FEBREWARY 2019
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No poet wrote more poetry about coffee and caffeine than Emmett Lee Dickinson (Emily Dickinson's third cousin, twice removed -- at her request). Throughout the month of February 2019 -- or FeBREWary as we like to call it -- we will post 28 more of Dickinson's coffee poems -- along with the poems by Emily Dickinson which they inspired. |
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FEBREWARY 1
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By Emily Dickinson:
The Fingers of the Light Tapped soft upon the Town With "I am great and cannot wait So therefore let me in." "You're soon," the Town replied, "My Faces are asleep -- But swear, and I will let you by, You will not wake them up." The easy Guest complied But once within the Town The transport of His Countenance Awakened Maid and Man The Neighbor in the Pool Upon His Hip elate Made loud obeisance and the Gnat Held up His Cup for Light. |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
The Fingers of the Light Tapped soft upon my Pane With “I am great and cannot wait So therefore let me in.” “Too soon,” I sadly cried, “My Body’s still asleep – But swear, and I will let you by You will not wake me up.” The pesky Guest declined And once within my Space The transport of His Countenance Awakened me with Haste. The Sunshine in the Room Upon My Berth did Glow With sound obeisance I complied Held up My Cup of Joe. |
FEBREWARY 2
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By Emily Dickinson: A darting fear – a pomp – a tear – A waking on a morn To find that what one waked for, Inhales the different dawn. |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson: A daily fear – a dread – a scare – A waking in the morn To find that one has waked up, And all the coffee’s gone. |
FEBREWARY 3
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By Emily Dickinson:
Where bells no more affright the morn – Where scrabble never comes – Where very nimble Gentlemen Are forced to keep their rooms – Where tired Children placid sleep Thro' Centuries of noon This place is Bliss – this town is Heaven – Please, Pater, pretty soon! "Oh could we climb where Moses stood, And view the Landscape o'er" Not Father's bells – nor Factories, Could scare us any more! |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
When bells each day affright the morn – When coffee never comes – When very weary Gentlemen Are forced to leave their rooms – When tired Workers rise and shine ’Tis Centuries till noon The world’s Amiss – this town is Torment – Please, Coffee, pretty soon! “Then we could climb the Ladder’s wrung And view the Landscape o’er” No Future bells – nor Factories, Can scare us any more! |
FEBREWARY 4
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By Emily Dickinson: Morning is due to all – To some – the Night – To an imperial few – The Auroral light. |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson: Morning is due to all – To some – its Fine – To a weary old few – It’s Espresso time. |
FEBREWARY 5
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By Emily Dickinson:
As children bid the guest good-night, And then reluctant turn, My flowers raise their pretty lips, Then put their nightgowns on. As children caper when they wake, Merry that it is morn, My flowers from a hundred cribs Will peep, and prance again. |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
As sleepers bid the morn good-day, And then reluctant rise, The hours pass their petty tasks Then stall to agonize. If coffee’s ready when they wake, Merry then is the morn, The hours fly as days rush by They peep and prance again. |
FEBREWARY 6
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By Emily Dickinson:
Mute thy Coronation – Meek my Vive le roi, Fold a tiny courtier In thine Ermine, Sir, There to rest revering Till the pageant by, I can murmur broken, Master, It was I – |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
Start the Percolation – Drink my Cup of joe, Hold a venti jitter juice In the Early morn – Then to start reviving For the passing day, I can move more and much Faster, in that way – |
FEBREWARY 7
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By Emily Dickinson:
Smiling back from Coronation May be Luxury – On the Heads that started with us – Being's Peasantry – Recognizing in Procession Ones We former knew – When Ourselves were also dusty – Centuries ago – Had the Triumph no Conviction Of how many be – Stimulated – by the Contrast – Unto Misery – |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
Smiling at the Percolation It is Luxury – With the Beans that started with me – Morning’s Pleasantry – Recognizing my Obsession With the coming brew – When Myself will down a mug full – Soon I will renew – This the Triumph of Conviction Of how I will be – Stimulated – by the Coffee – Out of Misery – |
FEBREWARY 8
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By Emily Dickinson:
He is alive, this morning – He is alive – and awake – Birds are resuming for Him – Blossoms – dress for His Sake. Bees – to their Loaves of Honey Add an Amber Crumb Him – to regale – Me – Only – Motion, and am dumb. |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
I am alive, this morning – I am alive – and awake Brews are refreshing for Me – Coffee – fuel for my Sake. Joes – to make Lives all Sunny Add a Little Cream It – to revive – Me – Only – Consume, and I beam. |
FEBREWARY 9
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By Emily Dickinson:
A Coffin – is a small Domain, Yet able to contain A Citizen of Paradise In its diminished Plane -- A Grave -- is a restricted Breadth -- Yet ampler than the Sun – And all the Seas He populates -- And Lands He looks upon To Him who on its small Repose Bestows a single Friend – Circumference without Relief – Or Estimate – or End – |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
A Coffee – is a small Domain, Yet able to wake up A Citizen of Paradise In its replenished Cup – A Taste – reawakens the Breath – Much quicker than the Sun – And all the Pots He percolates – Will Land Him on the run To Him who counts on morning Joes Consumed in Whole or part Will surely rise with Relief – A Testament – a Start – |
FEBREWARY 10
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By Emily Dickinson:
Down Time's quaint stream Without an oar We are enforced to sail Our Port a secret Our Perchance a Gale What Skipper would Incur the Risk What Buccaneer would ride Without a surety from the Wind Or schedule of the Tide – |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
Down Time’s cruel stream With an alarm We are enforced to rise A Pot our Savior A Coffee our Prize To Skip it would Incur a Risk What Commuter would ride Without a surety from the Brew Or caffeine for the Drive – |
FEBREWARY 11
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By Emily Dickinson:
Adrift! A little boat adrift! And night is coming down! Will no one guide a little boat Unto the nearest town? So Sailors say – on yesterday – Just as the dusk was brown One little boat gave up its strife And gurgled down and down. So angels say – on yesterday – Just as the dawn was red One little boat – o'erspent with gales – Retrimmed its masts – redecked its sails – And shot – exultant on! |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
A Drip? A little pot a-drip? As it is nearly dawn, Will someone guide a little pot To make sure that it’s on? So workers say – on yesterday – Just as the joe was brown One little pot gave up its brew T’was gurgled down and down. So angels came – on yesterday – Just as the brew was gone One little pot – restocked with grounds – Refilled its tank – reset it heat – We shot – exultant on! |
FEBREWARY 12
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By Emily Dickinson:
I asked no other thing – No other – was denied – I offered Being – for it – The Mighty Merchant sneered – Brazil? He twirled a Button – Without a glance my way – "But – Madam – is there nothing else – That We can show – Today"? |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
I asked no other thing – No other – was supplied – I offered Being – for it – The Brash Barista smiled – Dark Roast? He twirled a Button – With just a glance my way – “But – Madam – is there nothing else – That You would like – Today”? |
FEBREWARY 13
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By Emily Dickinson: I bet with every Wind that blew Till Nature in chagrin Employed a Fact to visit me And scuttle my Balloon – |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson: I bet with every Kind of brew With Foam or Froth that’s skimmed It’s Fact to be Enjoyed by me Both subtle and dark Blend – |
FEBREWARY 14
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By Emily Dickinson:
Life, and Death, and Giants – Such as These – are still – Minor – Apparatus – Hopper of the Mill – Beetle at the Candle – Or a Fife's Fame – Maintain – by Accident that they proclaim – |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
Life, and Breath, and Coffee – Such as These – withal – Coffee – Apparatus – Brewer of them All – Barista at the Counter – For a Life’s Fee – Maintain – my Cognizance that I decree – |
FEBREWARY 15
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By Emily Dickinson:
On the Bleakness of my Lot Bloom I strove to raise – Late – my Garden of a Rock Yielded Grape – and Maize – Soil of Flint, if steady tilled Will refund the Hand – Seed of Palm, by Lybian Sun Fructified in Sand – |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
Oh the Bleakness of my Lot When I strive to rise – Latte – my Nature in a Cup Yields a Day – and Skies – Grounds of Beans, when steady brewed Will reward in Hand – Mud from the Columbian Sun Fortified and Grand – |
FEBREWARY 16
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By Emily Dickinson:
He went by sleep that drowsy route To the surmising Inn – At day break to begin his race Or ever to remain – |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
I went to sleep that drowsy route For some reviving Rest – At day break to begin my race With coffee to reset – |
FEBREWARY 17
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By Emily Dickinson:
I held a Jewel in my fingers – And went to sleep – The day was warm, and winds were prosy – I said "'Twill keep" – I woke – and chid my honest fingers, The Gem was gone – And now, an Amethyst remembrance Is all I own – |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
I held a Coffee in my fingers – When I woke up – The day was warm, and winds were prosy – I said “Good cup” – I woke – and reached my honest fingers, The Joe was done – And now, an Alchemist transcendance Has since begun – |
FEBREWARY 18
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By Emily Dickinson:
Night is almost done – And Sunrise grows so near That we can touch the Spaces – It's time to smooth the Hair – And get the Dimples ready – And wonder we could care For that old – faded Midnight – That frightened – but an Hour – |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
When night is almost done – And Sunrise grows so near It’s time to start the Paces – And time to smooth the Hair – And get the Coffee ready – And playact like we care For that new – fangled Morning – Is brightened – by the Hour – |
FEBREWARY 19
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By Emily Dickinson: The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee – A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson: A guarantee of coffee Is of concern you see – A coffee, any time, to me Is hospitality |
FEBREWARY 20
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By Emily Dickinson:
Softened by Time's consummate plush, How sleek the woe appears That threatened childhood's citadel And undermined the years. Bisected now, by bleaker griefs, We envy the despair That devastated childhood's realm, So easy to repair. |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
Wakened by Time’s consummate push, How soon till Joe appears That strengthens life’s odd carousel And fortifies the years? Exhausted now, by bleaker griefs, I need a remedy That renovates my life’s odd realm, So easy with caffeine |
FEBREWARY 21
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By Emily Dickinson: Witchcraft has not a Pedigree 'Tis early as our Breath And mourners meet it going out The moment of our death – |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson: Witchcraft has not a Pedigree ‘Tis only just our Brew Commuters need it going out The moment morning’s new – |
FEBREWARY 22
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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 – |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson: The immortality it gives We borrow from a Mug – From just some Caffeine lavishing The Might of Coffee’s Cup |
FEBREWARY 23
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By Emily Dickinson:
In falling Timbers buried – There breathed a Man – Outside – the spades – were plying – The Lungs – within – Could He – know – they sought Him – Could They – know – He breathed – Horrid Sand Partition – Neither – could be heard – Never slacked the Diggers – But when Spades had done – Oh, Reward of Anguish, It was dying – Then – Many Things – are fruitless – 'Tis a Baffling Earth – But there is no Gratitude Like the Grace – of Death – |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
In fluffy Bedsheets buried – There breathed a Man – Outside – the sun – was rising – Then Life – began – Could he – know – they sought Him – Could They – know – He breathed – Early Dawn Condition – Neither – could perceive – Barely stirred the Figures – But when Brew was done – Oh, Reward of Pleasure, It was living – Then – Many Things – are fruitless – ’Tis a Baffling Truth – But there is no Certitude Like the Force – of Brew – |
FEBREWARY 24
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By Emily Dickinson:
The World – feels Dusty When We stop to Die – We want the Dew – then – Honors – taste dry – Flags – vex a Dying face – But the least Fan Stirred by a friend's Hand – Cools – like the Rain – Mine be the Ministry When thy Thirst comes – And Hybla Balms – Dews of Thessaly, to fetch – |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
The World – feels Dusty When We start to Rise – We want the Brew – then – Onwards – taste-wise – Flaws – vex a Morning face – But the first Joe Stirred by a friend’s Hand – Jolts – like a Blow – Mud is the Synergy When the Thirst comes – And Caffeine Fuels – Cups of Energy, to life – |
FEBREWARY 25
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By Emily Dickinson:
Tried always and Condemned by thee Permit me this reprieve That dying I may earn the look For which I cease to live – |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
Tired always and Deprived of sleep Permit me this reprieve That rising I may earn the Joe From which I start to live – |
FEBREWARY 26
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By Emily Dickinson:
This that would greet – an hour ago – Is quaintest Distance – now – Had it a Guest from Paradise – Nor glow, would it, nor bow – Had it a notice from the Noon Nor beam would it nor warm – Match me the Silver Reticence – Match me the Solid Calm – |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
That which did greet – an hour ago – Is faintest Distance – now – It was a Guest from Paradise – Now gone, need it, and how – Need it a refill for the Noon With cream need it and warm – Make me a Killer Pick-Me-Up – Make me a Solid Cup – |
FEBREWARY 27
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By Emily Dickinson:
Time feels so vast that were it not For an Eternity – I fear me this Circumference Engross my Finity – To His exclusion, who prepare By Processes of Size For the Stupendous Vision Of his diameters – |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
Time feels so vast that were it not For the Espresso Bean – I fear that this Existence Engross my Finity – To My elation, I prepare By Process of a Grind For the Stupendous Vision Of my caffeinated mind – |
FEBREWARY 28
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By Emily Dickinson:
We can but follow to the Sun – As oft as He go down He leave Ourselves a Sphere behind – 'Tis mostly – following – We go no further with the Dust Than to the Earthen Door – And then the Panels are reversed – And we behold – no more. |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
We must but follow to the Sun – As oft as He comes up We brew Ourselves a Pot before ‘Tis morning – for a cup – We go no further at the Dawn Than to the Office Door – And then the Coffee Pot is nursed – And we consume – some more. |
For more coffee poetry, take a look at the 100+ plus coffee poems from previous years by clicking on the buttons below.
