A lot comes down..To what we value.'
Money..? Money and its power.?
I'll give here not much preamble.'
jacinta allan where lies her heart.' In
Love of money.' I'd reckon? the whole and
Not a part.' So there she is rooted..? And very
Evil.? What are the facts.? Maybe? she'll
Be put right.? When life pays her back with some (really hard smacks.!)
Running after Midnight is eerie
Passing mile twenty-one, weak and weary
All other runners finished early
A few quaint and curious are waiting
Some encouraging, some baiting
Only this and nothing more
Quoth my sore feet “Nevermore”
It is the desire of the moth
for the star…..
- Edgar Allan Poe
I awoke this morning
to find the powdery imprint
of wings on a window
that must have been left
by a moth trying
to get in when it
careered full flight
into glass, blinded
and driven lovesick
by the glow from a light
I had kept turned on
when reading
Edgar Allan Poe
late last night.
"I am a writer. Therefore. I am not sane." - Edgar Allan Poe
We all go a little mad sometimes
... In the middle of the night,
Our minds raving words and rhymes
Hands compelled to write and write
In the middle of the night ...
Wide awake with a troubled brain,
Hands compelled to write and write
Soothes the self gone near sane
Wide awake, with a troubled brain
Crazed scribblings and a fury of ink,
Soothes the self gone near sane
'Til dawn turns black skies to pink
Crazed scribblings and a fury of ink
Nothing else matters, right this second,
'Til dawn turns black skies to pink
When the notion, so nearly beckoned
Nothing else matters, right this second
Lest lines be forgotten by then ...
When the notion so nearly beckoned
Grasping for lamplight, paper and pen
... Lest lines be forgotten by then
Our minds raving, words and rhymes,
Grasping for lamplight, paper and pen
We all go a little mad sometimes ...
"For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams" Edgar Allan Poe
My true love was always my moonbeam
To breathe her light
She had to be her own addiction
She has control over the saint of procure
I drink to her freelance contingency of no mercy
A glance at her smile.. wanton fever.. stone me petrified
A shooting star
True dreams please come to me
Like it was Lust like it was Love
I could have been friends evermore
Its all for that smitten that smile does cast
Plays part of the twist part of the laugh
When she feels too anxious about giving
It's her folly I can't take
A whisper from the truth becomes me
I found lost in her shine that beam diverged away from my soul
The moon doth cast my Moonbeam nevermore
No buzz, buzzing of her number 902
Hiding her perks my now vacant desires
Seduced by my loneliness
Tortured by some disconnecting dreams
Where time lost it's fears
To where life is but tears
Number 902
A Revised Edition
From The Works of the Late Edgar Allan Poe, vol. II, 1850
In the icy air where the stars do sprinkle bright
keeping time, keeping time
with the jingling bells of night
it is there I lay my heart, my lonely heart
Hear the mellow wedding bells
the golden bells of happiness, ringing to foretell
Through the balmy air of night how they ring with such delight
from the molten-golden notes, the liquid ditty floats
A gush of euphony within her dwells
for a future that foretells of the rapture that impels
from the swinging and the ringing of the bells,
to the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
Later how they clang and clash and roar in the throbbing air
hear the tolling of the bells, the bells, the bells
in a world of solemn thought, their monody compels
in the silence of the night she shivers with affright
And the lover oh the lover, dwelling deep inside the steeple
all alone,.. tolling, tolling, in that muffled monotone
turns her heart to solid stone, as she listens to the bells
the bells, the bells, the bells...
In the distance, a soul does mourn,
The Raven caws, a heart forlorn,
Fear grips tight, as life's sun sets,
Having never danced, with wild regrets.
A life unlived, a dream unchased,
A heart that yearns, but feels misplaced,
In twilight's grasp, the mind's despair,
Echoes of 'what if' fill the air.
Lost in the void of wasted days,
The Raven's wings, a somber haze,
Yet, hope still flickers, dimly gleams,
To seize the day, and shatter dreams.
Embrace the now, release the dread,
For fear of death, the soul's true bane,
Carve your path, let passion reign,
The Raven's call, no longer pain.
In midnight's grasp, a raven took flight,
Its ebony wings adorned with sorrow's might,
Through veils of darkness, it soared alone,
A haunting presence, to worlds unknown.
Its onyx feathers whispered tales of woe,
Echoing through the night, a mournful show,
With piercing eyes, a gaze that could pierce the soul,
It sought solace in the shadows' endless scroll.
Its mournful cry, a dirge of the heart,
Unveiled secrets, tearing worlds apart,
A harbinger of darkness, it perched on high,
An omen of doom, with a mournful sigh.
The raven's caw echoed in the moon's embrace,
Unfolding mysteries with each somber chase,
Its wings, a shroud, concealed the night's lore,
A creature of darkness, forevermore.
Yet, amidst the shadows, a glimmer of light,
A flicker of hope, a chance to set things right,
The Raven danced on the edge of despair,
A symbol of resilience, in the midnight air.
So, let it fly, with its tales untold,
A guardian of secrets, a sight to behold,
For within its ebony guise, hope remains,
The Raven's journey, a testament to change.
Why did I find you lovely
Not as an insult but of my own falling out
I do not think I was even in love
Why do relationships come and go so fast
Lovers lasting only weeks at a time
A fear of love I assume
And I am the one being afraid
Do not come near me, women of soft wax, daughters of Icarus
For I am the blinding sun, passionate inferno
How do I go about ending a beautiful thing
How do I end the life of a snow white fawn
Dilated pupil captures a partner with her submission
Above sadness, eyes sea sunk in upset unquenchable
Desperation lodged in lagoon swims to 2021 surface
Air refilling deflated lungs floats a Goldi locked trophy
Drawn from decaying pages of housewife magazines
Overtly womanly hip to waist ratio cinched on display
Empathy white tidal wave, compassion washes angst
Surrogate heart fed off rise fall arousal bursts buttons
Nostalgia learns Stu's language, sucking word marrow
Omens of history trip a mirrored future, path predicted
Sorrow entangled sheet furrows, wrath burrowed deep
Trauma not lost thru lustful aggressor swamp syphon
Welcome fragrant frail pale spurs a sturdy demeanour
Enveloped open emotions compel his chest responds
Lechery leaves detail aside, abides with blind present
Longing to cast away loneliness, romance sails rough
8th February
Dictated by Wharf air (after warfare)
DADA DOES NOST WELL
Alone Corona Sonnet
From childhood’s hour I have not been
as others were, I have not seen
as others saw
in these dark times we live in
i am afraid of being alone
dying all alone
AS GENERAL CORONA
SPREADS HIS ARMIES
ALL OVER THE WORLD?
I
DON”T
WANT
TO
DIE
content tracing “Alone” By Edgar Allen Poe
creative talent unleashed prompt
Listening to Edgar Allan Poe
Amazing! (see below)
from Edgar Allan Poe
early 19th century..
we await this awakening
today!
switching of identities
sometime in our lifetime
is the one and only
purpose we have..
Jehovah replaces Man
as felt identity..
beliefs are cast aside
and our activities
are activities of That
which we are...
Think that the sense of individual identity will be gradually merged in the general consciousness—that Man, for example, ceasing imperceptibly to feel himself Man, will at length attain that awfully triumphant epoch when he shall recognize his existence as that of Jehovah. In the meantime bear in mind that all is Life—Life—Life within Life—the less within the greater, and all within the Spirit Divine."
- Edgar Allan Poe (1809 - 1849)
Eureka: A Prose Poem
(a lighter-hearted parody of the masterpiece poem “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe)
Once upon a noonday sunny, while I smiled at something funny
In the park where children play and suitors woo,
’Midst the sound of subtle flapping, suddenly I got a crapping;
On my cheek I felt it slapping, warm and wet and slimy, too,
And my uncontrolled reaction to the foul, repugnant goo
Was a squeamish “Eww-ew-ewww!”
Soon my shock assumed a passion of a duly fiercer fashion,
For the bough above disclosed a damning clue:
There a shapely dove was lurking, all her guilt and duty shirking,
Unconcerned and coyly smirking, just to see what I would do.
“Fiend!” I cried, “You’ll feel my vengeance!” but this only made her coo,
Sighing softly, “Toodle-oo.”
Whereupon, with madness growing, I picked up a stone for throwing,
As but slightly farther off she lightly flew,
But my aim was rash confusion and it met with no conclusion,
So in spite of my delusion there was nothing I could do.
Now my heart will not get over how she crooned her calm adieu:
“Toodle-ooo-oo, toodle-oo.”
Note to self: Never again read 'The Monk'
by Mathew Gregory Lewis
before drinking myself into a diabetic coma...
...All night long
The Wandering Jew requested directions to salvation;
That is to say,
Whenever I wasn't being pursued by the Bleeding Nun
- She seemed like a good enough sort
For being just another figment of my horrific imagination;
It would appear she only wanted a sanitary napkin:
"Leave me alone" I kept telling her,
"I rarely have a spare Tampon!"
...Even in my dreams I can't seem to relate to women...
...At least I'll always be immune to Matilda's seduction...
...Because I'm only a "borderline heterosexual"
- I'm really more of a "feline enthusiast"
- Kinda like William S. Burroughs, I guess?
...This was quite possibly the worst nightmare I've had
Ever since dreaming about
Ambrose Bierce's 'The Damned Thing'
- I wish I never had to sleep again...
...I'm terrified to dream of 'The King in Yellow'
by Robert W. Chambers!
I have been condemned to a fate worse than Poe!
And H.P. Lovecraft is sooo-oh-oh-oh,
Ridiculously jealous of me too!
So don't start to panic - It isn't just you...
Whilst Jon-Allan was out Iraq to warfare ban,
In 2007 he sustained an injury, rocket attack,
So that doctors had to amputate his left arm,
But after rehab he continued the sport’s crack.
He’d been a weapons technician in the RAF,
At Basra airbase, and before that Afghanistan,
But he was now on a programme so to quaff,
Any idea that he wasn’t good at cycling’s pun.
He took the limelight at the London games,
When he won three silvers for para-cycling:
One for the C5 Individual Pursuit, sole aims,
One for the mixed team sprint very cunning,
And another silver for the C4-5 1km Time Trial!
Then 2016, and he won gold for the mixed team,
And also a silver medal for the C5 kilo Time Trial
In Montichiari, and so made the Rio GB Team.
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