Maggie's Farm

We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.

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Saturday, November 14. 2020

Saturday Verse: Emily Dickinson

h/t American Digest


After great pain, a formal feeling comes –
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs –
The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’
And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’?


The Feet, mechanical, go round –
A Wooden way
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought –
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone –


This is the Hour of Lead –
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow –
First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go –


Posted by Bird Dog in Saturday Verse at 05:07 | Comments (6) | Trackbacks (0)

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Not very comforting going into winter, BD.

Accurate, though.
#1 Assistant Village Idiot on 2020-11-14 07:15 (Reply)
Yes, it does tell the story of our standing by and watching the fall of America.
#2 faculty wife on 2020-11-14 08:17 (Reply)
Um, wow.

I should read more of her...
#3 Karen Myers (Link) on 2020-11-14 10:05 (Reply)
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47651/after-great-pain-a-formal-feeling-comes-372
#3.1 Jeff Allen on 2020-11-14 17:11 (Reply)
Are you trying to depress us? If so, it's working...
#4 snopercod on 2020-11-14 20:22 (Reply)
I like to see it lap the miles

and drink the valleys up

. . . and supercilious, peer in shanties

by the sides of roads . . .

From an Emily Dickinson poem we had to memorize in the 8th grade. After 51 years, that's all I remember of it. A poem about riding or watching a train.

That's the extent of my Emily Dickinson.
#5 feeblemind on 2020-11-15 00:12 (Reply)

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