Used with permission given on October 31, 2012

Photo by David Haworth

This photography protected by copyright and others do not have permission to copy or give to others.

My Writing Notes – – 

Inspired by a photograph posted through Facebook, I wrote the following five poems!  Today my words are inspired by this month’s Hunter Moon and a favorite Emily Dickinson theme, morning sun.  

My Tanka Poem

Hunter Moon
Autumn’s harvest moon
Now a Hunter’s moon
In September & then October
Two full views
Shine on
My Haiku Poem
October Dawn
Light amber blues
Autumn’s October dawn
By the light of a Hunter’s moon
My Mijikai Haiku Poem
Autumn Dawn
My Five Line Micropoetry
Shadow Greetings
Light comes before shadow
Along its jagged edges
Darkness flows in
Greetings to the mind
A meeting of one
My Monostitch Poem
Morning Sun
The morning sun just touched my day

Research on Emily Dickinson’s Poetry

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

From the daguerreotype taken at Mount Holyoke, December 1846 or early 1847. The only authenticated portrait of Emily Dickinson later than childhood, the original is held by the Archives and Special Collections at Amherst College.[1]

<b styleEmily Elizabeth Dickinson (December 10, 1830 – May 15, 1886) was an American poet. Born in Amherst, 
Massachusetts, to a successful family with strong community ties, she lived a mostly introverted and reclusive
life. After she studied at the Amherst Academy for seven years in her youth, she spent a short time at 
Mount Holyoke Female Seminary before returning to her family’s house in Amherst. Thought of as an eccentric
by the locals, she became known for her penchant for white clothing and her reluctance to greet guests or, 
later in life, even leave her room. Most of her friendships were therefore carried out by correspondence.

THE SUN by Emily D.
just touched the morning;
The morning, happy thing,
Supposed that he had come to dwell,
And life would be all spring.
She felt herself supremer,
A raised, ethereal thing;
Henceforth for her what holiday!
Meanwhile, her wheeling king
Trailed slow along the orchards
His haughty, spangled hems,
Leaving a new necessity,
The want of diadems!
The morning fluttered, staggered,
Felt feebly for her crown,
Her unanoited forehead
Henceforth her only one.
– -by Emily Dickinson