Emily II

How the narrator became a poet without a choice

When Emily speaks, I must write.

‘Sparrow’s beaks, eagle’s wings,

A ray of light in the sky.’

Such words intensify in her laughter.

‘Sweet soft rains drip across

My bedroom window.’

When her eyes give that ‘look’,

My hand is a blur upon the pages.

‘The intoxicating scent from

Down below,

Down below her bedroom door.

The newly painted entrance

To what lies beyond.’

But when she dances

And graces the room with her presence,

No mortal force can stop my bruising fingers

From writing a melody

For her to dance to.

‘Not the first licks of dawn’s light,

Nor the sweet taste of morning dew,

Can compare to the rejuvenating fury

Of her quick feet

That dance on air itself.

While her golden hair whips around her

Like a halo,

Her very face smiling towards the heavens,

Thanking them,

Blessing them,

For her elegant features.’

When Emily is Emily,

And no one else,

We all become poets

At our loss of words.  

Author's Note

Technically, this is the first Emily poem. I wrote it about a year ago, but I didn't like it. After posting the other Emily poem, I decided to post this one as well. This one was inspired by Emily Dickinson.

Reviews

[Bri]

Beautiful, Emily sounds awesome! it's so complex and gracefully written. Well done.

[Tom]

The late, great poetess herself would have been thrilled with the imagery and quality of this stellar write!

An inspiring, creatively penned poem !