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FeBREWary 1
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By Emily Dickinson:
The ones that disappeared are back The Phoebe and the Crow Precisely as in March is heard The curtness of the Jay – Be this an Autumn or a Spring My wisdom loses way One side of me the nuts are ripe The other side is May. |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
The hours that disappeared are back The Buzzer on the Clock Precisely as each Morn is heard The curtness of its Shock – Be this a Weekend or a Week My wisdom finds its way One side of me my cup is full The other side is Day. |
FeBREWary 2
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By Emily Dickinson:
Peril as a Possession 'Tis Good to hear Danger disintegrates Satiety There's Basis there -- Begets an awe That searches Human Nature's creases As clean as Fire. |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
Coffee as a Possession ’Tis Good to hold Flavor authenticates Satiety There’s Power bold – Begets an awe That wakens Human Nature’s courage As day takes Fire. |
FeBREWary 3
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By Emily Dickinson:
The gleam of an heroic Act Such strange illumination The Possible's slow fuse is lit By the Imagination. |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
The gleam of an heroic Act With no exaggeration The Possible’s slow fuse is lit By daily Percolation |
FeBREWary 4
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By Emily Dickinson:
The immortality she gave We borrowed at her Grave – For just one Plaudit famishing, The Might of Human love – |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
The immortality it gives We borrow at first Light – From just one Coffee finishing, The Might of Human life – |
FeBREWary 5
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By Emily Dickinson:
If I could tell how glad I was I should not be so glad -- But when I cannot make the Force, Nor mould it into Word, I know it is a sign That new Dilemna be From mathematics further off Than for Eternity. |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
If you could tell how tired I am I should not be so tired – And when I cannot make the Force Nor brew it into Joe, I know it is a sign That new Dilemma be Life’s dynamics’s further off Than all my Energy |
FeBREWary 6
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By Emily Dickinson:
Morning that comes but once, Considers coming twice -- Two Dawns upon a single Morn, Make Life a sudden price. |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
Morning that comes but once, Consider drinking twice – Two Joes upon a single Morn, Makes Life a paradise. |
FeBREWary 7
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By Emily Dickinson:
Immured in Heaven! What a Cell! Let every Bondage be, Thou sweetest of the Universe, Like that which ravished thee! |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
It’s brewed in Heaven! What a Cup! Let every Brewing be The sweetest of the Universe, Like that which re-woke thee! |
FeBREWary 8
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By Emily Dickinson:
The Clock strikes one that just struck two – Some schism in the Sum – A Vagabond for Genesis Has wrecked the Pendulum – |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
The Clock strikes six that just struck five – Some schism of the Sun – A Coffee Pot for Genesis Has swelled Adrenaline – |
FeBREWary 9
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By Emily Dickinson:
Image of Light, Adieu – Thanks for the interview – So long – so short – Preceptor of the whole – Coeval Cardinal – Impart – Depart – |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
Image of Light, A cup – Thanks for the point of view – So rich -- so right – Preceptor of the whole – Jostling Jitter-Juice Empower – Delight – |
FeBREWary 10
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By Emily Dickinson:
The pattern of the sun Can fit but him alone For sheen must have a Disk To be a sun – |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
The pattern of the sun Can lift me ev’ry morn But I must have a Cup To be reborn – |
FeBREWary 11
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By Emily Dickinson:
Long Years apart – can make no Breach a second cannot fill – The absence of the Witch does not Invalidate the spell – The embers of a Thousand Years Uncovered by the Hand That fondled them when they were Fire Will stir and understand – |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
Long Hours asleep – can make no Trance a coffee cannot foil – The presence of the Brew each day Is life’s essential oil – The slumber of a Thousand Years Awakened by the Joe Is kindled then and who partakes Will stir and come to know – |
FeBREWary 12
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By Emily Dickinson:
Publication – is the Auction Of the Mind of Man – Poverty – be justifying For so foul a thing Possibly – but We – would rather From Our Garret go White – Unto the White Creator – Than invest – Our Snow – Thought belong to Him who gave it – Then — to Him Who bear Its Corporeal illustration – Sell The Royal Air – In the Parcel – Be the Merchant Of the Heavenly Grace – But reduce no Human Spirit To Disgrace of Price – |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
Percolation – is Salvation Of the Mind of Man – Revival – by justifying For so great a thing Possibly – but We – would rather In our Chamber stay Warm – Under the Warm Comforter – Than invest – in Day – All belongs to He who brews it – Then – to Him Who bears Incomparable Percolation – Smell The Royal Air – In the Pot now – Be the Merchant Of the Heavenly Grace That increases Human Spirit To its Rightful Place – |
FeBREWary 13
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By Emily Dickinson:
Warm in her Hand these accents lie While faithful and afar The Grace so awkward for her sake Its fond subjection wear – |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
Warm in my Hand the coffee lies It’s faithful and afire My Face so awkward till I slake To find it take me higher – |
FeBREWary 14
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By Emily Dickinson:
The Sun is one – and on the Tare He doth as punctual call As on the conscientious Flower And estimates them all – |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
The Sun is one – who in the Morn Doth make a punctual call And in the most ungodly Hour A Joe to spur the stall – |
FeBREWary 15
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By Emily Dickinson:
Our share of night to bear, Our share of morning, Our blank to bliss to fill, Our blank in scorning. Here a star, and there a star, Some lose their way. Here a mist, and there a mist, Afterwards – day! |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
My share of night to bear, My share of sunrise, My day of life to fill, My day to reprise. Here a joe, and there a joe, I find my way. Here a mug, and there a mug, Afterwards – day! |
FeBREWary 16
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By Emily Dickinson:
A Pit – but Heaven over it – And Heaven beside, and Heaven abroad, And yet a Pit – With Heaven over it. To stir would be to slip – To look would be to drop – To dream – to sap the Prop That holds my chances up. Ah! Pit! With Heaven over it! The depth is all my thought – I dare not ask my feet – 'Twould start us where we sit So straight you'd scarce suspect It was a Pit – with fathoms under it – Its Circuit just the same. Seed — summer — tomb -- Whose Doom to whom? ’Twould start them We – could tremble – But since we got a Bomb – And held it in our Bosom – Nay – Hold it – it is calm – |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
A Pot – but Heaven inside it – And Heaven within, and Heaven throughout, And yet a Pot – With Heaven inside it. To stir and then to sip – To drink each single drop – To dream – to sip Non-Stop It holds my spirit up. Ah! Pot! With Heaven inside it! Its depth is all my thought – It makes my life complete – It starts me when I rise Each day I’d scarce suspect It is a Pot – with energy in it – It’s Coffee just the same. Brew – simmer – pour – To Own the day! ’Twould start me I – would tremble – But since I have a Joe – I hold it to my Kisser – Nay – Drink it – I am calm – |
FeBREWary 17
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By Emily Dickinson:
They have a little Odor – that to me Is metre – nay – 'tis melody – And spiciest at fading – indicate – A Habit – of a Laureate – |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
It has a rich Aroma – that to me Is magic – nay – ’tis ecstasy – And vitalest at rising -- indicates A Habit – of a Fanatic |
FeBREWary 18
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By Emily Dickinson:
There is a pain – so utter – It swallows substance up – Then covers the Abyss with Trance – So Memory can step Around – across – upon it – As one within a Swoon – Goes safely – where an open eye – Would drop Him – Bone by Bone. |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
There is a pain – so utter – Each dawn when I get up – The covers uncover my Trance – Through Memory I step Around – across – about it – As one within a Swoon – I stumble -- with unopened eyes – Till I drink – Joe by Joe. |
FeBREWary 19
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By Emily Dickinson:
It is the Meek that Valor wear Too mighty for the Bold. |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
It is the Sleep the Weary wear So ready for a Joe. |
FeBREWary 20
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By Emily Dickinson:
Is Heaven a Physician? They say that He can heal – But Medicine Posthumous Is unavailable – Is Heaven an Exchequer? They speak of what we owe – But that negotiation I'm not a Party to – |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
Is Coffee a Physician? I say that It can heal – When Morning Mud Past Sunrise Is available – Is Coffee an Abettor? I say that I can crow – When after percolation Life’s a Party too – |
FeBREWary 21
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By Emily Dickinson:
The Pile of Years is not so high As when you came before But it is rising every Day From recollection's Floor And while by standing on my Heart I still can reach the top Efface the mountain with your face And catch me ere I drop |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
The Pile of Hours is now so deep As those that came before But I am rising every Day From recollection’s Floor And while by standing in my Room I try to reach my cup To race the coffee to my face So that I do not drop |
FeBREWary 22
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By Emily Dickinson:
“Good night,” because we must! How intricate the Dust! I would go to know – Oh Incognito! Saucy, saucy Seraph, To elude me so! Father! they won't tell me! Won't you tell them to? |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
“Good morn,” because we must! How intricate the Day! Off to work I go – My Alter Ego! Coffee, coffee Angel, Do not elude me! Stronger! I need it so! Won’t you set me free? |
FeBREWary 23
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By Emily Dickinson:
It's such a little thing to weep – So short a thing to sigh – And yet – by Trades – the size of these We men and women die! |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
It’s such a simple thing to sleep – So tough a thing to rise – And so – each Day – the need for Joes We men and women prize! |
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FeBREWary 24
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By Emily Dickinson:
A Wife – at daybreak I shall be – Sunrise – Hast thou a Flag for me? At Midnight, I am but a Maid, How short it takes to make a Bride – Then – Midnight, I have passed from thee Unto the East, and Victory – Midnight – Good Night! I hear them call, The Angels bustle in the Hall – Softly my Future climbs the Stair, I fumble at my Childhood's prayer So soon to be a Child no more – Eternity, I'm coming – Sire, Savior – I've seen the face – before! |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
Alive – at daybreak I shall be – Sunrise – Hast thou a Mug for me? At Midmorn, I drink what is Made, How short it takes to make a Life – Then – Midmorn, I pass by degree Unto my Work, and Victory – Midday – Good Day! I need a cup, Baristas bustle in the Shop – Slowly my Future starts to Wear I stumble for a Caffeine prayer And soon to be Alive some more – Identity, is coming – Sure, Java – I need the taste – to roar! |
FeBREWary 25
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By Emily Dickinson:
A nearness to Tremendousness – An Agony procures – Affliction ranges Boundlessness – Vicinity to Laws Contentment's quiet Suburb – Affliction cannot stay In Acres – Its Location Is Illocality – |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
A nearness to Tremendousness – A Cup of Joe procures – Ingestion brings on Boundlessness – Vicinity to “Ahs” Attainment after Slumber – Addiction every day In Measures – its Translation Is Verticality – |
FeBREWary 26
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By Emily Dickinson:
The pattern of the sun Can fit but him alone For sheen must have a Disk To be a sun – |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
The pattern of the sun Can bring each day a groan For I must have a Joe To greet the sun – |
FeBREWary 27
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By Emily Dickinson:
Of Glory not a Beam is left But her Eternal House – The Asterisk is for the Dead, The Living, for the Stars – |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
Oh Worry not a Bean is left In this Infernal House – The Cuppa that is for the Dead, For Living life to Start – |
FeBREWary 28
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By Emily Dickinson:
Why should we hurry – why indeed? When every way we fly We are molested equally By immortality. No respite from the inference That this which is begun, Though where its labors lie A bland uncertainty Besets the sight This mighty night – |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
Why should I hurry – why indeed? When every way I fly It seems I’m tested frequently By verticality. No respite from the inference The work day has begun, That’s where my labors lie With branded certainty For life I owe A mighty joe – |
FeBREWary 29
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By Emily Dickinson:
The Sun in reining to the West Makes not as much of sound As Cart of man in road below Adroitly turning round That Whiffetree of Amethyst |
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
The Sun is rising in the East The clock alarms its sound The Cars of man on roads below Adroitly turning round The Parking lots of Coffee Shops |
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