Poe Poems - Poems about Poe

POTD June 15 2025 Smoke And Mirrors – Channelling in the Spirit of Edgar Allan Poe When regulation picks at pillaged dreams The searchlight shines its brutal beams As shadows spill its borrowed light. judgement retains its fractured fight. A blind eye turns as life disbands the gavel strikes by unseen hands, The scales unbalanced - Truth? Hard to reach, Sold by madness -...

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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...

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(A lone voice whispers) Like a lone argus-eyed oblique tattered caliginous silhouette Moving extremely cautiously in the severe, deadly silence The Mistress of the Voices of the Dead Poe Ravenscroft Marmosett A rare blatherskite whose white emblem appears on the backs of The Great In-Between black gull's wings Who just love to gather in huge invisible circles above lost souls Like earthly...

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Reluctantly I sat abusing Some old and sad familiar musing That for some reason kept refusing To lie quietly A thought that in a moment read Was understood and put to bed Now prancing once more round my head O daring memory Why must thee wallow on the tongue Barren tree with fruit unsprung Tormenting, tempting songs unsung In endless reverie So oft times I've thought before Unquiet...

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In the hallway of legends and ghosts I wander aimlessly in dream Talking with the dead of Brookhaven The rope burns are still fresh on Helen's neck A sickly scarlet mark upon her throat In this corridor, I pace, a key in hand; lost Forever the sojourn of quietus in keeping Before a door numbered two, I stand Silence a silver web with...

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Last night two events occurred together that are unlikely to repeat… It wasn’t even Halloween…so for them to happen in one night was certainly a treat! First to an Edgar Allan Poe Speakeasy we decided we would go… Deborah dressed as the Raven and me as Mr. Poe. In a dimly lit room we watched and listened as four...

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Crack! I lay, beneath me creaking Hath it taken from me? What to give? Mayhaps yesternight another seeking For not many there is to live It approaches, shaking, floors creaking To thee I will never forgive The black, slender arms reach It thrashes! THRASHES, thrash– Follicles, it pulls, off me, I screech With many a fang, I faintly see a gnash Holding me, gripping...

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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...

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Flatface Poe part feline part woe like a face at a window frowning and purring at those you don’t know but, see, they know of you and the wizened witch too who peers out of the glow at those in your view and with them you go haunting, o haunt Flatface Poe ...

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Edgar A. Poe penned a poem long ago of this raven of lore that would shriek, “Nevermore”. And a madness within was awoken when that word from the Raven was spoken. “Nevermore”, did it say when Lenore passed away. “Evermore” would a sad heart be broken. Mr. Edgar A. Poe shared his bipolar muse with a bedlam tipped quill filled with paranoid views, and his...

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A thought arose... In Hegel's great dialectic cotillion, Time transcends as the Absolute emerges, From deep submersion. Veritably idealistic path to verity. It is all about History! While Schopenhauer's Will, By mere chance, Drives life in concentric circles spinning, But not winning Human solicitations are insatiable. A germ on the cogwheel of life, Facing a suffering eternal stance. Crushed! Cracked glass I bleed, each cut reflects an...

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The Raven and the Bard -Daniel Henry Rodgers The Raven's quill drips shades of blackest night, Its haunting words, a melody of fright. The Bard's natural lines, like "Evangeline's" fair hair, Shed history's warm light to chase away all care . From shadowed chambers where dark ravens shriek, To hearthside tales that bygone glories speak; The Raven and the Bard, in Inky War...

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"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...

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cofmmmph... an underwater sub-mission-can be a toil... letting a... wait-less-nest take your weight to a free... dome where... t'is-you that floats further off into some current space... stans sand ...

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Versatile Edgar Allan Poe short stories always on the go In style romantic gothic disliking both allegory&didatic...

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