Edgar Allan Poe
He had a large gambling debt, many he did owe
A sports team is named in honor of him
Aptly named the Ravens, a touchdown with vim
As I sat with Edgar Allan Poe,
my heart beat like a so-and-so.
I invited him in for tea
and, as that the son-of-a-gun looked at me,
I looked at him through my filmy eye,
and asked him if he could deny
that if I was anything, I was not mad,
that my case was ironclad.
He had the disposition of a grouch,
but, as a writer, he was no slouch -
though he made it his chosen mission
to exploit me without permission.
Edgar Allen Poe,
The infamously crazy poet we all know.
His story of " The tell-tale heart "
Is just plain nutty from the start!
Edgar Allan Poe
was feeling just a little low.
For Lenore, his love was savin',
but he was only visited by a raven.
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”
Our Love is Bold Strong written in Cursive
Our Love is Psalms Oshun and Spiritual Verses
You’re my Favorite Song that I repeat on purpose
To Love Forever More is giving deserving
Encore encore
-Edgar-
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.
If in his time the mechanism had existed, would he have written even more?
Would all his neighbors believe him mad? As he watched beauty succumb to deaths door
His ethos words impress; insanity only when possessing exquisite levels of horror
Incessantly; even more incessant rapping comes sanity from the walls, halls, ceiling, and floor
A split vision of a blackbird, he saw halves, though hearing nothing worthy of suffering I wager he'd underscore
So I ponder clearly on nights far less dreary, a legacy expanded if Edgar could've had a typewriter
The Raven: A Date with Death
I danced a date
a date with Death.
He sat me down for tea.
In the darkness sat the swirl
of infinity.
The ringlets 'round his brow
did stain the spirits evermore.
'Where do you hail?' he asked in disdain.
'I come from nowhere, yet anywhere, and I'll
go there all again.'
Death looked displeased, forlorn.
He longed to take another soul.
But my muse is cloaked in folklore.
Stories guide me home.
I was bound to Earth, you see.
Another just as old.
Another soul as wise as mine.
As clever, as bold.
But sharp ones poison,
wither,
drown.
Another soul lost evermore.
She's still broken, this soul of mine.
Every hour, every tick and click.
Cracked, split, broken.
Never to be healed.
My love does not belong
behind closed glass or hidden in song.
But I fear I've lost, my muse is drowned.
By waves of sea, so mote it be.
Until home she stays.
From stolen glances and parting gaze.
Just beyond the violet haze.
"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
19th century writer, Edgar Allen Poe -
Romance and the macabre to his readers he would show.
Those who study literature likely know the poem “Lenore”
and that famous line of his: Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
there was a sweet little man
with a penchant for fashion
who wears his jackets tan
he closes his eyes when he smiles
and looks awfully dashing
eyes of green and gloves of white
he struts about without a worry
soaking in windowbeams til twilight
but if you wake him without caution
he will dash away in haphazard scurry
oh what a lovely little lad
he will greet you with a darling chirp
if you are feeling terribly sad
he has a horizonless kindness
that can heal oceans of hurt
he needs to little to live life sublime
kneading biscuits to start the day
our little Eggy is just a simple guy
whose purrs on your belly will offer
a warmth better than any cabernet
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...
Love
Topic Sentence: The one thing that poisons and endangers love, has always been the test of time.
For the stars shine bright,
On the loneliest of nights
To Give way a passage to Thee
The love I fear is somewhere near and dear to me
As my heart skips a beat,
Yours takes a seat,
Upon my idled thrown
And the flowers you bring, wilder than the wildest flowers ever grown
And if it weren’t for your smile,
Which stole my heart for a while,
Then your burden would have taken and heartened me
But alas this is love,
From the sweetest of all kingdoms and heavens above,
And none can deter me
From thee
Though love can be cruel,
Your love has been true
Open arms, filled with only warmth is what you have given me
Like a mother’s hug, as I remember it now, I can see it so vividly
And if life had been fair
Then my heart would not tear
And our love would have perfect symmetry
But a long-full sleep took you from me
For what felt like a century
And now you return
For the love you have earned
So I’ll go with you silently
But never forget, for our love,
how dangerous time can be
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