emilyandherbooks
What makes a poem "good"?
So, right in the title, I realize how hypocritical I sound. I write about how poetry is a fun, free and abstract art, meant to catch...
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emilyandherbooks
Death
Going to sleep, I cross my hand on my chest. They will place my hands like this. It will look as though I am flying into myself. - Bill...
emilyandherbooks
Parsley part 2 - Rita Dove
2. The Palace The word the general’s chosen is parsley.   It is fall, when thoughts turn to love and death; the general thinks of his...
emilyandherbooks
Turtle Came to See Me
The first story I ever write is a bright crayon picture of a dancing tree, the branches tossed by island wind. I draw myself standing...
emilyandherbooks
Te Deum
Not because of victories I sing, having none, but for the common sunshine, the breeze, the largess of the spring. Not for victory but for...
emilyandherbooks
All little research goes a long way
You may or may not have noted that in one of my posts (the one with Rita Dove), I mentioned that reading a little about the author before...
emilyandherbooks
Parsley part 1 - Rita Dove
1. The Cane Fields There is a parrot imitating spring in the palace, its feathers parsley green.   Out of the swamp the cane appears ...
emilyandherbooks
Remember
Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go yet...
emilyandherbooks
Welcome to my blog!
Glad you lingered in the depths of the net, and found this little hut! My name is Emily, and at 22, I have a rare disease called "Being...
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