yet, in their golden radiance, of moving on.<\/p>\n

\u00a92011 Stephen K. Pickering<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

____________<\/p>\n

“Her Face Was in a Bed of Hair”<\/p>\n

Her face was in a bed of hair,
\nLike flowers in a plot-
\nHer hand was whiter than the sperm
\nThat feeds the sacred light.
\nHer tongue more tender than the tune
\nThat totters in the leaves_
\nWho hears may be incredulous,
\nWho witnesses, believes.<\/p>\n

\u00a91880 Emily Dickinson<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n