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
There is a Poe and raven no one knew
They were deeply in cahoots, these two
Telltale heart was unknown by Poe
But raven had a mind of glow
His ideas were stolen by his master
Poe’s mind was slick like alabaster
In the night he would urge raven awake
For his own sake, for his own sake
For raven was the brilliant poet in fact
Few know this, but I found an artifact
A diary of raven that holds the truth of this
Poe stole raven’s ideas, knowing they were bliss
I Totally Forgot It.
Sue Me.
Look At How Your Trigger
Finger Twitches, Purr-Former.
Not Deceptive Enough.
Is This Thing Real?
Is This Even On!?
Assume Guilt... Sassafras.
I Won't Let You Touch
My Credentials! Back Off!
Is What I Should Say.
Like A Bovine's Dewey-Eyed: Gut.
It's Lost It's Flair By Self-Attack-Chipmunk.
-Gray Squirrel
06-04-2026
after the raven...
ed grrrrrrd
all in
poe...
len
Theory of distinguished alpha
Elements of sentences that intertwine
Philosophy of emotion
Antecedent through expressions
Conviction of confess
Formulates a test
Introduction into Poetry
Talking Poet in documentation
Creations of sentry
What the mind thinks comes out in words
Open words with the destination being the reader
What the reader sees is sensation
Inner thoughts and inner dreams
It is what Poetry seems
Impact and embrace of empowerment of what the Poet feels
Writing is always a Poet assignment
Commitment to fulfill
Courage to assemble
Contributes to enable
Professor Poe, a true leader in his own words
He suggests, now express to the world, write and be heard.
In 1969 Halloween night was way beyond creepy.
The moon seemed evil, I got almost weepy
At the age of seventeen, this was rare for me indeed
Poe and his raven visited me, this was the final seed.
I felt intimidated now, why was a famous poet here?
He told me to relax, called me his darling little dear.
Told me that one day I would be writing poems too.
This did not help me. I was seventeen, determined to be blue.
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.
"an oldt' favorite"......ed grrrd, 'all in poe!'
len
this poe am/bee
scent...
of a relaxed
sit-u-a-shun
in which...
i've been full
from the start
today...
with coffee
len
witch’s gown was a tell-tale sign straight out of Poe
she brought butterflies and berries to autumn’s glow
her colors were summer, yet October friendly too
She was a Bohemian beauty who was long overdue
Maybe this is why we have such a hot September I thought
Summer was climbing into the fall, something she brought
Butterflies were supposed to be gone, but here they were
Berries still blooming, she was beautiful, magic and pure.
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.
I found this site called Poetry Soup
Here you can get applause from a group
So I started writing poems, none make the best
My family tells me to "give it a rest."
I need some tough love, some commenter to say
"Your talent is poor, go outside in the day."
Instead, the site policy is to always give praise
Can anything save me - I hope it's just a phase.
Every time I say a sentence, I think of a rhyme
For instance, "dime, time, buy some outshine"
Can't stop rhyming, can't stop writing
I can't get a life that is more exciting.
So to all you young men, sitting on that stoop
Stay away from Poetry Soup
Find yourself another hobby, get some fresh air
Don't be like me, stuck in this creative lair.
Searching for a word, sinking in despair.
change is not stubborn
as is a long-shriveled hand~
c’est la vie bygone
Lo! Death bestowed its final blow
Ye saddened thoughts- can't let them go
Perhaps, a poem... perhaps, a Poe
Will raise thy head, from lying low
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.