An Evening with Emily: the poems of Emily Dickinson have fascinated me for a long time, and in each poem of this collection I use a brief part of a Dickinson poem as a springboard for a thematically-related poem of my own. In my imagination, Emily and I are spending an enjoyable evening experimenting with poetry -- hence the title.
An Evening with Emily, 001
This is my letter to the world
That never wrote to me [ED]
Good evening, gentle readers,
my name you will not know,
I treasure strict anonymity
as I bare my tortured soul;
I am, like you, a wanderer
on the jagged road of Life,
I have my share of happiness,
I have more share of strife;
to sing to you is but one way
to ease my heart from pain,
and once my songs are sung
I shall not trouble you again.
An Evening with Emily, 002
If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain [ED]
I watch your heart breaking,
a loss too great to bear,
a sorrow to last forever,
deep inside;
I long to hold you in my arms,
tell you the pain will stop,
that not all hope and joy
have died.
But will you believe my words,
find strength in what I say
to heal that tortured heart,
laugh again?
If God will only let me
save you from the Dark,
I shall not have lived
in vain.
An Evening with Emily, 003
Within my reach!
I could have touched! [ED]
So close, the fragrant rose
preening to the sun,
standing all alone
in sight of everyone;
to pluck it from the ground,
and hold it close to me,
to say “ ‘tis mine alone” –
how treasured that would be.
But I wandered by too late,
delayed by lesser deeds,
the rose I sought was gone
and I found common weeds,
just so my soul despairs
of ever finding rest,
so close, within my grasp,
yet elusive to my quest;
the prize I seek so much
will never come to stay,
ever shall I reach for ghosts
that, laughing, fade away.
An Evening with Emily, 004
The soul selects her own society,
Then shuts the door;
On her divine majority
Obtrude no more. [ED]
She closed her soul to me,
though I never wished it so,
she banished me from places
I was not allowed to go;
how hidden is the human heart,
how protective of its realm,
a pirate ship that sails in fog,
one captain at the helm.
Perhaps the pain is less that way,
and no one has to see
the sorrows that descend,
from which she cannot flee;
I struggled much to get inside,
break through her stubborn wall,
and offer her a loving friend,
but succeeded not at all,
and yet my heart has room for her,
despite the pain we share,
and when the door comes open,
I shall be standing there.
An Evening with Emily, 005
Can I expound the skies?
How still the riddle lies! [ED]
If I could read the heavens
as if a book were at my hand,
as if all celestial beauty
lay exposed at my command,
how great a tale would come
of Existence in one second,
when Suns burst into flame
as if a God had beckoned,
when matter first took form
so Life might then be seeded,
and from that great explosion
came all that would be needed
to create the birds and butterflies,
and flowers waving in the breeze –
could any soul imagine
the living flame in these?
We live so far from heaven,
condemned to walk below,
to accept the dark reality
of things we cannot know,
yet even as the stars parade
enigmatic in my view,
I know a gift was given me
that I will share with you.
An Evening with Emily, 006
Pain has an element of blank;
It cannot recollect
When it began, or if there were
A day when it was not. [ED]
I sought a kind narcotic
to take the pain away,
that I might find remission
for even but one day,
an anodyne for torment,
sweet remedy for woe,
that I might see the sun
or happiness might know.
In vain I made my quest,
the pain stays with me still,
each day another trial
of my enervated will,
until, by grace of God,
I take my final breath,
bid farewell to agony
and find release in death.
An Evening with Emily, 007
Inebriate of air am I,
And debauchee of dew [ED]
The wine of Spring appears
as rivers hasten to the sea,
bearing the last of Winter’s wrath,
and I drink deep,
intoxicated with hope reborn,
as flowers break through the earth
in expectation of the vernal sky,
their destinies to keep.
The dew lies fresh, the air so clear
that I reel in Bacchic delight
to celebrate Life’s resurrection
with frenzied dance;
come, Dionysus, claim my hand,
reveal to me your mysteries,
that I might fill my cup with
the season of romance.
An Evening with Emily, 008
I had no time to hate, because
The grave would hinder me,
And life was not so ample I
Could finish enmity. [ED]
So little time to live,
to spend it in such hate
debases God’s great gift,
the heaven we await;
to gaze upon another soul
and condemn it without care
turns our hearts away from Love
and strips our evils bare.
Judge not that you be judged,
found failing in life’s path,
and all because a hardened heart
gave in to mindless wrath;
accept instead another’s hand,
with Love make null the grave,
and then fear not the end of time:
compassion makes us brave.
An Evening with Emily, 009
You left me, sweet, two legacies,
A legacy of love
A Heavenly Father would content,
Had he the offer of;
You left me boundaries of pain
Capacious as the sea,
Between eternity and time,
Your consciousness and me. [ED]
Bittersweet the passion,
the thorns upon the rose
that summon mortal blood
as each blossom grows.
How sweet the fleeting hours
we paid obeisance to our love,
indulging in the grandest gift
bestowed us from above;
yet how bitter tastes the hurt
a wounded soul must bear,
to turn and look for union,
and find but nothing there.
What dual legacy remains
when love comes to an end,
leaving golden memories
a broken heart to mend,
but too fast the image fades
and you are gone from view,
and I am left in fragments,
shards my whole life through.
An Evening with Emily, 010
What fortitude the soul contains,
That it can so endure
The accent of a coming foot,
The opening of a door. [ED]
Dark passages invite us
to move from place to place
as if our souls were free
to wander throughout space,
to accept, if not with fortitude,
at least with conscious grace
the essence of our being,
the uncertain end we face.
The coming foot draws closer,
it falters at my door,
can my soul be brave enough
more sorrow to endure,
or shall it turn a coward
and bray at death no more,
but flee before the passage
that beckons rich and poor?
Yet no refuge can be found
when the time at last comes nigh
to make our last farewells
and prepare our souls to die;
I shall put on my bravest face
and forbid my tears to cry,
yet, even still, I take my leave
without ever knowing why.
An Evening with Emily, 011
My river runs to thee:
Blue sea, wilt welcome me?
My river wants reply.
Oh sea, look graciously. [ED]
I am the river never seen,
obscured by Nature’s wealth,
hiding in a crowded forest,
flowing silently in stealth;
I do not seek attention,
I simply wish to be,
to move among the woodlands,
bountiful and free,
until my waters reach the shore
and I submerge my soul,
joining with the ocean’s swell,
at last complete and whole.
So grant me anonymity
as I move along my way,
turn aside if you come near
and do not seek to stay,
for my destiny is calling
and I have no time for you –
before I touch the ocean
so much that I must do.
An Evening with Emily, 012
She rose to his requirement, dropped
The playthings of her life
To take the honorable work
Of woman and of wife. [ED]
To sacrifice for love
what made us real before,
to surrender who we are –
a God could ask no more;
so forgive me if I balk,
reluctant to concede
a part of my identity
to gratify your need.
The man who wins my heart
must accept me as I am,
a dreamer, flawed and fragile,
born by ocean’s hand;
my soul adrift upon the waves
calls out to one who knows
that thorns must also be beloved
by those who seek a rose.
An Evening with Emily, 013
The bee is not afraid of me,
I know the butterfly,
The pretty people in the woods
Receive me cordially.
The brooks laugh louder when I come,
The breezes madder play.
Wherefore, mine eyes, thy silver mists?
Wherefore, O summer’s day? [ED]
Winter has remained too long,
the frost weighs on my heart
and I can only sit and wait
for cold winds to depart;
I long to hear the chickadee
pipe its tuneful song,
I long to walk among the trees,
the woods where I belong,
to watch again the daffodils
sway gently in the breeze
and stand in laughing brooks
that wind their way unto the sea.
But yearning makes no difference,
the days stay dark and cold
until the Sun plays shepherd
and takes me in his fold,
revives a spirit now asleep,
that I might gambol wild
along with people of the woods,
who love this Winter child.
An Evening with Emily, 014
A little road not made of man,
Enabled of the eye,
Accessible to thrill of bee,
Or cart of butterfly.
If town it have, beyond itself,
‘T is that I cannot say;
I only sigh – no vehicle
Bears me along that way. [ED]
Places I shall never see,
people I shall never meet –
how painful is the knowledge
that life is incomplete,
that I am bound by time and space,
a prisoner without walls,
without a path to follow
when far destinations call.
In dreams I roam the world,
find streams untouched by man,
glory in a virgin meadow,
on highest mountains stand,
touch flowers never catalogued
and butterflies not seen –
what rare beauty can exist
within my world of dreams!
The road I walk is ending,
though where I cannot say,
but give thanks for all the paths
on which I made my way.
An Evening with Emily, 015
A something in a summer’s day,
As slow her flambeaux burn away,
Which solemnizes me.
A something in a summer’s noon,
An azure depth, a wordless tune,
Transcending ecstasy. [ED]
I dance within the forest,
greeting each branch
as if a long lost lover;
I have been away too long,
imprisoned by winter,
waiting to discover
yet again the summer sun
that bathes the trees
in light transcending,
that calls to birds and beasts
with a song of life reborn
and shattered spirits mending.
All too brief this sunlit passion,
doomed to fade before my eyes,
my lover destined fast to sleep,
and I, alone, to face a world
bereft of summer’s healing hand,
cold winter tears to weep;
but passion brief far surpasses
a life devoid of ecstasy,
and kindles deep within
a fragile flame that burns
to keep life’s spark alive
until I come to dance again.
An Evening with Emily, 016
Presentiment is that long shadow on the lawn
Indicative that suns go down;
The notice to the startled grass
That darkness is about to pass. [ED]
A shadow passed across my heart
and left me cold and numb,
an omen sent by Fate to me
to say that Death had come;
I lay my pen upon the desk
and gaze out at the sky,
admiring the lucent sun
and not afraid to die.
For life had brought me treasures
my heart had not expected –
what memories to ease my pain,
what love your eyes reflected,
a mirror of two souls entwined,
a bond no sword could sever,
and even as the sun grows dim
our lives are joined forever.
An Evening with Emily, 017
The mountain sat upon the plain
In his eternal chair,
His observation omnifold,
His inquest everywhere. [ED]
To soar so high,
beyond the clouds,
and see the world below,
to land upon a mountain
and plant my virgin feet
in untouched snow;
to be unbound by duty
and free from toilsome tasks
that only break the soul,
to feel that God is near me,
Divine Physician in attendance,
now to make me whole:
such dreams dwell bright within,
in constant struggle with the dark
to which I am so driven,
where I am ever bound to earth,
a lowly servant of the Lord
to whom no grace is given;
I cast my eyes unto the hills
from whence His glory comes,
but fail to see salvation;
doomed am I to roam the earth,
a wretch bereft of hope,
of love, no expectation.
An Evening with Emily, 018
Of all the sounds despatched abroad,
There’s not a charge to me
Like that old measure in the boughs,
That phraseless melody
The wind does, working like a hand
Whose fingers brush the sky,
Then quiver down, with tufts of tune
Permitted gods and me. [ED]
My windows bristle at the wind,
a struggle they know well,
from off the sea outside my door
there comes a fearsome swell,
the harbour rages at the fury
sent by charges of Aeolus,
ships well tethered rise and fall,
as Nature would control us.
The trees bend down to take the blow,
like boxers past their prime,
unsure if they will stand again
in this wind-battered clime;
and yet there is a melody
inherent in the strident gales,
a syncopated howling,
a chorus of strange wails
that move my heart to wonder
how has my homeland sinned
to merit such destruction,
for we have seen the wind.
An Evening with Emily, 019
The sky is low, the clouds are mean,
A traveling flake of snow
Across a barn or through a rut
Debates if it will go.
A narrow wind complains all day
How some one treated him;
Nature, like us, is sometimes caught
Without her diadem. [ED]
I walked in snow till dusk had come
and darkness blocked my path,
forcing me to face once more
the darkness of my wrath.
I am a storm that roils the waves,
a wind that breaks a tree,
blowing fiercely through the day
a tangled wake I leave;
I am a child of Mother Moon,
swelling like the ocean tides,
then waning into morning calm,
my anger cast aside.
I cannot promise you to change
for all that I may try,
so kindly guard your feelings,
and let my soul blow by.
An Evening with Emily, 020
There’s a certain slant of light,
On winter’s afternoon,
That oppresses, like the weight
Of cathedral tunes. [ED]
A parting of my curtain
to let the sunshine in,
just enough to camouflage
the reign of Winter’s dim
that weighs upon my heart
like an unrepented sin.
This season loves to linger,
to keep cordial Spring at bay,
one more storm to cast at us
and blight another day,
mocking with its icy rage
those held frozen in its sway.
Imprisoned in my chamber,
walled off from all outside,
I sit in silent patience
and bid my spirit hide
until the dark be driven far,
And light no more denied.
An Evening with Emily, 021
Departed to the judgment,
A mighty afternoon;
Great clouds like ushers leaning,
Creation looking on.
The less surrendered, cancelled,
The bodiless begun;
Two worlds, like audiences, disperse
And leave the soul alone. [ED]
I once did breathe as you,
watched the clouds pass by,
laughed in Summer’s rain,
accepted Winter’s chill,
heard the ring of church bells,
the swallow’s timid song,
touched a budding flower
upon a verdant hill.
How fast the time did race
from birth to lonely Death,
I never felt Life leaving,
never saw the grave
where now I lay abandoned
apart from sweet embrace,
hidden from the sunlight
and far from ocean wave.
I envy you who linger still
in the gentle arms of Life,
who know the silent pleasure
of earth and sun and sea,
and if perchance you come here
to pause beside my tomb,
I ask one simple gesture:
place a stone for me.
An Evening with Emily, 022
Exultation is the going
Of an island soul to sea,
Past the houses, past the headlands,
Into deep eternity. [ED]
The sea is breathing once again,
the frost of Winter past,
the burden of the season
is lifted long at last
so waves may roll unfettered
as they break upon the shore,
and my ship can set to sea,
restrained by ice no more.
Past the headlands I shall sail,
my eyes cast towards the east,
enchanted by an ocean
whose anger now has ceased,
who welcomes me returning
with glistening folds of foam,
and with a breeze of passion
that tells me I am home.
How Eternity awaits me
as I trim my freshened sails,
lost the fear of foundering
in icy Winter gales,
determined to escape
the surly bonds of earth,
I feel the wind behind me
as I celebrate rebirth.
An Evening with Emily, 023
Look back on time with kindly eyes,
He doubtless did his best;
How softly sinks his trembling sun
In human nature’s west. [ED]
As I was then,
I am not now,
for stealthy Time
slips by,
barely seen,
masked and cloaked,
watching me,
a dogged spy.
Time did his best
to fashion me
from clay too rough
and dry
that crumbles soon
back to the earth,
where human souls
must lie,
victims of Mortality
who once rejoiced
to gaze upon
a sparkling sky
with eyes that shone
with naïve wonder,
then filled with tears
to cry;
but if you go before me,
remember I shall come
to be with you forever –
speak no goodbye.
An Evening with Emily, 024
I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.
He questioned softly why I failed,
“For beauty,” I replied.
“And I for truth – the two are one;
“we brethren are,” he said.
And so, as kinsmen met at night,
We talked between the rooms,
Until the moss had reached our lips,
And covered up our names. [ED]
Two ghosts met on a moonless night,
the wind howled round their heads,
a brooding owl took notice
and watched the newly dead,
for one was sadly downcast,
his features drawn and dark,
grieving for a wasted life,
for no leaving of a mark;
the other clasped him by the hand
and told of golden fame,
how he had won a mighty war
and left a much sung name.
They parted then, beneath a tree,
the hero leaving for the west,
as the other glanced unto the sky
and wished he had been blessed
to ride in battle like a King
to glory that would never fade,
not to lie unknown by men,
forgotten in his humble grave.
To him the owl did finally speak,
his voice rang clear from high above:
“But you were much the greater man,
who passed your life in search of love,
who sought out truth and beauty
and never harmed another soul,
and now the Bells of Paradise
for you alone will loudly toll,
while he who won a mighty war,
whose name men praise so well,
is walking now to meet his fate –
foul Eternity aflame in Hell.”
The ghost then saw a blinding light,
and no longer could he wait –
for there, before his reverent eyes,
God opened Heaven’s Gate.
An Evening with Emily, 025
I went to thank her,
But she slept;
Her bed a funnelled stone,
With nosegays at the head and foot,
That travellers had thrown. [ED]
I come with flowers,
breath of Spring,
but you no longer breathe,
and despite the pain
that brings to me,
I hesitate to leave,
but touch the stone
that marks your grave,
and trace the name thereon,
as if my fingers once again
caress your wizened face,
as if you were not gone.
I offer thanks in silence,
and pray that you will feel
the love I treasure still,
and know I hold your words
within my empty heart,
the heart that you did fill.
An Evening with Emily, 026
The bustle in a house
The morning after death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon earth,
The sweeping up the heart,
And putting love away
We shall not want to use again
Until eternity. [ED]
Tears at her funeral
falling with the summer rain,
sorrow at the knowledge
she would not come again
to hold my trembling hand
or offer me a gentle kiss,
the boundless love she gave
I would each moment miss.
Solemn words were spoken
as we stood around her grave,
but now to say farewell –
I could not be that brave,
but deep within I opened
the confines of my heart,
and placed the love I felt
where it never could depart,
but stay with me through time
and guide me through the dark,
until the day would come
when I too must depart,
and when we meet once more
as souls at last set free,
our love will still be strong enough
to survive Eternity.
An Evening with Emily, 027
Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality. [ED]
We talked of many seasons
spent underneath the Sun,
of meadows bright with flowers
where crystal rivers run;
we spoke of summer skies
and rainy autumn afternoons,
of winter with its snowy blasts
and springtime with its blooms,
how fast my life had run its course,
what pleasures I had known,
and what the greatest sorrows were
when every joy had flown.
He knew too well my failings,
all written in his tattered book,
yet offered me forgiveness
in the mercy of his tender look;
I had no fear of taking leave
for Life had been a gift unsought,
an unexpected act of grace
in which my soul was caught,
and so I took his outstretched hand
and walked into the silent mist,
grateful for the love you gave,
bequeathing you one final kiss.
An Evening with Emily, 028
Death is a dialogue between
The spirit and the dust.
“Dissolve,” says Death. The Spirit, “Sir,
I have another trust.”
Death doubts it, argues from the ground,
The Spirit turns away,
Just laying off, for evidence,
An overcoat of clay. [ED]
The grave is but a cenotaph,
devoid of human soul,
receptacle for silent dust,
a part but not the whole;
the Spirit ever lingers,
unseen by mortal eyes,
begrudging Death its victory,
belying fatal lies.
An overcoat of clay
dissolves beneath the ground;
its usefulness long gone,
it utters not a sound,
and yet the Spirit living
sings out to mindful ears
a song negating time,
a hymn transcending fears.
An Evening with Emily, 029
I lost a world the other day.
Has anybody found?
You’ll know it by a row of stars
Around its forehead bound. [ED]
The world was mine till yesterday,
all shining, bright and new,
the flowers bowed as I walked by
and only loving breezes blew;
no clouds obscured the heavens,
the stars called out my name,
oh, what a world I wandered,
to which I staked my claim.
But that world was just a fiction
created by my lonely mind,
and today I search the meadows,
but nothing sweet I find,
the flowers died upon the night,
the sky is wracked by fire,
and deep within my heart I know
doomsday will transpire.
An Evening with Emily, 030
I bring an unaccustomed wine
To lips long parching, next to mine,
And summon them to drink. [ED]
If I could give you what you need,
slake the thirst within your soul,
I would offer unaccustomed wine
and pray to God to make you whole,
I would take your hand in winter
when dark skies obscure the sun,
then pull your body close to mine
until we two were only one,
safe at last in hidden harbours,
no winds to break our moorings free,
adrift in waves of purest pleasure,
we fill our spirits with the sea;
what bliss to summon passion,
to grasp the love we seek,
and know that we now shelter
souls no longer parched and weak.
An Evening with Emily, 031
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all. [ED]
Pandora’s box was emptied
of all except one bird
that sang the sweetest song
mankind had ever heard;
it trilled in constant harmony
with the beating of a heart,
a captive all too willing,
and too gentle to depart.
A song of faith it sang,
the promise of tomorrow
when every face would smile
to see the end of sorrow,
and when the pain of life
would finally gentler grow,
so those in endless torment
rare peace at last could know;
this feathered gift from God
protects us from despair,
for even in the darkest night
we know that Hope is there.
An Evening with Emily, 032
I can wade grief,
Whole pools of it,
I’m used to that.
But the least push of joy
Breaks up my feet,
And I tip – drunken. [ED]
I saw a glimpse of happiness
and thought the world was mine,
just a moment’s respite
from dark despair,
a pause from nagging pain,
a lifting of the burden
that weighs my heart
with heavy care.
I reached out fast to catch
this rarest of all treasures,
but all too soon it disappeared,
leaving only grief;
so close it was, I nearly touched
this vision of another life
where the sorrow of my soul
would find relief.
Perhaps it was far better
to watch it fade away,
receding in the distance
from my eyes,
for joy is not a constant friend
to hold you close in love –
just a passing stranger, cloaked
in cruel disguise.
An Evening with Emily, 033
For each ecstatic instant
We must an anguish pay
In keen and quivering ratio
To the ecstasy.
For each beloved hour
Sharp pittances of years,
Bitter contested farthings
And coffers heaped with tears. [ED]
If I could sit with Emily
and take a cup of tea,
I would converse of passion
transcending ecstasy,
then speak of nights alone
with sorrow in my heart,
of days when bitter darkness
never would depart,
for she would understand
the cursed ratio of pain,
the price we mortals pay
for trusting love again.
If I could sit with Emily
and look into her eyes,
I would see a sadness there
no verses could disguise,
a longing for deliverance
from coffers heaped with tears,
and for a hero come to slay
the demons of her fears,
then Emily would take my hand
and, in an act of grace,
would hold a telltale mirror
before my wounded face.
An Evening with Emily, 034
The soul unto itself
Is an imperial friend,
Or the most agonizing spy
An enemy could send. [ED]
My soul and I are distant,
each one afraid to see
the frailties of the other,
how weak we both can be;
long ago we were so close,
my far off soul and I,
together would we celebrate,
together would we cry;
this friend was ever present
to succor me in pain,
and keep my spirits strong
when grief did come again;
but now our paths diverge,
though it watches me in stealth,
for somewhere on life’s road
I strayed and lost myself.
An Evening with Emily, 035
Delight becomes pictorial
When viewed through pain,
More fair, because impossible
That any gain. [ED]
How once I envied others
who flew on golden wings,
who never knew the darkness,
the pain that living brings,
whose lives reflected laughter
in the mirror of their souls,
wealth dancing in attendance
to fill their brimming bowls,
while I outside did wander,
my empty cup in hand,
wishing I were just like them
and not just what I am;
but envy was a trickster
with delusion at his side,
for underneath the laughter
a tortured sorrow lies,
a grieving for the lost things
that once were theirs to take,
and sadness in the knowing
the gleam of gold is fake;
so I, in humble poverty,
take pleasure from the sea,
marvel at the songs of birds,
the splendour of a tree,
wake each dawn in gratitude
to see a new-born day,
and, placing pain in shadows,
continue on my way.
An Evening with Emily, 036
A poor torn heart, a tattered heart,
That sat it down to rest,
Nor noticed that the ebbing day
Flowed silver to the west,
Nor noticed night did soft descend
Nor constellation burn,
Intent upon the vision
Of latitudes unknown. [ED]
A tattered heart beats unaware
that Time is rushing by,
dreaming of some far off place
where lovers never cry,
where happiness alone holds sway
beneath the star-bright sky,
where every moment brings a smile
and not a tortured sigh.
But dreams are only made of dust
that crumbles in the eye
of every lover without love
who casts a glance on high
to fathom only lifeless orbs
that cold and lonely lie,
knowing that each human heart
is doomed, like them, to die.
An Evening with Emily, 037
Except that heaven had come so near,
So seemed to choose my door,
The distance would not haunt me so,
I had not hoped before.
But just to hear the grace depart
I never thought to see,
Afflicts me with a double loss;
‘Tis lost, and lost to me. [ED]
A glimpse of heaven came my way
as I looked upon the placid sea,
the waves were gently touching land
and calling out, in love, to me,
their face a mirror of my own,
untouched by breezes passing by,
all was calm, and all was peace,
nought to sour my eager eye.
If only life could be as smooth,
a level surface without break,
what happiness would come to me,
a welcome drink my thirst to slake,
but just as storms stir up the sea
and turn the calm to rage,
I know my life will rise and fall
with every turning of the page,
and yet to sail through sullen seas
to spy the glory of the sun,
no longer lost and cast adrift –
God’s grace at last would come.
An Evening with Emily, 038
I took my power in my hand
And went against the world;
‘T was not so much as David had,
But I was twice as bold.
I aimed my pebble, but myself
Was all the one that fell.
Was it Goliath was too large,
Or only I too small? [ED]
I failed to slay the dragon
haunting me at night,
‘t was not for lack of trying
but all from lack of might:
my humble weapons broke
before its savage face,
and I could only fall back,
in sorrow and disgrace.
I felt my courage falter
as I struggled for my breath,
yet, even in retreat,
I would not yield to Death,
but live to fight it yet again,
each day, if so I must,
until the beast is beaten,
reduced to specks of dust.
An Evening with Emily, 039
Each life converges to some centre
Expressed or still;
Exists in every human nature
A goal [ED]
What do you seek?
Wealth beyond measure
or fame among men,
immortality?
Perhaps a perfect love
calls to your soul,
promising happiness
without pain?
Seek on.
I seek contentment:
acceptance of the life
bestowed upon me,
without reservation,
surrendering myself
to destiny;
yet such sublimity
is not yet mine,
elusive as desert sands
slipping from my hand,
I must seek on.
An Evening with Emily, 040
He preached upon “breadth” till it argued
Him narrow,
The broad are too broad to define;
And of “truth” until it proclaimed him a liar,
The truth never flaunted a sign.
Simplicity fled from his counterfeit presence
As gold the pyrites would shun.
What confusion would cover the innocent Jesus
To meet so enabled a man! [ED]
The Preacher looked through a prism
where faith was broken apart,
only he was granted salvation,
only he was pristine of heart;
all others must fall by the wayside
unless they adopted his path,
surrendered their wandering souls
in the face of his most pious wrath.
He thundered aloud from his pulpit,
evoking damnation and hell,
took pride in his personal gift
of knowing Lord Jesus so well,
till one day the Saviour passed by
and heard his arrogant braying,
felt sorrow for this shell of a man
who mistook what His voice had been saying,
entered his church and sat down
among those cast out and cursed,
and reminded the bellowing preacher
that the last are always the first.
An Evening with Emily, 041
Remorse is memory awake,
Her companies astir,
A presence of departed acts
At window and at door. [ED]
I never meant to bring him pain
or shatter his illusions,
if I could go back once again
I would eschew delusion,
bare my soul for good or bad,
remove the mask I wear,
and even though my heart be sad
he would know how much I care,
the love I feel for him alone,
the passion he awakes –
departed acts I would atone,
beg forgiveness of mistakes,
then start anew to love him well,
to forge a new-found course
free from noble lies we tell,
and free from all remorse.
An Evening with Emily, 042
I many times thought peace had come,
When peace was far away;
As wrecked men deem they sight the land
At centre of the sea,
And struggle slacker, but to prove,
As hopelessly as I,
How many the fictitious shores
Before the harbor lie. [ED]
Deceptive peace entices me,
drawn to sheltered shores
where all the hurt of living
shall torment me no more,
where no fierce winds to buffet,
nor icy blasts to blow
shall keep me from the calm
my soul desires to know;
but this oasis is a fraud,
conceived by frenzied mind
that longs to see nirvana
in spite of being blind,
that knows illusion far too well,
truth covered in a lie,
and waits to find salvation
when time has come to die.
An Evening with Emily, 043
This merit hath the worst,
It cannot be again.
When Fate hath taunted last
And thrown her furthest stone. [ED]
I thought the worst was over,
that I was free and strong,
but Fate had one last stone
she was keeping all along,
a final cast upon my head,
a blow to drive me down,
to sink my head beneath the sea
and wait for me to drown;
but still I struggle mightily
to escape what Fate decreed,
an Oedipus at crossroads,
nothing willing to concede,
no quarter given Destiny,
I rail against the night,
and I shall go in glory
into that final fight.
An Evening with Emily, 044
I had been hungry all the years;
My noon had come to dine;
I, trembling, drew the table near,
And touched the curious wine. [ED]
A hunger lay upon my soul
that no repast could feed,
for nothing so material
could ease my spirit’s need,
but rather love I ever craved
to fill the emptiness inside,
the yearning for another soul
from which I need not hide,
the one who would not falter
when dragons roamed the land,
but rather slay my demons
with love the weapon in his hand,
and mired deep in my despair
of such a fearless love to find,
you came and led my heart to taste
unknown but welcome wine.
An Evening with Emily, 045
I years had been from home,
And now before the door,
I dared not open, lest a face
I never saw before
Stare vacant into mine
And ask my business there,
My business – just a life I left,
Was such still dwelling there? [ED]
The house was not as I recalled,
much smaller and less grand,
yet still that stalwart ancient oak
stood a sentry on the land,
and in behind the garden grew
in soil of rock and clay,
while shrubs my mother planted
still bloomed upon this day.
So much I longed to go within
and reclaim my younger self,
to kindle memories more golden
than any store of precious wealth,
but how I hesitated, there,
before that well known door,
for deep within my heart I knew
that child was gone forevermore,
lost long ago to time and chance,
uprooted and displaced,
every trace of her existence
now banished and erased.
Perhaps I should have entered
and walked familiar halls,
but the fear of disappointment
held me fast outside those walls,
a stranger now, just passing by,
with so many paths to roam,
though for one reflective moment
I felt that I was home.
An Evening with Emily, 046
I have no life but this,
To lead it here;
Nor any death, but lest
Dispelled from there;
Nor tie to earths to come,
Nor action new,
Except through this extent,
The realm of you. [ED]
A realm of crystal fell to Earth,
one never seen before,
and came to show its brilliance
before my heart’s dark door,
its purity amazed me,
and I stood afraid to touch
this unexpected beauty
that promised me so much,
but fear gave way to courage
while loneliness withdrew,
and in its place that crystal realm
created me anew,
no longer did my spirit roam
through clouds of greyest cast,
a barque adrift in waters wild
came to rest at last,
safe haven offered from the storm,
a calm to make me strong
and reach the long despaired of shore,
to know where I belonged;
no other life apart from this
shall enter in my view,
for I have set my errant soul
in the crystal realm of you.
An Evening with Emily, 047
The moon is distant from the sea,
And yet with amber hands
She leads him, docile as a boy,
Along appointed sands. [ED]
Full moon and high tide:
the sea invades the sands,
the shore is banished
from my sight;
gone the shells I gather,
my footprints disappear
and I am docile as a child
this amber night,
for nothing lasts forever,
bright diamonds turn to dust
and float away on waves
beyond my reach;
surrender to the moon
the delusions of my soul,
cast away my foolish dreams
so my pain may cease.
An Evening with Emily, 048
I held a jewel in my fingers
And went to sleep.
The day was warm, and winds were prosy;
I said: “‘T will keep.”
I woke and chid my honest fingers,
The gem was gone;
And now an amethyst remembrance
Is all I own. [ED]
I own no jewels of amethyst
nor coins of golden hue,
my fingers clasp a modest pen
that dreams to speak to you,
to bring you peace in turmoil
when Winter rules your heart,
to place a smile upon your face
and make all woe depart,
perhaps to make you pause
and shed a tear for those
whose lives know only thorns,
who never see the rose.
If what I write will move you
in any humble way,
it will not truly matter
to survive beyond this day;
away with granite monuments,
my pen will bring me splendour
if knowing, when I leave,
that someone will remember.
An Evening with Emily, 049
The sun just touched the morning;
The morning, happy thing,
Supposed that he had come to dwell,
And life would be all spring. [ED]
I wanted dawn to linger,
the sun to touch my face
and banish sorrow from a heart
held fast in night’s embrace;
I wanted spring to save me
from winter’s icy hold,
to set me free from darkness
before I grew too old.
But time has flown so quickly
and light is fading fast,
how foolish for my soul to think
that happiness could last;
yet as the cold wind starts to blow
and evening spreads its hue,
a flame still flickers deep within,
the flame of loving you.
An Evening with Emily, 050
An everywhere of silver,
With ropes of sand
To keep it from effacing
The track called land. [ED]
The silver sea surrounds me,
a rolling cradle for my soul
that sings a soothing lullaby
when night falls;
her ancient lips caress the land,
a warming kiss beyond sublime
that wakes the thirsting world
as summer calls,
and yet those lips turn bitter
to rouse primordial wrath,
harsh and ever vengeful
in winter squalls;
this fickle lover toys with me,
covers me with sparkling light,
then shrouds my broken heart
in darkest palls.
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