BEATING HEART

BEATING HEART
"Many a beating heart is silenced by the tyranny of indifference." ~Michael Faudet

THE PUREST PLACE

THE PUREST PLACE
"Retrace your steps and go back to the purest place in your heart… where your hope lives. You’ll find your way again.” ~Everwood (Trust Your Journey)

The Bible says

"a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of things which he possesseth."

11 May 2024

MUM'S THE WORD

12 May 2024

ON MOTHER'S DAY
To Lily, Noemi 



Mum's the word
With arms that measure love
From east to west and north to south.
They encircle you with warm embrace. 

Mum's the word
Whose mind thinks deep
Where thoughts of you dwell-in
Wond'ring about your safety and well-being.

Mum's the word
With heart as tender as a bud
Yet strong and firm in discipline 
Encompassing peace and joy.

Mum's the word
With lips that encourage 
When you're down and broken 
Her kind words heal your wounds.

Mum is the anchor of your life
When the foundation turned asunder
Enshrine her with love and affection  
For her faith in you is beyond limits. 

©️ Leah C Dancel 
Copyright ©️ 12 May 2024
All rights reserved 
SH-AUSTRALIA 
ON MOTHER'S DAY 


WALTMARIE CHALLENGE

ILA 


WOW



Let's Twist to...A NEW WOW POETRY CHALLENGE!

Choose any one of this week's (WOW) Vocabulary Words:
(PERT, DIGRESS, PERUSAL or BON MOT) and apply it to your poem. Here is the twist. You must find as many words as you can within the WOW you choose and apply all your found words into your poem. You may write up to 12 lines but NO MORE THAN 12. You may choose to rhyme if you so desire though it is not required. If you are not sure what the definitions are for each word, please look it up on this week's post. If you get stuck in trying to find words within the WOW, there are two great sites if you search on Google, like Word Maker or All Scrabble. 
**
BEGINS TODAY (June 28, 2023) and ENDS SUNDAY, (July 2, 2023).

Looking forward in reading your great work!



FASHION SENSE

Her charismatic beauty compelled me to WEND my perspective 
About 
fashion trends that DIGRESSED in recent years, away from conservative style of dressing. 
I am
firm and STOLID by not conforming to the whims of women in society.
I frowned 
upon their glitterati temperament of endless demand in emulating the Hollywood
 glamour,
Who snubbed 
their mediocrity in fashion sense which to me is rather a
SELCOUTH. 

©️ Leah C Dancel 
Copyright ©️ 25 December 2023
All rights reserved 
SH-AUSTRALIA 
#ILA MAGAZINE 
#WALTMARIE 
#WOW: DIGRESS, SELCOUTH, STOLID, WEND 





ILA MAGAZINE - WOW Poetry Challenge:

The "WALTMARIE" - a two-in-one poem invented by Candice Kubinec.
**
It is a ten-lined poetic form
**
ODD LINES have NO SPECIFIC SYLLABIC COUNT, which means, the poet can write in as many syllables as he/she desires
**
EVEN LINES are written in 2 SYLLABLES, only.
**
The even lines create a "mini-poem" if read apart.
**
There are no rules for rhyme or subject - the option is left for the poet to choose whether to rhyme or not
**
The poem is usually titled but this is left for the poet to choose.
**
ODD LINES: 1, 3, 5, 7, 9
EVEN LINES: 2, 4, 6, 8, 10
**
EXAMPLE OF MY POEM (I only used one of the wows yet poets must use ALL 4).
*
"ETCHED ON A TREE"

Should I digress on something I least desire
Before
I utter with myopic stance which I may be intolerant of
or more
Expressing proverbial logic in a cloud of words that fog
in time
traversing through a squall of reasons and of rhyme
My brain
unshackling new strength I have inside me now
feels free.
Annette Nasser
**
THIS IS A WOW CHALLENGE, so you MUST TRY TO APPLY all 4 words: (DIGRESS, STOLID, SELCOUTH, WEND), to be considered as a “BEST ENTRY”, which I will choose (several), shortly after this challenge ends. 
**
BEGINS NOW (12-14-23)
ENDS TUESDAY (12-19-23)
**
If anyone needs guidance, please do message me.

GOOD LUCK, POETS!

NOTHING

PENSEE POETRY 


NOTHING
is emptiness.
No one can do anything
Under any circumstances
For nothing is but void.
©️ Leah C Dancel
20 January 2024
SH-AUSTRALIA 

LESSON

ILA MAGAZINE PROMPT - This is NOT a WOW Challenge.
**
PENSEE Poetry Challenge!
*
PENSEE Poetry Form is a 5-Lined Syllabic poem - no rhyming or meter required unless you desire to write in rhyme.

LINE 1 is the SUBJECT and written in 2 Syllables.
LINE 2 is the DESCRIPTION and written in 4 Syllables.
LINE 3 is the ACTION and written in 7 Syllables.
LINE 4 is the SETTING and written in 8 Syllables.
LINE 5 is the FINAL THOUGHT and written in 6 Syllables.

10 May 2024

REMEMBER ME

By Margaret Mead

“To the living, I am gone,
To the sorrowful, I will never return,
To the angry, I was cheated,
But to the happy, I am at peace,
And to the faithful, I have never left.

I cannot speak, but I can listen.
I cannot be seen, but I can be heard.
So as you stand upon a shore gazing at a beautiful sea,
As you look upon a flower and admire its simplicity,
Remember me.

Remember me in your heart:
Your thoughts, and your memories,
Of the times we loved,
The times we cried,
The times we fought,
The times we laughed.
For if you always think of me, 
I will never have gone.”

Source: American Literature 

8 May 2024

HOPE

By Emily Dickinson

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.

By Emily Dickinson

FEAR


It is said that before entering the sea
a river trembles with fear.

She looks back at the path she has traveled,
from the peaks of the mountains,
the long winding road crossing forests and villages.

And in front of her,
she sees an ocean so vast,
that to enter
there seems nothing more than to disappear forever.

But there is no other way.
The river can not go back.

Nobody can go back.
To go back is impossible in existence.

The river needs to take the risk
of entering the ocean
because only then will fear disappear,
because that’s where the river will know
it’s not about disappearing into the ocean,
but of becoming the ocean.

~ Khalil Gibran

4 May 2024

MY HUMBLE LIGHT

By Jeffrey Cejero


My Humble Light

Grains of sand continue to drop
As the waves of seasons ebb and flow.
A tiny me started to pulsate
Until I have my flickering light.

The great sun shows its might
Illuminating the sky with its full bright
Where day is born, glowing like divine,
Leaving no place for me to shine.

Night time comes
And silvery moon hung up in the sky.
Only those powerful gems could still shine
Unlike me whose glow, like fainting fireflies.

Then storm came bringing chill to everyone
Where sky is covered by thick black clouds,
Where the moon has finally set
Bathing in the cold waters of disputed west.

The night was flooded by tears
Till the clouds emptied its burdening load.
The sky finally gave way for everyone to shine
And found myself shining with my humble light.

28 April 2024

PHOTO POETRY

by Leah C Dancel
29 April 2024

Part 1




1

I desire your warmth 
Stay longer to kiss me more
My face is cold 
And my soul is still 
Longing to be soothed 
By your ardent embrace.


Part 2
A Sequel
#photopoetry 

2.

Last time when you kissed me
I was down the ledge of the ocean.
It was cold and I was shivering.
You came to me and gently
draped around my shoulders 
A shawl of your warm embrace:
The tenderness of that unforgettable 
moment will be a memory. 



3

Here you've found me at my highest peak
Where none could follow to ruffle
my peace.
Though the mist blanket my unmolten pinnacle 
Your shining ardour brightens my sombre world.

Words Copyright ©️ 
Leah C Dancel 
30 April 2024
All rights reserved 
Orange 🍊 NSW 
AUSTRALIA 


Created and Written  
Marsden Place 
Orange 🍊 NSW 

Photos credit to the owners 
Source: National Geographic

24 April 2024

PITY THE NATION

Lifted from English Literature

Pity the nation whose people are sheep,
and whose shepherds mislead them.
Pity the nation whose leaders are liars, whose sages are silenced,
and whose bigots haunt the airwaves.
Pity the nation that raises not its voice,
except to praise conquerors and acclaim the bully as hero
and aims to rule the world with force and by torture.
Pity the nation that knows no other language but its own
and no other culture but its own.
Pity the nation whose breath is money
and sleeps the sleep of the too well fed.
Pity the nation — oh, pity the people who allow their rights to erode
and their freedoms to be washed away.
My country, tears of thee, sweet land of liberty.

~Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Book: Ferlinghetti's Greatest Poems

23 April 2024

I AM

By Leah C Dancel



I AM

There can be no other
I'm only one Me:
One soul, one heart, one mind.

I may share attributes with others 
Whom I call soulmates 
Or twin from different mothers. 

I am unique 
Fitted with flaws and imperfections 
I walk the talk; at times I screwed adrift. 

I play down self-righteousness 
It's not in my blueprint's template 
I am just me, the who I am.

I am as you are:
A human, a person
A woman of substance. 

Molded and developed 
With humane persona 
I am both a giver and a taker.

I am
A woman:
A lady of will.

©️ Leah C Dancel 
Copyright ©️ 22 April 2024
All rights reserved 
THE COLOUR CITY
Central West - AUSTRALIA

21 April 2024

THE LAST EMPIRE

Posted at PSCS
22 April 2024


THE LAST EMPIRE

She's the Rose of England
The land where kingdoms hailed
Kings and Queens that poets deified
In verses, hymns and proses scribed.

A queen destined to reign the land
At ten, her fate divinely designed
She took the vow in faithfulness declared
Short or long, the longest she ruled.

She severed empires to give in freedom
To sovereignties to lead their own
And kept those who are willing
To get under her vast dominions.

Today, most empires are gone
Consigned to history till they last fit
New leaves and pages are being quilled
Mostly by red blood of deceit and conceit.


©️ Leah C Dancel
Copyright ©️ 22 April 2024
All rights reserved
The City of Colours
Central West, NSW

20 April 2024

PALINDROME: BINX

21 April 2024
Orange NSW 
 



Under the table 
Outside 
Bathing in the sun
Keeping warm.
After play 
His space 
Alone.

Leah C Dancel 
21 April 2024

APRIL HAIKU: SUNRISE

Written in Orange NSW

SUNRISE 




Glinting rays over 
The rooftop of sleeping hosts
Town awaken by.

Leah C Dancel 
#haiku 
21 April 2021
Colour City 


DAFFODILS by William Wordsworth

Lifted from ENGLISH LITERATURE
18 April 2024/FB

"DAFFODILS" 
(I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud)
By William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Analysis;
"I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud" (also commonly known as "Daffodils") is a poem by William Wordsworth that is known for its celebration of the beauty of nature and its ability to bring joy and happiness in times of despair. The poem is written in the first person, with the speaker describing their own personal experience of wandering through a field of daffodils.
The poem is divided into four stanzas, each of which describes a different aspect of the speaker's experience. The first stanza sets the scene and describes the speaker's feeling of loneliness as they wander through the countryside. The imagery of a cloud floating over hills and valleys evokes a sense of isolation and detachment, which contrasts with the vibrant and joyful scene that the speaker is about to encounter.
The second stanza describes the moment when the speaker comes across a field of daffodils. The imagery of the daffodils stretching in a "never-ending line" along the shoreline creates a sense of awe and wonder, and the comparison to the stars in the Milky Way emphasizes the vastness and beauty of the scene. The use of the word "host" to describe the daffodils also suggests that they are not just a random collection of flowers, but an organized and purposeful group.
The third stanza describes the speaker's emotional response to the scene. The use of words like "gay" and "jocund" suggest that the sight of the daffodils has brought the speaker a sense of happiness and pleasure. The phrase "I gazed—and gazed—but little thought / What wealth the show to me had brought" suggests that the speaker did not fully realize the impact the daffodils would have on them until after they had seen them.
The final stanza describes the lasting effect of the daffodils. The use of the phrase "And then my heart with pleasure fills / And dances with the daffodils" suggests that the sight of the daffodils has lifted the speaker's spirits and brought them a sense of joy and happiness.
The poem is also known for its use of imagery, particularly the image of the daffodils dancing in the breeze, which creates a sense of movement and liveliness that contrasts with the stillness and isolation of the opening lines. The poem also makes use of personification, as the daffodils are described as "dancing" and "tossing their heads" which imbues them with human-like characteristics and adds to the lively and joyful nature of the scene.



____ ^*^ ____


12 August 2024

A more thorough analysis in expanded form as elucidated by ENGLISH LITERATURE Page to which this credit is due. 

DAFFODILS
BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 

"I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud" (also sometimes called "Daffodils") is a lyric poem by William Wordsworth. It is one of his most popular, and was inspired by an encounter on 15 April 1802 during a walk with his younger sister Dorothy, when they saw a "long belt" of daffodils on the shore of Ullswater in the English Lake District. Written in 1804, this 24 line lyric was first published in 1807 in Poems, in Two Volumes, and revised in 1815. 

It is a quintessential Romantic poem that celebrates the beauty of nature and the profound emotional connection between the natural world and the human soul.

SHORT SUMMARY: 

The poem begins with the speaker, who feels lonely and detached, comparing himself to a cloud that floats high above valleys and hills. This image sets the tone for the poem, emphasizing the speaker's isolation from the world around him.

However, this loneliness is soon alleviated when the speaker encounters a "crowd" of golden daffodils beside a lake, fluttering and dancing in the breeze. The sight of these daffodils is uplifting, and Wordsworth uses personification to give them a life of their own. The flowers "toss their heads" and "dance," creating an image of joy and movement that contrasts sharply with the speaker's earlier solitude.

The daffodils are described as being "continuous as the stars that shine," suggesting their vast number and the endless beauty they represent. This comparison to stars also imbues the scene with a sense of timelessness and eternity, as if the daffodils are not just a fleeting moment of beauty, but a lasting source of inspiration.

In the final stanza, the speaker reflects on how the memory of the daffodils brings him comfort even when he is alone or in a "pensive mood." The daffodils become a symbol of inner peace and joy, capable of lifting his spirits and filling his heart with pleasure. This enduring emotional impact illustrates the Romantic belief in the healing power of nature.

THEMES: 

1. NATURE'S HEALING POWER: The poem underscores the idea that nature has the ability to console and uplift the human spirit. The sight of the daffodils provides the speaker with solace and joy, both in the moment and in memory.

2. THE IMPORTANCE OF MEMORY: Wordsworth highlights the significance of memory in preserving the beauty of nature. The daffodils are not just a temporary delight but a source of lasting happiness, stored in the speaker's mind.

3. SOLITUDE AND CONNECTION: The poem explores the contrast between solitude and connection. While the speaker starts in a state of loneliness, his encounter with the daffodils fills him with a sense of connection to the natural world, alleviating his isolation.

4. ROMANTICISM: The poem embodies key elements of Romanticism, such as the emphasis on emotion, the celebration of nature, and the exploration of the individual's inner experience.

17 April 2024

HAIKU 2024

Posted at ILA
17 April 2024
HAIKU POETRY DAY 
By Steve Lyman 

TRILOGY



#1
A summer rose buds 
Draw their last blooming saga
Petals wilt and die.

#
The leaves are falling
Trees stripping off their old barks
Twigs and limbs weakened.

#3
It's Fall,  but, Autumn
Down Under changing season
Cool nights, slumbering.

Leah C Dancel
17 April 2024



FLOWERS 


Though flowers may fail 
To win a heart, hard to win
Handle them with care.

Leah C Dancel 
17 April 2024
PSCS 


ROSES

Let thy love be known 
With roses that spark romance
To sweet lady fair.

Leah C Dancel
17 April 2024
PSCS 

Dedicated to Eve Sison




 

15 April 2024

WHEN MORNING COMES

Poem by Lenore Caytiles


When Morning Comes

When morning comes, welcome it with a smile
No matter whether the clouds are white, black or gray
And the skies clear or not
Whether the day is sunny or gloomy
Just be thankful.

The morning is always beautiful for it is the beginning of a new day
A new day has come to give us hope
The pain we felt might be gone
Another chance to do better
and difficult tasks done.

Time to start a new beginning
Time to take a new road if the other way didn't turn out right
Time to view the world with the brightest hope
Leaving all the blues and the pains behind.

Tire not. 
Do not give up for this tomorrow might have the best for you.

April 15, 2024
Sunrise in Carmona. Cavite

31 March 2024

THE SOLILIQUY OF THE SUN

31 March 2024



The Soliloquy of the Sun
By Rado Gatchalian

I look at the East
And bow down 
To the moon and the stars,
The glittering lights
That strike my soul —
It vaporises my fullness
And it makes me whole.
But as I stretch my sight
And dare to look Him in the eye —
I become blind,
And never shall I see again the visible.
But as I hide for thousand years —
Slowly within me,
A humble monk of no dogmas,
I shine like sunlight,
Like petals in the ocean,
Quietly waiting for sunrise.


"Look to my coming at first light on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the East.” 

~ Gandalf



23 March 2024

A NEW SEASON

By Leah C Dancel
24 March 2024



A NEW SEASON 

Waking up to a new season's day!
Cool and cosy 
Driving me alive and esprit!

By the window's seen that majestic sky
Behind a nature's screen in green
That promises a colour void of strife. 

Five fingers leaf climbers portray 
A renaissance of early autumn crisps
This awning highlights a refreshing view. 

Quietly as time goes by 
No one dares to disturb
The silence of the sphere. 

©️ Leah C Dancel 
Copyright @ 24 March 2024
All rights reserved 
SH-AUSTRALIA

21 March 2024

SOLITUDE

By Jeffrey Cejero
22 March 2024



Solitude
by jepoy

From dusts, I am created
Aided  by the burning compassion
Of the flowing river of time
And the void turning into a space.

It was not easy for me to exist.
Everyday is a silent cold war
But still I decided to fight
In a battle where destiny is the victor.

From a distant, I watched in silence
Those glistening gems under the heavens
And I dreamed to be like them someday
Until this wish turned into a star.

I flexed my good traits
Twinkling, smiling at all times
Hope these acts could help brighten the sky
But I was judged for being too flashy and arrogant.

I asked the cloud to cover me all the time.
I begged the moon to outshine me in all nights
And if ever, you never find me
It's all because, in solitude I find my peace.

WHEN I AM OLD

Lifted from FB
Rumi and Spirit Quotes 
22 March 2024


Photo credit to the owner. 


WHEN I AM OLD

When I am old...
I will wear soft gray sweatshirts...
and a bandana over my silver hair...
and I will spend my social security checks on my dogs.
I will sit in my house on my well-worn chair
and listen to my dogs breathing.
I will sneak out in the middle of a warm summer night
and take my dogs for a run, if my old bones will allow...
When people come to call, I will smile and nod
as I show them my dogs...
and talk of them and about them...
...the ones so beloved of the past
and the ones so beloved of today...
I will still work hard cleaning after them,
mopping and feeding them and whispering their names
in a soft loving way.
I will wear the gleaming sweat on my throat,
like a jewel, and I will be an embarrassment to all...
especially my family...
who have not yet found the peace in being free
to have dogs as your best friends...
These friends who always wait, at any hour, for your footfall...
and eagerly jump to their feet out of a sound sleep,
to greet you as if you are a God,
with warm eyes full of adoring love and hope
that you will always stay,
I'll hug their big strong necks...
I'll kiss their dear sweet heads...
and whisper in their very special company....
I look in the mirror... and see I am getting old....
this is the kind of person I am...
and have always been.
Loving dogs is easy, they are part of me.
Please accept me for who I am.
My dogs appreciate my presence in their lives...
they love my presence in their lives...
When I am old this will be important to me...
you will understand when you are old,
if you have dogs to love too.

-Author Unknown

20 March 2024

TOWARD ETERNITY

By Emily Dickinson
Lifted from English Literature 



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 –

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed Us –
The Dews drew quivering and Chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity –

EMILY DICKINSON

***
CTTO



Source: Read More Books 



She wrote 1,800 poems, and only 10 were published in her lifetime—all without her permission. Emily Dickinson spent thirty years writing some of the most revolutionary poetry in American literature. And almost no one knew. She didn't seek fame. She didn't want publication. When a few of her poems appeared in newspapers—edited, "corrected," stripped of her distinctive punctuation and capitalization—she was horrified. They had ruined them. So she stopped trying. She wrote for herself, and for a handful of people she trusted. Born in 1830 in Amherst, Massachusetts, Emily grew up in one of the town's most prominent families. Her father was a lawyer and congressman. Her family expected her to be social, accomplished, marriageable. She had other plans. In her late twenties, something shifted. Emily began declining invitations. She stopped going to church. She saw fewer people. By her thirties, she rarely left her family's property. By her forties, she wouldn't come downstairs to greet visitors—she'd lower baskets of gingerbread from her bedroom window instead, or speak to guests from the top of the stairs while remaining hidden. No one knows exactly why. Some scholars believe she suffered from anxiety or agoraphobia. Others suggest epilepsy, or eye problems that made bright light painful. Some think she simply preferred solitude to society's suffocating expectations of women. Maybe all of it was true. What we know for certain is this: in that upstairs bedroom, Emily Dickinson was writing poetry unlike anything America had ever seen. Her poems were short, sharp, startling. They broke all the rules. She used dashes instead of conventional punctuation. She capitalized Random words for Emphasis. Her rhymes were slant and strange. Her syntax twisted like roots breaking through stone. She wrote about death as if it were a gentleman caller arriving in a carriage. She wrote about hope as a bird with feathers. She wrote about pain so precisely that readers a century later would say, "Yes. Exactly that. "But she shared her work with almost no one. One person she did trust was Thomas Wentworth Higginson, a well-known editor and writer. In April 1862, Emily sent him four poems with a letter asking, "Are you too deeply occupied to say if my Verse is alive? "Higginson was baffled. Her poems were brilliant but strange—too strange for the literary magazines of the day. He encouraged her to keep writing but advised her not to publish. She didn't mind. She kept sending him poems anyway, hundreds over the years. Their correspondence became one of the most fascinating literary relationships in American history: a famous editor who didn't quite understand the reclusive genius who kept writing to him. Then, around 1863, Emily started wearing only white. White dresses. White shawls. Nothing else. Every day, for the rest of her life. Her neighbors noticed. People whispered. The woman who never left her house now looked like a ghost when she did appear at a window. Why white? No one knows for sure. Some scholars think it symbolized purity or artistic dedication—a kind of uniform for her vocation as poet. Others suggest it was mourning that never ended, perhaps for a lost love (she had intense emotional attachments to several people, though whether any were romantic remains debated). Some believe it was simply practical: she could focus on poetry instead of choosing what to wear. Whatever the reason, the white dresses became part of her legend: the reclusive poet in white, writing upstairs while the world moved on without her. She wasn't completely isolated. She wrote hundreds of letters—witty, warm, philosophical letters to friends and family. She tended her conservatory, growing exotic flowers. She baked bread for neighbors. She had deep friendships, just conducted almost entirely through correspondence. And she wrote. Constantly. By the time she died in 1886 at age 55, Emily Dickinson had written approximately 1,789 poems. She kept them in hand-sewn booklets she called "fascicles," hidden in a drawer in her bedroom. Her sister Lavinia found them after her death and was stunned. She knew Emily wrote poetry, but had no idea how much. Lavinia was determined to get them published, despite Emily's wishes for privacy. It took years. The first collection appeared in 1890, heavily edited to make the poems more "conventional"—exactly what Emily had feared. But even butchered, they were a sensation. Readers recognized genius. It wasn't until 1955 that Emily Dickinson's poems were finally published as she wrote them, with all her odd punctuation and wild capitalizations intact. And suddenly, readers could see what she'd been doing: not breaking rules out of ignorance, but inventing an entirely new way of writing. Today, Emily Dickinson is recognized as one of America's greatest poets, alongside Walt Whitman. Her work influenced modernists like T.S. Eliot and continues to shape contemporary poetry. But here's what makes her story remarkable: she did it all while rejecting everything the literary world demanded. She didn't network. She didn't promote herself. She didn't conform to editorial expectations. She didn't seek approval or fame or validation. She just wrote what she needed to write, exactly how she needed to write it, in a room upstairs while wearing white. And 140 years after her death, millions of people read her words and think: "Yes. She understood. "Emily Dickinson proved that you don't need the world's permission to create something that matters. You don't need to be seen to be significant. You don't need to explain yourself to anyone. Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is close the door, write your truth, and trust that eventually, the right people will find it. She wrote: "I'm Nobody! Who are you? / Are you—Nobody—too? "Turns out, that Nobody changed everything.


 

25 February 2024

WHEN I THINK ABOUT MYSELF

By Maya Angelou

When I think about myself,
I almost laugh myself to death,
My life has been one great big joke,
A dance that's walked
A song that's spoke,
I laugh so hard I almost choke
When I think about myself.

Sixty years in these folks' world
The child I works for calls me girl
I say 'Yes ma'am' for working's sake.
Too proud to bend
Too poor to break,
I laugh until my stomach ache,
When I think about myself.

My folks can make me split my side,
I laughed so hard I nearly died,
The tales they tell, sound just like lying,
They grow the fruit,
But eat the rind,
I laugh until I start to crying,
When I think about my folks.

@Maya Angelou

Source: American Literature 


14 February 2024

IF A SEAGULL CAME

Lifted from Mir of Lisbon

"If a seagull came"
bring me the Lisbon skies
in the drawing I made,
In the sky where you look
It's a wing that does not fly,
take a nap and fall into the sea.

What a perfect heart
a battery in my chest
my love in your hand,
That hand where it fit
perfect my heart“

Poem by Alexander O'Neill

1 February 2024

WHEN YOU ARE OLD

Lifted from Grace Celeste Chan

"WHEN YOU ARE OLD" 
by William Butler Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

(One of the last poems that W.B. Yeats wrote. Born 13 June 1865 – Died 28 January 1939)

Image of W.B. Yeats public domain by Charles George Beresford via Wikimedia Commons.

31 January 2024

A DISTANT SCENE

By Leah C Dancel



A DISTANT SCENE

Let me dream about you
While sailing away towards the sunset
Let me gaze into the twilight
With mind undazed by its golden kiss.

The tranquil mood of the sphere
Is hearkened by the moon rising above.
I'm enamoured by its alluring light;
Softly touching my bassinet of dreams.

Will you meet me on this quiet night?
That gently tucked me in a  zephyr's bliss.
I heard your voice from a distant scene
Whisked by the wind in a whisp'ring swirl.

The sunset lingers on this summer night
Where strands of wisp clouds floating in the sky
Resplendent in its aureate robe
Like a crown that illumines the throne.

©️ Leah C Dancel
Copyright ©️ 31 January 2024
All rights reserved
SH-AUSTRALIA 

Info: Colnect 


Comment 

"That's such a beautiful poem, Mang! The imagery of the sunset and the moonlight weaving through the verses creates a serene atmosphere. I especially love the way you use "bassinet of dreams" and the idea of the wind carrying voices. It's a lovely way to capture a peaceful moment and a distant longing." ~Melany Amante Mabao Maguindanao 

"Beautiful poetry about sunset; meaningful, descriptive & poignant." ~Teresita Sy Giok Liong