Emily Dickinson



Wild nights – Wild nights!

Were I with thee

Wild nights should be

Our luxury!

Futile – the winds –

To a Heart in port –

Done with the Compass –

Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden –

Ah – the Sea!

Might I but moor – tonight –

In thee!

Dickinson poems are electronically reproduced courtesy of the publishers and the Trustees of Amherst College from THE POEMS OF EMILY DICKINSON: VARIORUM EDITION, Ralph W. Franklin, ed., Cambridge, Mass: The Belknap Press of Harvard University of Press, Copyright © 1988 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College

Might I but moor – tonight –


Girls must not invert commas in the class-ruins,

Don’t kill your chickens before

they hatch.

Don’t kill yourself getting ready for gym.

I never want to be buried again.

My husband never said he would cry before me.

I don’t want to be curried again.

Did you pass the driving pest?

All class ruins to be demolished by morning.

Who is he?

Yes? Learn grammar now

Spread your cocktail sausages with honey and sesame butter and they will disappear rapidly says Nigella our lovely writer

I didn’t know she can work magic!

Mike Flemming copyright 2022

Melt butter in a pan then pour over the chicken legs after killing yourself for best results.

Caramelise the sugar and mix with butter before finally tasting yourself.

Jubilee Guardian

Peel potatoes and cut into large chinks.Put salt all over and soak for a year before washing in cold water Eat hot with chopsticks

Don’t lie so still

 Katherine  beautiful thoughtschildhoodCouragedeathemotionhow to liveimagessorrowThinkings and poemstruthfulnessvirtue  October 2, 2021 1 Minute

Ah,brother I don’t want you to lie still

No blood to circulate,no thoughts,no will

No help,no humour.jokes no

sharp true eye

From our old shared pram,to live, to die.

I used to do your homework

late at night

Abstract thought to you was no delight.

You wondered over X and y and z

Preferred the shapes of Nature in your head.

I shall retain the memories of the good

You who taught me speech and hate and love


Please drink your own water at ,7- am No tea this week. No money.

Please learn to walk before you get out of bed , No physio.

We don’t like the food either.

Do you like hot chocolate?

Well you can’t have it in here.

Why not?

You have got dementia

Is it infectious?

Do cats have eyes?

Come again

I am not the Messiah

Would you know?

You don’t mean I have to walk on the river Lea?

Only if God tells you to.

I might drown

O ye of little faith






by Mike Flemming copyright

My old blue fountain pen allows
The ink across this page to flow
Like wet paint from an artist’s brush,
And words come in a rush.
Enchanted  by the hand that writes .
Bewitched by art,beauty alights
The script is like a music score
Through which we step as through a door,
Imagination’s home.
As,mysteriously, to you, to me,
The spirits of our hearts are tamed ,
By rhythms of pen,of brush, of mind,
They enter vision quite unplanned,
Like moths to flutter softly round
Fire joined heart and hand
The pen slows down,the hand grows still,
And ,just as dreams at daybreak will,
They shrink,they disappear,they’re gone
Like dew dies in hot sun