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eNOTHING has a mission: To bring poetry, arts and music to the streets via a growing artistic Twitter community.

Top 100 or so Poems of All Time - "Hope is the thing with feathers" by Emily Dickinson

This very simple poem has stood the test of time.  Emily Dickinson uses metaphor and imagery very well in transforming the abstract idea of hope (inanimate) into an animate object -- a bird.  This allows the reader to immediately conjure up an image of hope -- allowing the reader to now address hope - directly - and by doing so,

somehow place hope into context as to how it might play a role in their own lives.

Dickinson was a devout, conservative christian woman.  No doubt the poem was inspired by biblical readings and interpretations.

This poem has served as inspiration for so many people - when times are tough, and it seems as though things aren't going your way, never lose hope.

Well done!  Aspiring poets, remember the important tool of metaphor and imagery - sometimes they can help to get your message or the intent of the feeling across to the reader quite effectively.

Enjoy this masterpiece! 
Hope is the thing with feathers
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.

POEM OF THE DAY -- "The Blue House" by Tomas Transtromer

Today's "Poem of the Day" is the first of several celebrations of the life and poetry of Tomas Transtromer which we'll feature in our blog.   A famous and influential Swedish poet, Tomas Transtromer, was born in 1931, and passed away earlier this year. A recipient of numerous awards and accolades, Including the Nobel Prize in 2011, Tranströmer has been universally
acclaimed as one of the most important European and Scandinavian writers since World War II.

Critics have praised Tranströmer’s poems for their accessibility, spirituality - and I find, an amazing ability to clearly mirror many of the inner thoughts which we all have - in our quest to find meaning in life and our place in the world around us.  I also find that each poem takes us on a familiar inner, spiritual journey.  

Tranströmer wrote of the dualities of the inner and outer worlds we each carry with us in our journey through life, the small moments in a life when a window of perception magically opens.

The following poem is one of his most famous works (there are many) and it touches on the material (the house) and the spiritual...and the connections between what was, who was, and what or who may be yet to come...and how something like a house can actually be alive...enjoy.

The Blue House

by Tomas Transtromer

It is night with glaring sunshine. I stand in the woods and look towards my house with its misty blue walls. As though I were recently dead and saw the house from a new angle.

It has stood for more than eighty summers. Its timber has been impregnated, four times with joy and three times with sorrow. When someone who has lived in the house dies it is repainted. The dead person paints it himself, without a brush, from the inside.

On the other side is open terrain. Formerly a garden, now wilderness. A still surf of weed, pagodas of weed, an unfurling body of text, Upanishades of weed, a Viking fleet of weed, dragon heads, lances, an empire of weed.

Above the overgrown garden flutters the shadow of a boomerang, thrown again and again. It is related to someone who lived in the house long before my time. Almost a child. An impulse issues from him, a thought, a thought of will: “create. . .draw. ..” In order to escape his destiny in time.

The house resembles a child’s drawing. A deputizing childishness which grew forth because someone prematurely renounced the charge of being a child. Open the doors, enter! Inside unrest dwells in the ceiling and peace in the walls. Above the bed there hangs an amateur painting representing a ship with seventeen sails, rough sea and a wind which the gilded frame cannot subdue.

It is always so early in here, it is before the crossroads, before the irrevocable choices. I am grateful for this life! And yet I miss the alternatives. All sketches wish to be real.

A motor far out on the water extends the horizon of the summer night. Both joy and sorrow swell in the magnifying glass of the dew. We do not actually know it, but we sense it: our life has a sister vessel which plies an entirely different route. While the sun burns behind the islands.

POEM - "HAIKU 3" by Thomas Herr

Haiku 3

By Thomas Herr

The promise of touch and kiss

And the prospect of healing us through fingertips

Means the answer is yes.

POEM For You -- "Bodhi" by Thomas Herr

I love poetry busking.  "What is that?" you say.  Basically, I sit with a manual typewriter, words in my head, and a willingness to write a poem - at your request.  This particular poem was requested by a woman who had recently lost a dog - "Ruby" in December, and had just adopted a blue-nosed pit bull puppy, who she named Bodhi.

And so we talked about it for a few minutes.  The exchange was nice, spiritual.  And here's what came up!  She was overjoyed...

She got the original signed version; I took a photo and will keep it in my collection of busked poems - to eventually publish.

I'll be set up in Washington Square Park and the High Line or Tompkins Square Park during May 29-31, come by for a poem!  Exact dates will be on the blog...


The POEM GUY - "Poems While You Wait" The art of POEMING (Poetry Busking!)

Last week, during one of my many excursions into NYC for creative inspiration and bohemian peace, I briefly ran across this fellow, Bill Keys - a poet and performance artist - who really sparked my interest.

I was standing in Washington Square Park, watching performance artists, mesmerized by a tight little Jazz quartet featuring a trumpeter who had the talent of playing two trumpets simultaneously and remarkably, harmonizing with each other.  Wonderful.  I turned around, walked a few feet or so towards the "bowl", and there was this pony-tailed fellow on a folding chair and a folding table with a turn of the century typewriter and a sign that read "POEMS about anyone or anything".

Remarkable.  A "Poetry Busker".  This caught my interest and fed my own dreams of "leaving it all behind" and "hopping freightcars from LA to San Fransiskee..." well, you get the point.  Brilliant.

Bill calls his craft "Poeming".  I'm going back today to visit him for a few minutes this afternoon - he'll be on the HiLine at 19th from 2:00 - 6:00 pm.  I'll write more when I return to my desk.

Here's a link to his site (I recommend this):