If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only ways I know about it. Is there any other way?–Emily Dickinson

Miss Dickinson deserves her reputation as one of America’s greatest poets. Her somewhat eccentric life makes her poetry even more interesting, but it could stand alone without the added controversies of her mysterious reclusiveness and her perhaps non-existent love life. So here’s Emily’s blog entry for the day:

The only news I know
Is bulletins all day
From Immortality.

The only shows I see,
Tomorrow and Today,
Perchance Eternity.

The only One I meet
Is God, -the only street,
Existance; this traversed

If other news there be,
Or admirabler show –
I’ll tell it you.