FEBREWARY 2018
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FEBREWARY 1
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By Emily Dickinson:
Morns like these – we parted Noons like these – she rose – Fluttering first - then firmer To her fair repose - Never did she lisp it And 'twas not for me – She was mute for transport I – for agony – Till the evening nearing One the shutters drew – Quick! a sharper rustling! And this linnet flew! |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
Morns like this – I slept in – Noons like this – I rose – Fluttering first – then firmer Once I sipped my Joe – Always did I sip it And ’twas just for me – Then made right for transport I – with energy – With the evening nearing Once the shutters drew – I sat and wondered just How the hours flew! |
FEBREWARY 2
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By Emily Dickinson: In the name of the Bee – And of the Butterfly – And of the Breeze – Amen! |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson: In the name of the Joe – And of the Jitter Juice – And of the Brews – Amen! |
FEBREWARY 3
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By Emily Dickinson:
Sleep is supposed to be, By souls of sanity, The shutting of the eye. Sleep is the station grand Down which on either hand The hosts of witness stand! Morn is supposed to be, By people of degree, The breaking of the Day. Morning has not occurred! That shall Aurora be – East of Eternity – One with the banner gay – One in the red array – That is the break of Day! |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
Sleep is supposed to be, By souls of sanity, The shutting of the eye. Sleep is the holy land But on the other hand The waking is not grand! Morn is supposed to be, By people of degree, The best part of the Day. Morning is just too blurred! That shall Forever be – It’s not Hyperbole – One needs a sturdy joe – One needs the mud to flow – That is the break of Day! |
FEBREWARY 4
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By Emily Dickinson:
If I should die, And you should live – And time should gurgle on – And morn should beam – And noon should burn – As it has usual done – If Birds should build as early And Bees as bustling go – One might depart at option From enterprise below! 'Tis sweet to know that stocks will stand When we with Daisies lie – That Commerce will continue – And Trades as briskly fly – It makes the parting tranquil And keeps the soul serene – That gentlemen so sprightly Conduct the pleasing scene! |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
If I should rise, And I should live – And time should gurgle on – And morn should beam – And noon should burn – As it has usual done – Then Joes should brew as early So I can bustling go – One cup for my departure To energize my flow! ’Tis sweet to know it helps me stand When I would rather lie – That Commerce will continue – And Hours will briskly fly – It makes the morning lively And keeps the soul between – The power to go sprightly About the daily scene! |
FEBREWARY 5
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By Emily Dickinson:
If your Nerve, deny you – Go above your Nerve – He can lean against the Grave, If he fear to swerve – That's a steady posture – Never any bend Held of those Brass arms – Best Giant made – If your Soul seesaw – Lift the Flesh door – The Poltroon wants Oxygen – Nothing more – |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
If your Nerve deny you – Go above your Nerve – You can lean upon a Joe, Then feel safe to swerve – That’s a ready posture – Always to the end Held in Coffee mugs – Best Morning friend – If your Soul seesaw – Lift the Coffee pot – The Poltroon needs more Caffeine – Nothing more – |
FEBREWARY 6
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By Emily Dickinson:
On such a night, or such a night, Would anybody care If such a little figure Slipped quiet from its chair – So quiet – Oh how quiet, That nobody might know But that the little figure Rocked softer – to and fro – On such a dawn, or such a dawn – Would anybody sigh That such a little figure Too sound asleep did lie For Chanticleer to wake it – Or stirring house below – Or giddy bird in orchard – Or early task to do? |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
On such a morn, or such a morn, When all the sky is red When such a little figure Slipped quiet from its bed – So quiet – Oh how quiet, That nobody might know But that the little figure Ran swiftly – for a joe – On such a dawn, or such a dawn – When soft the sun rose high That such a little figure Too sound asleep did lie For All it takes to wake it – A stirring house below – A coffee pot in Kitchen – An early task to brew! |
FEBREWARY 7
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By Emily Dickinson
There was a little figure plump For every little knoll – Busy needles, and spools of thread – And trudging feet from school – Playmates, and holidays, and nuts – And visions vast and small – Strange that the feet so precious charged Should reach so small a goal! |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
There is the little figure slumped Tucked in its little bed – Busy dreaming, and soon must rise – And trudging off in dread – Workmates, and commuters, and such – With visions high and low – Normal that their hands so promptly charge And reach so swift for joe! |
FEBREWARY 8
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By Emily Dickinson:
We shun it ere it comes, Afraid of Joy, Then sue it to delay And lest it fly, Beguile it more and more, May not this be Old Suitor Heaven, Like our dismay at thee? |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
I crave it ere it comes, In need of Joe, There can be no delay So I can fly, Consume it more and more, May this soon be My Daily Heaven No more delay of thee! |
FEBREWARY 9
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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 Condemned by stress Permit me a reprieve I’m dying and I need a Joe From which I start to live – |
FEBREWARY 10
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By Emily Dickinson: How good his Lava Bed, To this laborious Boy – Who must be up to call the World And dress the sleepy Day – |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson: How good was my Warm Bed, To this soporific Boy – Who needs a joe to greet the World And start the sleepy Day – |
FEBREWARY 11
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By Emily Dickinson: More than the Grave is closed to me – The Grave and that Eternity To which the Grave adheres – I cling to nowhere till I fall – The Crash of nothing, yet of all – How similar appears – |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson: More than the Day is closed to me – The Day and that Insanity To which the Day adheres – I cling to everything lest I fall – Then Crash on something, in the hall Till my coffee appears – |
FEBREWARY 12
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By Emily Dickinson:
They won't frown always — some sweet Day When I forget to tease -- They'll recollect how cold I looked And how I just said "Please." Then They will hasten to the Door To call the little Girl Who cannot thank Them for the Ice That filled the lisping full. |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
They will smile always – each sweet Day When they sipped through a straw – They’ll recollect how cold it looked And how they all said “Ahh.” Then They will hasten to the Door To drink the Cold Brew up And warmly thank Them for the Ice That fills their coffee cup. |
FEBREWARY 13
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By Emily Dickinson:
A Drop Fell on the Apple Tree – Another – on the Roof – A Half a Dozen kissed the Eaves – And made the Gables laugh – A few went out to help the Brook That went to help the Sea – Myself Conjectured were they Pearls – What Necklace could be – The Dust replaced, in Hoisted Roads – The Birds jocoser sung – The Sunshine threw his Hat away – The Bushes – spangles flung – The Breezes brought dejected Lutes – And bathed them in the Glee – Then Orient showed a single Flag, And signed the Fete away – |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
A Drop fell in my Coffee Cup – Another – in the Brew – A Half a Dozen kissed the Joe – And made the Morning new – A few went down to help the Rest To fill it to the Top Myself Conjectured were they Pearls – That I would never swap – The Day began in Trafficked Roads – The Brew did help me sing – The Sunshine threw his Hat away – The Coffee – crowned me King – The Thermos brought along that Day – And bathed me in such Glee – The Energy with each single Swig, I sipped the Day away – |
FEBREWARY 14
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By Emily Dickinson: Adventure most unto itself The Soul condemned to be; Attended by a Single Hound – Its own Identity |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson: Espresso all unto myself The Soul content to be; Intended for a Single Cup – Its brewed Intensity |
FEBREWARY 15
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By Emily Dickinson: Apparently with no surprise To any happy Flower The Frost beheads it at its play -- In accidental power -- The blonde Assassin passes on -- The Sun proceeds unmoved To measure off another Day For an Approving God. |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson: Apparently with no surprise In an unhappy Hour The Clock alarms as if at play – With monumental power – I press upon the Snooze Alarm – Then slowly start to move To measure off another Pot For an Approving Cup. |
FEBREWARY 16
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By Emily Dickinson:
A prompt – executive Bird is the Jay – Bold as a Bailiff's Hymn – Brittle and Brief in quality – Warrant in every line – Sitting a Bough like a Brigadier Confident and straight – Much is the mien of him in March As a Magistrate – |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
A hot – imperative Brew is the Joe – Bold when filled to the Rim – Brazen and Brash ferocity – To Waken life and limb – Sipping the Brew like a Brigadier Confident and straight – Much of the blend for me each Morn As I Activate – |
FEBREWARY 17
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By Emily Dickinson: Few, yet enough, Enough is One – To that ethereal throng Have not each one of us the right To stealthily belong? |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson: Few get enough, Never Enough – Of the imperial brew Have not each one of us the right To selfishly accrue? |
FEBREWARY 18
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By Emily Dickinson: Glory is that bright tragic thing That for an instant Means Dominion – Warms some poor name That never felt the Sun, Gently replacing In oblivion – |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson: Morning is that bright tragic thing That in an instant Means new Frontiers Warm some rich brew That always greets the Sun, Gently awakening Music of the spheres – |
FEBREWARY 19
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By Emily Dickinson: How still the Bells in Steeples stand Till swollen with the Sky They leap upon their silver Feet In frantic Melody! |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson: How loud the Bells in Steeples peal Get coffee for this Guy I stagger on unsteady Feet A frantic Day nearby! |
FEBREWARY 20
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By Emily Dickinson:
Good Night! Which put the Candle out? A jealous Zephyr – not a doubt – Ah, friend, you little knew How long at that celestial wick The Angels – labored diligent – Extinguished – now – for you! It might – have been the Light House spark – Some Sailor – rowing in the Dark – Had importuned to see! It might – have been the waning lamp That lit the Drummer from the Camp To purer Reveille! |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
Good Morn! Who put the Coffee on? An early Waker – not a doubt – Ah, friend, I now can see How much of coffee that I need The Angels – labored with such speed – Percolated – now – for me! I might – have need for just some spark – A Dreamer – tossing in the Dark – Who finally woke to see! I might – just thank the one a lot Who ground the Coffee for the Pot To pour pure Ecstasy! |
FEBREWARY 21
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By Emily Dckinson:
I like a look of Agony, Because I know it’s true – Men do not sham Convulsion, Nor simulate a Throe – The Eyes glaze once – and that is Death – Impossible to feign The Beads upon the Forehead By homely Anguish strung. |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
I have a look of Agony Because I know it’s morn – I cannot gain Propulsion, Until I make my Joe – My Eyes glaze once – I look like Death – Impossible to feign The Grounds inside the French Press Bring me Life again. |
FEBREWARY 22
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By Emily Dickinson:
The Morning after Woe – 'Tis frequently the Way – Surpasses all that rose before – For utter Jubilee – As Nature did not care – And piled her Blossoms on – And further to parade a Joy Her Victim stared upon – The Birds declaim their Tunes – Pronouncing every word Like Hammers – Did they know they fell Like Litanies of Lead – On here and there – a creature – They'd modify the Glee To fit some Crucifixal Clef – Some Key of Calvary – |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
The Morning with a Joe – ‘Tis frequently the Way – Surpasses all the Joes before – For utter Jubilee – Tho’ Morning does not care – And piles her Problems on – Go further to prepare a Joe The Potion counted on – The Clock declares Alarm – Pronouncing every blast Like Hammers – Do they not know I’ll Drink Potables of Lead – And here and there – the caffeine That modifies my Glee To give some Beneficial Lift – For Coffee is the Key – |
FEBREWARY 23
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By Emily Dickinson:
I lived on Dread – To Those who know The Stimulus there is In Danger – Other impetus Is numb – and Vitalless – As 'twere a Spur – upon the Soul – A Fear will urge it where To go without the Sceptre's aid Were Challenging Despair. |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
I live on Brew – For don't I know The Stimulus there is In Danger– Other beverages Are numb – and Vitalless – It is a Spur – upon my soul – And Fear will urge me where To go without my Morning's aid With Challenging Despair |
FEBREWARY 24
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By Emily Dickinson: Too few the mornings be, Too scant the nights. No lodging can be had For the delights That come to earth to stay, But no apartment find And ride away. |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson: Too fast the mornings come, Too scant the nights. My longing can be had From the delights That brew at the café With animation found I ride away. |
FEBREWARY 25
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By Emily Dickinson: Back from the cordial Grave I drag thee He shall not take they Hand Nor put his spacious arm around thee That none can understand |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson: Back from the nightly Grave I’m dragging I shall but take my Joe And put delicious warmth inside me To join the life I know |
FEBREWARY 26
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By Emily Dickinson: Morning – is the place for Dew – Corn – is made at Noon – After dinner light – for flowers – Dukes – for Setting Sun! |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson: Morning – is the time for Joe – Cups – are served at Noon – After dinner time – it’s decaf – Or – no Sleeping Soon! |
FEBREWARY 27
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By Emily Dickinson: To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, One clover, and a bee, And revery. The revery alone will do, If bees are few. |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson: To make me lively it takes a Coffee and one cup, One coffee, and a cup, And energy. The energy alone will do, If cups are few. |
FEBREWARY 28
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By Emily Dickinson: The most important population Unnoticed dwell, They have a heaven each instant Not any hell. Their names, unless you know them, 'Twere useless tell. Of bumble-bees and other nations The grass is full. |
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By Emmett Lee Dickinson: The most important percolation Essence and smell Provides a heaven each instant Not any hell. They’re vain, unless I know them, ’Tis truth to tell. I bumble until I have knowledge The cup is full. |
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