I'm nobody too!

Part I
Today I have a tasty morsel of a poem that I found by Emily Dickinson, which I particularly love because sometimes I feel very discouraged at my own nothingness, but to hear from Dickinson herself that she, and me and we are nothing was a great relief. What is all of this chasing after somethingness about anyway? What makes the contribution of a 19th century recluse/poet more or less then my own? Maybe nothing.

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us - don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!

Part II - Poetry, for my feet!
I really like shoes. They are fantastic little pieces of art, which got me to thinking about poetry and art. I think that poetry is so much more than words on a page. Words themselves are nothing but a medium to get across the true purpose of poetry which is, for me, a process of grasping the disappearing thread or as another poet said "sing[ing] a song for which we haven't quite found the words." Poetry, then, is not bound to the letters and spaces, it is a lifestyle, an aesthetic, a way of looking at things, which makes almost anything poetry. Even shoes, and especially these ones. They are made by the brand aptly named "Poetic Licence"

A poem

Since people are actually inclined to come to this spot every now and again, I thought I should put out another post to bait you into coming back, or maybe let cyberspace know that I'm not dead.
I've been reading/writing a lot of poetry this past year, and I think it is time to share some of my findings with the world. Often poetry is regarded as uninteresting, esoteric, confusing, or some variation on that theme, but I am inclined to side with Leonard Cohen who said; "Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash". So I would like to share some of the ashes that I have been scavenging lately.
Here is a poem that enticed me to loving poetry. I couldn't get the last line out of my head for days...

"The Lake Isle of Innisfree"

I WILL arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the mourning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

William Butler Yeats (1893)

While I could ramble on about the imagery in this poem and so on, I won't. Poems rely highly on subjectivity, so use your own!